I planted a kiss on his forehead and said, “I will be down for this anytime you ever want it.” That sounded weird, like an offer to be his dirty secret, but he was still mostly straight. A life with him was too much to hope for, but maybe we could be something.
He yawned, and it threw me into a spasm of my own.
“Pretty sure I’ll be wanting it a lot.” He yawned again. “Take a nap?”
“Hell yes. You wore me out.” I checked the clock. “We have two hours.”
“Let’s get under the covers.”
We wrestled the comforter loose and shimmied under it, then curled into such a tight ball I wasn’t sure where I ended and Pack began.
18/
nico
The phone’sshrill ring cut through my skull. I fumbled for it and croaked, “Yeah?”
“Mr. Paquette?”
“What?” My brain was offline, and I squinted at the ceiling, trying to get my eyes to focus. “Who is this?”
“It’s Myrna at the front desk. You and Mr. Rossi were supposed to be at the reception twenty minutes ago. The organizers are asking when you’ll be arriving. I tried Mr. Rossi’s room, but he isn’t answering. Do you know where he is?”
“No, I?—”
A soft, contented snore drifted across the bed.
Oh.
“I… this is Nico Rossi.”
There was a pause long enough for my heart to try to beat its way out of my chest.
“I’m sorry,” she said, flawlessly polite. “I must have mixed up your room numbers. When should I tell them you’ll be down?”
A glance under the covers confirmed we were a disaster.
“Twenty minutes,” I said. “Tell them twenty.”
I hung up and shook the bed. “Pack. Wake up.”
He cracked one eye open and gave me a lazy grin. “Hey, rookie. That was—fuck—that was everything. Ready for round two?”
I jumped out of bed. “Up!”
He bolted upright. “You’re joking.”
“Reception. We were due twenty minutes ago.”
“Holy shit.” His eyes looked wild as he scrambled out from under the comforter.
I hurried into sweatpants and, unable to find mine, wore his T-shirt. “Shower. Back in ten minutes.” I ran to my room. Getting ready was real-life slapstick: water, soap, swearing, and slamming drawers. I pulled on my suit jacket as I hurried back to Packy’s room.
He was a montage of wet hair and flushed skin. “Out,” he said. “We’ve gotta go!”
I grabbed him anyway. “They can wait one more minute.”
The kiss was warm and dangerous, so we made it short.
