From the corner of my eye, I see her glance down. “A T-shirt.”
“Yeah, I see that. Where are your pajamas?”
Surely, she must have some nice flannel jammies. The modest kind that leaves everything to the imagination and is perfect for platonic cohabitation with your former employer.
“I didn’t pack any.”
“You forgot to pack pajamas?” My voice is a little pitchy, but that’s probably because of the growing lump on the back of my head. “How is that even possible? You’re the most organized person I know, and you’ve been planning this trip for weeks.”
“I didn’t forget. I simply didn’t bring them.”
“What do you mean you didn’t bring pajamas?” I normally sleep naked, and even I brought sleepwear. “Why not?”
“Because I was planning to travel alone. And, if you recall, the whole point of this trip is to show savvy travelers on a shoestring budget.”
What the hell does that have to do with sleeping half naked?
Lucy must see the confusion written on my face, because she sighs—loudly. “You really don’t listen to a word I say. I told you, I want to show how normal people travel. The world doesn’t need another rich, glamorous influencer. Which is why I got rid of all my shi—stuff and built a capsule wardrobe.”
I have no idea what a capsule wardrobe is, but I’m too floored to ask. “You sold all of your stuff?”
“Yes. Now would you stop shielding your eyes? You aren’t going to be scarred for life if you see my ankles, and frankly, this is getting weird.”
Slowly, I turn to face her. It’s the wrong move, because she’s staring at me with a bemused expression and her arms are crossed over her chest, making the flimsy T-shirt ride up higher on her thighs.
Luscious, curvy thighs with miles of golden-brown skin.
Lucy clears her throat.
Quit staring, Hart.
She’ll never come back to work at Triada if she thinks I’m a creep.
“Sorry,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time today. “I should probably…” I gesture to the bathroom.
“Good idea.”
Lucy climbs into bed, and when I emerge from the bathroom, the lights are out. From the sounds of her steady breathing, she’s already asleep.
I tiptoe across the trailer, moving slowly so I don’t wake her. She’s had a long day, and the last thing I need is another run-in with a storage cabinet. Fortunately, it’s only a handful of steps to my bed.
The curtains above the couch-bed allow a sliver of moonlight through, illuminating the unicorn sheet Lucy threw over the cushions. It’s pink and sparkly, and it belongs on the bed of a toddler, not a twenty-seven-year-old man.
It could be worse.
Yeah, Lucy could be traipsing all over the country alone with God only knows what kind of sleazeballs on the other side of that flimsy aluminum door.
I drop my dirty clothes on the floor and ease down on the bed.
It’s going to be a tight squeeze, but I’ll make do.
I’m sure as hell not going to complain. Besides, I’ve slept on worse.
I spend fifteen minutes trying to get comfortable, but it’s not going to happen. I’m not six years old anymore, and I’m way too fucking big for the tiny sleeper.
It’s hard to believe there are people who actually enjoy this shit.
Eventually, I cave and curl up in the fetal position as Lucy suggested. My knees hang over the edge, and it’s uncomfortable as hell, but I’m out of options.
