Page 46 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show
“Did you hit the light switch?” he asks.
“I-I think the power went out.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “They probably have a generator. It will probably turn on soon.”
I nod, then realize he can’t see me, because despite all his superheroesque qualities, x-ray vision is probably not one of them. Moving quickly and being ridiculously strong are superheroesque enough.
“Yeah,” I say.
He fumbles with his phone, then fiddles through his suitcase. I realize he’s probably looking for his toothbrush.
I hurry to the bed and slip under the covers. My new plan is to wake up, fall asleep, and hope he forgets all the awkwardness in the morning.
It’s a good plan.
It doesn’t work.
Instead, I hear him prepare for bed, then I hear him pad toward the bed as I hope that he can’t hear the violent thumps of my own heart. Finally, he slips under the covers, and the mattress shifts as he gets in.
I lie as still as I can. Maybe he can forget I’m here. Maybe he can forget he’s sharing a room with someone his own brother hated. Maybe he can forget about the huge dildo in my suitcase and all the things I do with it.
I close my eyes and hope morning comes soon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Luke
The room is quiet.
Tooquiet.
And way too cold.
I think the power is still off, and this hotel is fancy enough it doesn’t have one of those external heaters that rumble and make noise and take up space.
Sebastian stirs beside me, and I realize his steady breathing has stopped, replaced by shivering.
Shit.
“You’re cold,” I say, even though it’s the most obvious thing ever.
“I-I’m fine,” he says, even though it’s the most obvious lie ever.
His teeth chatter, and his shoulders hunch forward, as if the fetal position will solve all his problems.
Before I can overthink it, I slide closer. I scoop him into my arms, holding him against my chest.
He stiffens, his body rigid.
Too late I realize that maybe this is not, strictly speaking, HR-recommended behavior. Pretty sure men in dating shows do not generally wrap their male hosts in their arms. We’re touching everywhere—my chest to his back, my legs to his legs, my nose brushing the nape of his neck.
“Um, Luke?” He whispers into the dark and starts to wriggle away.
“I want you to be warm,” I say. “Body heat and everything.”
“But—” Sebastian eases away. “I don’t think this is professional.”
I contemplate the dark room, unsure if Sebastian doesn’t want to touch me or if he doesn’t think it’s appropriate.
