Page 34 of A Little Too Forward

My entire body deflates in relief. If it was anything else, I would have stayed in the shower, scrubbing my body all night.

“Maid service must have left something on the bed and it soaked through. The interior sheets would dry slower because they’re under the heavy comforter.”

I just nod, not really caring about the why, just the what.

“I’ll call down and see what the concierge can do about this. I know they can’t offer me a room, but maybe they have a huge blow-dryer or something.” Even my voice sounds dejected as I make up a solution. I’m too tired for this shit.

I am going to have a long chat with the team manager tomorrow about never booking this hotel chain again.

“Don’t bother,” Max says, halting my movements. “You can sleep in my bed tonight. It’s too damn late to do anything about that. We both need sleep, and if someone comes up to sort that shit out”—he waves his hand toward the spot—“it will be at least another two hours before we can get any shut-eye. That’s not working for me.”

I hate it, but he’s right.

“Where will you sleep though?”

He blinks at me, confused. “In bed.”

“With me?”

“What did you think I meant?”

“I thought you were being a gentleman and giving me your bed.”

“Oh. Bean. That’s cute, but no,” he says in a patronizing voice. “We’re both adults. We can sleep in the same bed without a scandal breaking out.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. He’s making sense. He’s being rational. But my mind is fully in the gutter.

I’d be sleeping next to him. Like, right beside him. In my Toronto Nighthawks PJs. They don’t scream sexy in any sense of the word, but…

“If I build a pillow wall between us, would that make you feel better?”

That breaks me out of my lewd thoughts. I close my eyes, letting a smile slowly spread across my face.

“Sounds perfect,” I concede.

Minutes later, with a pillow wall between us under the covers and our murder show still playing in the background, Max and I lie on our sides looking at one another.

“Good?” he asks, scanning my face.

“Good.” A comfortable silence begins. I feel warm and cozy in bed. Oddly safe too. I like knowing Max is close.

As my eyes slowly drift closed, Max whispers something that I can’t make out. There’s a gentleness to his voice that soothes a part of me that was still a little on edge from the day’s events.

My last conscious feeling before I let sleep take me is the gentle squeeze of another hand in mine, wedged between the pillows.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MAX

The first thing that registers when I blink my eyes open is that my face is smooshed into the sharp corner of a pillow. Grunting at the uncomfortable angle, I slowly stretch my body, twisting away from the object.

I’m used to waking up in hotel rooms, so I don’t have a moment of disorientation. What does take me a moment to comprehend is the soft, warm body that is pressed close to mine. A feeling of pure joy washes over me. I have to bite my lips to keep from cheering in triumph.

Sabrina Sutton is a cuddler. I never would have guessed it.

Her love language is not physical affection—I know that much—but I’m overjoyed that she clung to me during the night.

As carefully as I can, I turn to my side so that I can continue to sneak a peek at her. I wouldn’t say I’m becoming obsessed with her, but this is a side of Sabrina I’ve never seen before. One I’m hoping, in the near future, I get to experience often.

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