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She shivers in my arms, and I feel her pulse quicken as I nuzzle that tender spot beneath her jaw. “Me too,” she whispers.

Something inside me roars in triumph. We disentangle ourselves, and she scurries into the bathroom, closing the door with a click. A second later, I hear the faucet turn on. I open the dresser and look at the clothes I brought, running a hand through my hair. I feel wide awake but exhausted at the same time. I usually sleep shirtless in just my boxer briefs. Absolutely no way that’s going to happen tonight. I grab a fresh white tee and a pair of cotton gym shorts. I’m glad I have a moment to calm my body down.

When Eloise emerges from the bathroom, face scrubbed clean, still in her jeans and sweater, I trade places and give her a chance to change. When I glance at myself in the mirror, my eyes have a feverish look to them, my skin flushed. I brush my teeth and splash some water on my face.

Be cool, I think to my dick.

I listen at the door, making sure she’s ready. I don’t want to surprise her. I hesitate with my hand on the knob. A thousand questions flood my brain, about how to get into bed, which side to sleep on, whether I can pull her into me and cuddle her to sleep the way I want to or maybe she wants all the space she can get, and I should stick to my side of the bed.

I chuckle and rub the back of my neck. I sound like Eloise’s Worry Wheel. I’ll just go with the flow, like I always do. I open the door and step out into the room.

Eloise is tucked under the giant comforter, her head nestled on the plush pillow, sound asleep. Her breathing is slow and even, one hand curled beneath her chin, the other resting across her stomach. I smile softly. She looks so peaceful. I walk over to switch off the lamp on her nightstand. Then I turn off the other lights, slip beneath the covers and curl up on one side, sliding my arm over her stomach so my hand rests against hers.

36Eloise

I wake up to the faint chirping of birds outside my window.

Before opening my eyes, I let my other senses kick in. I’m curled up on my side. There’s a warm weight draped over my waist and a firm wall of muscle pressing into my back. I can smell leather and cardamom, mixed with the faint trace of flowers.

I peel my lids open. The room is bathed in soft morning light. We forgot to close the curtains last night. And the balcony door. The air is quite chilly, but I’m comfortable as a little clam, tucked against the heat of Agustín’s body.

I feel a smile spread, slow and giddy, across my face as I look down at his arm secured firmly around me, his hand splayed out over the comforter. I can feel his even breaths as he sleeps, the cotton material of his tee rubbing against my own. I don’t want to move. Ever. I want this bed to be my new home.

But I really have to pee.

Slowly, so as not to wake him, I ease out from under the covers, then grab my phone and the first clothes I can get my hands on (which turn out to be the travel sweatsuit from yesterday) and scurry into the bathroom. I immediately text Rachel. It’s seven AM, but I don’t care.

Me: How soon can you meet me for breakfast or do I have to wait until 9?

Her reply is instantaneous.

Rachel: I will be downstairs in THIRTY FUCKING SECONDS.

I slip into my white Birkenstocks and meet her at the hotel restaurant in the courtyard. She’s seated in a corner table, beneath a canopy of white, the waiter pouring her water as she orders coffees for both of us.

“Eloise Madigan Whitechapel, what the actual fuck is going on?” she says.

Blood rushes to my cheeks. I blush so hard my ears burn, and the nape of my neck is on fire, and I feel the heat spread all the way down to my belly button.

Rachel gasps. “You kissed him.”

I clap my hands over my face and nod. Rachel pulls them away, and I’m smiling so big, and tears are filling my eyes.

“El!” she squeals, so loud that the handful of other patrons look over at us. Then she tackles me in a hug, and we’re both laughing. “Oh my god, tell me everything,” she says, as the waiter arrives with our lattes.

And I do. I tell her about our day yesterday, and about the tacos, and the park, and the dimly lit corner where it all came to a head.

“Swoon!” Rachel says, leaning back in her chair. “This is incredible, El. He’s such a great guy. Didn’t I tell you he was a good-looking man-shaped human?”

I flush again. “You did.”

She pokes me. “How long.”

“Hm?”

“How long have you liked him? Because a lot of stuff is starting to make a lot of sense.”

I grimace. “A while.”