Page 20 of Good at Being Alive
I guess I could offer to help, but since I already know exactly the sort of caustic response I’ll get in return, I don’t.
Besides, I still have several seasons ofVanderpump Rulesto get through.
“Speaking of travel,” I add, “if we get to the hotel tomorrow and there’s some kind of fucked-up one-bed situation, you’re sleeping on the floor.”
He raises a brow. “I’m not entirely clear on what a ‘one-bed situation’ is.”
“It’s a staple of romance novels. You know. ‘Oh, this hotel only has one twin bed left, so you two attractive strangers will have to share.’ ”
“Why wouldn’t the attractive strangers just go to another hotel?”
I shrug. “Loads of reasons. Maybe it’s the only hotel—”
“What kind of town only has one hotel? And has a room with one twin bed? That’s ridiculous.”
“Or all the hotels are sold out.”
“If the first hotel you’ve checked has an available room, are you really going to assume there isn’t another hotel with a room available? You can’t expect me to believe that two reasonable people with no connection to each other aren’t going to investigate before they agree.”
“God, you’re so tiresome,” I sigh. “Anyhow, my point is thatifit somehow happens, you’re taking the floor. It isn’t going to turn into some deal where we’re both sharing a small bed and nude.”
“Why would we benude?” he asks. “This can’t really be a plot point.”
“Maybe it seems weird to you because the British all sleep in nightshirts.”
He nods. “Well, that or wizarding attire. But I’m not sure why you think I’d giveyouthe bed. I imagine you’ve discerned by now that I’m not much of a gentleman.”
There’s a hint of a growl to his voice as he says “not much of a gentleman.” I’d have thought nothing of it before that kiss. Now it’s got my thighs clenching. “Well, obviouslyI’mthe star of the show.”
He raises a brow. “How do you figure?”
“I lost three people, so my story is more tragic.”
“My mother has skin cancer,” he says. “I mean, it’s the common kind and entirely curable, but you never know.”
“Ah. Well, if she dies, your story would be more tragic than it currently is, but still not as tragic as mine.”
He laughs as he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat. “I’m glad we’ve found a way to make even our grief competitive.”
• • •
He sleeps soundly for most of the flight. I know this because I spend several hours staring at him.
He has tiny flecks of silver along his jawline, which of course leads me to examine his dark brown hair, where I also note the occasional gray. It occurs to me for the first time that whileI’mfar too young to be married in real life…he’s the perfect age.
Is he just not interested in marriage? Or is he waiting on that girl, the “complicated” one?
When we land, he’s adorably sleepy, unfolding his long frame and rising to get our bags. I’m cranky, swaying with exhaustion and bitterly cold. My teeth are chattering by the time we get in line for customs, and we’re not even outside yet.
“You’re cold?” he asks. “It’s seventy degrees in here.”
I shrug. “It’s just a thing that happens when I’m tired. It’s called downregulation. Under stress, your body starts shutting down to prioritize the most necessary functions.”
He sighs heavily, as if exasperated by the way my body is doing exactly what it’s meant to. “If only all that useless trivia you know could have helped you back when you were in school,” he says. “You might have finished your degree.”
“Ouch.Jessie?Is that you?” I ask, poking him. “Are you controlling Theo’s body? Make him punch himself in the junk so I know for sure.”
He laughs. “Were you always this strange?”
