“I’m not hungry,” I quickly say, averting my eyes, which land on the bed again, then dart to the tile floor.
“Then what’s—”
I cross to the sofa and perch on the edge. He sits next to me, resting his hand on my back. “If you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll fix it. Is it the room? I’m not picky, but some people get bad vibes from a place.”
I shake my head. “Not the room. Technically.” His forehead wrinkles, signifying a mixture of confusion and concern, so it’s the moment of truth—or concealment. I either need to tell him what’s bothering me or downplay it and move on. It’s not too late to take the blood sugar excuse and run with it.
But I can’t. He deserves honesty, if nothing else, no matter how mortifying it is for me to say what I’m about to say.
“This place is amazing,” I start. Yes, yes. Always go with something positive first.
“But?”
Oh. He knows this technique.
“But it’s— Well, it’s a little intense. Being here. With you.”
He releases a breath I didn’t realize he was holding. “Oh. Okay.”
“I feel like there are expectations—I had them, too!—about this week, this room. Suddenly… It’s a lot of pressure.”
His response to that is to kick off his shoes, lean back on the couch, fold his arms behind his head, and stretch his legs in front of him. After he’s been quiet for a while, I look over my shoulder at him, and I’m surprised to see him grinning at me.
“What? What’s so funny?”
He lifts one of his shoulders but keeps smiling. “You are.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying not to freak out!” But it’s impossible to remain tense with him looking at me like that, posed like that, so I return his smile.
“You need this vacation more than I realized. It’s a good thing I forced you to come along.”
“You didn’t force—”
“Exactly. So relax.” He lowers his arms and pats his chest. “C’mere.”
It’s quickly becoming one of my favorite places, so I comply, resting my ear against his heart, which, I swear, has a resting rate of about thirty beats per minute. Thud (pause, pause, pause). Thud (pause, pause, pause). Thud (pause, pause, pause)…
“I want you to have a good time,” he says, his voice rumbling under my head. “That’s all. Whatever that means. No pressure whatsoever. If you’re tense or worried or freaked out, that defeats the purpose of this trip.”
I nod my understanding. “Okay. I’m sorry I’m being weird.”
“Please. No apologies, no explanations, no worries.” He cranes his neck to see my face, so I make it easier for him and look up. “You want a different room?”
“I told you, it’s not the room.”
“No, ‘different,’ as in, ‘separate.’ From mine.”
“Oh.” I consider it for a second, but that seems like such a pain, and likely impossible. This place is booked solid. This room is fabulous, now that I look around at more than just the bed.
I shake my head. “No. This is fine.”
“I don’t snore.”
“I do.”
He laughs. “Oh, great. Maybe I want a different room.”
“I’m kidding.”
“Me too. Relax.”
I almost apologize again but worry it will make things worse. Instead, I say, “Thank you.”
“For what? For being a decent human being?”
“You’re more than that.”
He shifts under me and sits up. “What I am is hungry. Let’s order room service, then take a swim. Or go for a walk on the beach.” He nods toward the sound of the waves we can hear and smell but can’t see from where we’re sitting.
“I like the sound of all of that.”
“I’m all yours tonight. Tomorrow morning, the craziness starts, though.”
“Then let’s enjoy the calm before the crazy.”
A couple of hours later, I emerge from the bathroom after changing into my pajamas and brushing my teeth to find Jet already in bed, propped against the headboard, reading Sports Illustrated. I pause, not because of his choice of reading material (it is somewhat remedial, but to each his own), but because he’s on my side of the bed. Not that I’m going to make a big deal about it. I go around to the other side and get in, settling as quickly as possible, facing away from him, balancing on the mattress’s edge.
This is bizarre. Stranger than I anticipated, somehow, and I figured it would be odd and awkward. I’m in bed with Jet Knox. I’m about to sleep with Jet Knox. Just sleep (I think). But still.
Behind me, I hear him close the magazine with a loud flutter and toss it with a slap onto the floor. With all of the noise, I look over my shoulder at him.
“You okay?”
His smile is uncertain. “Uh, yeah. You?”
“Fine.”
“You know, I don’t need all this space.” He gestures to the expanse of mattress between us.
Arranging my hands under my cheek, I try to get comfortable again. “This is good.” I close my eyes.
After a few more seconds, a shadow falls over me, and a weight settles against my shoulder. I open my eyes to see Jet looming.
“What are you doing?” I ask warily.
“Looking to see how you expect to stay balanced like that without falling out of bed in the middle of the night.”
“I’m not going to fall.”
“You’re right.” He hooks his arms over my side and pulls me toward the middle of the mattress.
“Hey!”
Satisfied, he turns off the light and slides farther under the covers on his back. “There. You’re not going to fall.”
“I was fine where I was.”
“I would have worried about you all night. I would have been over here, waiting to hear the thump. The suspense was already killing me.”
Laughing, I say, “If you wanted me to be closer to you, all you had to do was say it.”
His laughter shakes the bed. “You got me.”
“You’re right, though; it’s much more comfortable here.” I wiggle my hips but immediately
