My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(34)

As we board, Amy says, “You two will be all the way at the end of this car with me, so there’s a little buffer between you and the readers. I’ll show you,” she says, but then a train attendant in a blue suit flags her.

“Ms. Chandler. A minute, please?”

“Of course,” she says, joining the Italian man. “I’ll be right back,” she says to us.

As she chats with him, Axel shoots me a daring look, then whispers, “Let’s be scofflaws and check out the sleeper compartments. My heroes never get to enjoy a sleeper compartment.”

“Let’s go,” I say, cheery, and this attitude will get me through the sickness too.

I follow him toward the back of the car, the signs for sleeping compartment our guide. When we reach the compartments, I see two doors. I swing my gaze from one that has a sign with Ms. Chandler written on it.

The other one has a sign that reads: Mr. & Mrs. Huxley.





16





ELEPHANT BED


Hazel

This can’t be happening.

I should be prepared—I’ve written this story, the one where the protagonists have to share a room—and yet I’m not.

My cells shake as I stare at the sign on the oak door of the sleeping quarters, pronouncing us husband and wife once again.

What’s the appropriate reaction when the heroine walks into the small-town bed-and-breakfast and discovers she’s been booked into the last room in the inn with Mister McGrump?

I riffle through the plotting notebooks in my head. The heroine should say with a smile, There must be a mistake.

But the words that rocket out of my mouth are: “Are women not allowed to be single anywhere?”

It’s better than the other things circling through my head, like oh shit, no way, and please tell me there are two rooms hidden away behind that door, with two separate beds, and two separate everythings.

Axel clears his throat as if he’s getting his bearings too. “We can dismantle the patriarchy another time. First, let’s straighten out what is probably a simple booking error.”

“Right!” I cling to this idea. “I’m sure there are plenty of other compartments on the train. Amy said we have two cars for our group.”

“Exactly.”

“And I can stay near the readers. I’m sure there’s an empty compartment. It’ll be fine,” I say, so amenable, so willing. Because I can’t sleep near him while I’m experiencing these acute symptoms of lust.

“Or I can,” he offers, eager too.

I hook my thumb toward the door of the car, where we’d last seen our guide. “I can go find Amy and tell her.” I poke my head around the corner and peer down the aisle. She’s still chatting with the train guy. “I bet she’s sorting it out right now.”

I’ve adopted the cheeriest tone possible. I am going to positive-attitude my ass off on this trip.

“I’m sure that’s it.” Axel glances at the door of our assigned compartment. “But we should check out the accommodation anyway. Maybe it’s a two-bedroom with an adjoining living room?”

There are ten gallons of hope in his voice too. Good. We’re on the same page.

“In that case, we won’t have to make a fuss,” I say.

“Exactly,” he agrees. “I don’t want to give Amy a hard time with problems this early.”

“Totally. I feel the same.” Nor do I want our tour group to think anything has gone wrong with the trip.

No one wants to witness their hosts negotiating for separate sleeping quarters or changing up a travel plan. We might look like divas making a scene. If we can manage with this suite tonight, it’ll be for the best.

Axel grabs the handle, turns it, and steps inside.

Please, please, please, let that door open into a spacious suite.

With my heart in my throat, I step gingerly across the threshold, then peer around.

We’re in a tiny anteroom, maybe five by five. But there’s a tiny blue velvet sofa situated under the window. Blessed piece of furniture. I could kiss it. If this were my own suite, I’d imagine lounging on the tiny love seat at dawn, feet tucked under me, hoodie on, working on my current novel while the sun rose.

But instead, that glorious couch is going to fulfill a higher calling. It’ll save me from living out a trope. I pat the armrest. “This looks fine as a last resort. I could sleep here if I had to,” I chirp.

Ack! My voice sounds like a freaking chipmunk’s. Clearing my throat, I try to modulate my tone. Cool Hazel, rather than Helium Hazel. “It’s probably a fold-out sofa,” I add in a baritone.

Great. Just great. I’m a dude now.

“Yes! Of course!” Axel says, and I’m pretty sure he spoke with exclamation points for the first time in his life. He marches to the sofa and lifts a cushion.

With a wince, he turns back to me, shaking his head. “Just a regular sofa,” he says in a strained voice. “But maybe there are two rooms?”

“I’m sure there are!” I flap my arm toward the white scalloped door.

I hold my breath as we head toward it. He flashes me a nervous look.

I’ve hardly ever seen Axel looking nervous.

We reach for the door handle at the same time and touch each other’s hands.