Page 61 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
“Thanks.” She carefully sets Crawford’s prison in the corner, wedged between my duffel bag so it can’t roll around. Then she crawls back to me, navigating the mess we’ve created. Her knees are red from the truck bed, her hair’s a mess, and we’re both soggy.
But it was hot as fuck anyway.
I honestly don’t mind the ice-assisted cab coolant.
“Same,” Makena says when I share my preference for camping on ice. “Let’s never go camping in Louisiana in the summer again. Charlotte was right. This was a dumb idea.”
“But still kind of fun,” I say.
“Yeah, it was.” She lies down, curling against me on the less deflated side of the mattress as the ice continues its slow melt into the truck bed. Tomorrow’s going to involve a lot of towels and probably some creative explanation to our camping neighbors about the three a.m. shrieking, but I know I’m going to remember this night fondly all the same.
“We make a good team,” she says, sounding sleepy again.
“Yeah, we do.”
The words settle between us, warm and right.
Through the clear panel in the truck bed cover, I can see stars fading as dawn creeps closer, and I’m glad I splurged on the fancy camper package. It’s nice to watch the stars wink out with Makena in my arms.
She yawns against my chest, her body relaxing into sleep. “Hey, Parker?” she mumbles.
“Yeah?”
“Wake me up if he breaks free, okay? I’m too tired to keep watch.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Will do, warrior princess.”
I’m tired, too, but I stay awake for a good while after, memorizing how perfect she feels sleeping on my chest. Like she was always meant to be here.
Crawford rattles his prison, a tiny chaperone warning that I’m in trouble.
“I know, buddy,” I whisper. “I know.”
But it’s the deepest, best kind of trouble.
The kind that has me counting the hours until we get to our hotel and I can finally show this woman how much she means to me.
Chapter
Fifteen
MAKENA
Iwake up feeling weirdly…great.
Which makes no sense. My hip throbs from where the air mattress gave up on life around four-thirty a.m. Half of my back is damp from melted ice, and Crawford is currently scratching out an angry manifesto in the travel mug by our feet.
But Parker’s chest is warm beneath my cheek, and his arm is wrapped tight around me, like he wants to keep me close, even in sleep.
And that’s…pretty great.
He’spretty great.
So great, there’s a serious chance I might be falling in love with him.
It’s a sobering thought.
Or should be, anyway, but when he rumbles, “Good morning, gorgeous, still alive?” a few minutes later, I just snuggle closer.
