My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(35)

Oh, that’s nice.

That’s the problem, though. I snatch my hand away. “You go first,” I say quickly.

He tosses a what gives glance at me. But isn’t it obvious why I yanked my paw away? He doesn’t want me to touch him, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. We’ve made progress over the last twenty-four hours. I don’t want to regress.

He slides open the door then mutters, “Oh fuck.”

There’s. Only. One. Bed.

It’s not even a big bed.

It’s queen-size.

I stare too long. My mind has stalled on images of Axel whipping off his T-shirt one-handed, unbuttoning jeans, sliding under that white duvet wearing only snug black boxer briefs.

Giving me a come-hither look. Growling, “Ride me, baby.”

Axel is staring at the bed too, like he’s caught in a trance. Or maybe he’s confused.

Meanwhile, my dirty, filthy, sex-starved brain is stuck on repeat as I imagine him beckoning me with his finger. “C’mon, sweetheart, you know you want it,” he’d say.

I do, I do, I fucking do.

Dammit.

I need ice. I spot a bucket for it on a table in the corner, but it’s probably empty, so no point jamming my head into it.

I hunt for words to handle the situation, but the best I can manage is, “Why aren’t there any bunks?”

Axel knits his brow. My odd question seems to have knocked him out of his what-the-hell haze. “Bunks?”

Bunks would have been a decent solution. Bunks are for siblings. Bunks are for roomies. Bunks aren’t for lovers.

“Bunks. Like one on top of the other.” Great, I made that sound dirty.

His lips twitch. “I know what bunk beds are. But you thought the train would have bunk beds?”

This digression is safer than talking about that tantalizing bed calling out to me. “I pictured a little compartment with one bed here,” I say, demonstrating with my hand about two feet high, then I move it up six feet. “Then one above it. I was going to put my suitcase on the lower one and sleep on the upper one.”

“You had this all mapped out. Your bunk bed fantasy,” he says, and he can’t stop grinning.

But we need to discuss the elephant in the room—tonight’s accommodations. “Anyway, like I said, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” I need to make it crystal clear that I don’t expect this travel snafu to play out like it would in a romance. “We don’t have to share a bed like in a book.”

This is life and we’ll solve it like real life, not fiction.

But he’s not looking my way. He’s staring out the window. Then he pulls his gaze back to me. “I know that, Hazel,” he says, sounding half stern, but half hollow too. “I know this isn’t one of our stories,” he says as footsteps grow louder.

“Knock, knock.” Amy’s voice calls out.

“Come in,” I say, grateful for her return and certain she’s here to tell us she found another compartment.

But her face says no such luck. Her face says I tried and I’m so sorry. “The JHB Travel Manager was telling me about the error with the booking agency. I’m so sorry, but he assures me we can get it cleared up by tomorrow.”

“Oh great,” I say, relieved we only have to deal with this problem for one night. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Axel cuts in.

Amy stares at the couch, quizzically. “Oh, that’s so thoughtful of both of you, but that couch is more like a chair. You’d have to curl up into a Border Collie-size dog ball to sleep on it.”

Her dog-size comparison seems spot on as I regard the furniture. I’d have to fold up my arms and legs and wind around myself a few times. Axel’s several inches taller than I am. He’d be a pretzel if he slept there.

Amy gives a quick, decisive nod. “But I have another solution.” She pats my arm. “Just take my room, Hazel. I’ll sleep in a train seat.”

“What?”

“It’s no problem. A regular seat will work fine.”

“No. That sounds miserable.”

“I’m a single mom. I have two young kids at home. The second I close my eyes,” she says, then snaps her fingers, “I’m down for the count.”

I can’t let a single mom who’s away from her kids sleep uncomfortably.

“That won’t be necessary, Amy,” Axel says, like a ship captain steering the boat through dangerous waters. “I’ll sleep in a regular seat on the train.”

He sounds so gallant, so willing. And that’s hot too.

I’m unfairly turned on by his offer.

What is wrong with my traitorous libido today?

I’ve got to get my mind out of the gutter. “Or you and I could share this compartment and Axel could take yours?” I ask Amy, but that sounds weird too.

Like we’re all just playing musical beds.

She holds up her palms. “Whatever works. I just want you two to be comfortable. And I promise we’ll get this sorted out overnight.”

I gulp, then look at the couch. Then the floor. “I’ll sleep on—”

“—I’ll sleep here in the anteroom. Amy, you enjoy your compartment,” Axel says. Firm. Businesslike. A declaration.