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She turns back to me as she leaves, and I fix my face into something pleasant. “See you at dinner,” she says with a smile, and I’m unsure if she’s talking to me or Jake, so I nod my reply and move past her.
When her silvery French twist disappears into the hallway, I shut the door behind her and stand there with crossed arms until he notices.
“You all right?” he asks mid-zip of his duffle bag.
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“What?”
I lower my voice to a whisper. “Did you forget?”
He looks confused. Either that or he has a better poker face than I do.
“I’m supposed to be here as your friend.”
Understanding washes over his features, and he shrugs. Tends to the contents of his duffle bag. And I’m totally ignoring the thin strip of exposed skin on his lower back. The way his jeans hug his ass.
Totally.
“She assumed,” he says simply, just loud enough for me to hear. Hopefully. “So, I let her assume.”
“Try again.”
He doesn’t flinch. “The situation is already strange, Scarlett. I don’t want to make it worse.”
I scoff. “That’s possible?”
My irritation with him, with the situation, makes him crack a smile when he turns to look at me, and it really just makes me want to lob something at him. I’m not sleeping in here. “Yes, it’s possible. What should I have said? Oh hey, mother. My super-hot, platonic friend is here visiting with me for the weekend. Which never happens, by the way—I never visit.”
I try to ignore the super-hot part, though I can’t deny he makes a good point.
“Shall I go tell her that you want a separate room now?” He fights a laugh. “Because that won’t look as weird.”
“Don’t be a prick,” I shoot back.
That makes the laugh burst through.
I lean against the door until he manages to get ahold of himself.
“Sorry,” he says, reeling it in.
“I don’t know why you think this is funny.” Everything’s a joke to this man.
He sobers a little and says, “Because I don’t know how to deal with shit like this.” Then he turns and rummages again.
His honesty takes me aback, and something inside me softens.
Uncharted territory for both of us.
“Yeah, me either,” I finally respond.
“Sorry,” he says, and this time he sounds genuine. “I guess we should have planned this out better in the car.” With a toiletry bag in his grip, he stands and makes his way toward a door on the opposite end of the room. As he passes, he pauses in front of me. Turns in my direction. The corner of his mouth lifts into a sly grin, his dimple making another cameo. “But is this the worst thing?”
“What?” I don’t know why I say that. I know what he means. What his ego wants me to admit.
But I must keep my walls up if I’m going to survive the next twenty-four hours with Jake Mitchell, in the same room, the same bed, and there’s nothing I do better.
Well, he could argue that.
Heat flushes my cheeks in remembrance.
“Sharing a room with me for a night.” A hint of suggestion lingers around the edges, in his intense blue stare, and I can’t tell if it’s purely sexual or something more.
I blink at him. Search his eyes for a glimmer of recognition. Something that tells me his words aren’t just another empty joke.
That he finally remembers the night we shared. The thought both excites and frightens me.
It’s all I can do to get the words out. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
His grin deepens, and he silently continues on his way.
