"Me too," Jason said, and his expression made my chest tighten.
We ordered room service for dinner—a luxury, but worth it to avoid more socializing—and ate in the living area while talking about everything and nothing. Books, movies, the quirks of small-town life versus city living. It felt easy in a way I hadn't experienced in years. Natural. Right.
Later, getting ready for bed, the routine we'd established felt different tonight. Magnetic in ways I couldn't ignore anymore.
Jason grabbed his things. "Bathroom first?"
"Go ahead."
The shower ran longer than I expected. I told myself I wasn't counting the minutes. Told myself I wasn't imagining anything. Both were lies.
When he finally emerged, I kept my eyes on my phone, scrolling through nothing. Safer that way.
"Your turn," he said, his voice slightly rough.
I took a quick shower, standing under spray that was too hot. This was Day Three. We had four more days of sharing this space. Four more days of this building tension before we both went back to our real lives. Before he returned to Juniper Bluffand his manuscript and his friends, and I went back to... what, exactly? The job I'd been avoiding thinking about?
When I came out, Jason was in bed with my laptop, reading the pages I'd written today. I stood there in the doorway for a moment just looking at him. At the concentration on his face. The small smile playing at his lips as he read.
He looked up and caught me staring. Neither of us looked away.
"These are good," he said finally, his voice low in the quiet suite. "Really good. This is the story you're supposed to be writing."
I crossed to my bed, settled onto it facing him. We were only a few feet apart, but it felt simultaneously too far and too close. "I couldn't have written it without you."
"Yes, you could have. You needed someone to give you permission to write what you wanted instead of what you thought you should."
"Is that what you do? Give people permission?"
"I don't know what I do." He set the laptop aside carefully, giving me his full attention. "But whatever this is—talking with you, working with you—it doesn't feel like anything I've done before."
"For me either," I admitted.
The air between us felt thick, weighted with everything we weren't saying. I watched Jason's throat work as he swallowed and his eyes darken.
"We should probably sleep," he said, but he didn't make a move.
"Probably." I didn't move either.
We sat there for another moment, looking at each other across the space between our beds. The wanting was physical now, impossible to ignore.
Then Jason yawned—couldn't quite hide it—and the spell broke slightly. He laughed, self-conscious. "Sorry. Apparently my body has an opinion about the time."
"What time is it?"
He checked his phone. "Almost midnight."
"Shit, really?" Where had the evening gone?
"We should probably sleep." This time when he said it, he actually moved, settling back against his pillows.
"Yeah." I did the same.
A moment later, Jason reached for the lamp. "Goodnight, Brent."
"Goodnight."
In the darkness, I lay awake for a long time, aware of every sound. Jason's breathing. The rustle of sheets when he shifted. The knowledge that he was just feet away and that all I'd have to do was cross that small space.
