Whoa.
What the hell was that, Nancy?
Must banish my libido to the timeout chair.
This is just an ordinary bed. In a standard hotel room. I’ve slept in beds before. Plus, Nolan and I will work tonight. This is a work trip, after all. We’ll focus on the show that’s poised to take off.
I won’t focus on my overactive imagination that wants to straddle Nolan and ride him cowboy. Ride him cowgirl. Ride him till the cows come home.
Wait, wrong analogy.
I’ll get on my horse and trot away. Yup, that’s more like it.
I wheel around and hook my thumb toward the couch, so I can get as far away from the rodeo bed as possible. “I’m going to grab my laptop and edit the video. You can do the socials.”
Nolan leans against the entrance to the bedroom. “Mind if I shower first? Don’t know about you, but I kinda can’t resist a hot hotel shower.”
The steed I rode off on bucks. Whoa, Nellie.
“Shower? Like without clothes? Now?” I squeak.
Nolan tilts his head, studies me like an oddity in a curio shop. And I am. “Usually I shower naked,” he says, drawing it out. “But hey, I can try it with clothes on if that’s your recommendation. Is that what you’re saying? I should stand under the hot water in my shirt and jeans?” He plucks at his Smiths T-shirt.
Giving a careless shrug, I try to play it cool. “I mean, probably clothes-free is best, if I’m being picky.”
“Cool. Will try it that way. Naked and all.”
“And I’ll edit,” I say.
With a laugh, he says, “Yes, you mentioned your editing plans.”
Well, I meant it, clearly. I will edit and not think of you in your birthday suit, showering. I will not picture joining you. I will not imagine asking you to bite me, bruise me, leave marks.
“The sooner I edit, the sooner we can show our video to Evelyn and then submit it to YouTube for the contest,” I say, focusing so damn intently on our goals.
Our business goals.
And business partners don’t share beds. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” I blurt.
Or maybe I croak it. I’m a frog, clearly. A horny toad.
“No, I’ll sleep on the couch, Em,” Nolan says, his lips curving into a grin. “But are you okay? You seem kind of . . . hyper.”
“Me? Hyper?” My pitch hits glockenspiel range.
“Just a little.”
I’ve got to slice that notion off at the knees. “I’m good. I’m great. Just excited. I want to do a good job on the video. I want it to be amazing. I always edit best right after we shoot, and this room is super conducive to work so . . .”
I’m ridiculous. A shower is just a shower. A room is just a room.
We’re friends. Partners. Dreamers.
But we won’t be lovers.
I draw a big breath and shoo him away. “Go. Shower. Indulge. Use their fancy bodywash. I bet they have big, fluffy bathrobes too.”
“God, I hope so,” he says drily as he grabs his bag. “There’s nothing I love more than a robe.” Nolan heads to the bathroom and I hear him groan from a room away. “Emerson, this bathroom’s fucking heaven. You’ll want to spend the night in it.”
I smile like a pageant girl with Vaseline-slicked teeth. Yup. This is us. Buddies sharing a suite.
Just like we share a show.
Once the door to the bathroom clicks shut, I dive onto the couch, bury my face in a pillow, and scream.
Then, I get my act together and call for help.
Sitting up, I grab my phone and tap out a quick message to Katie.
* * *
Emerson: Random question. On a scale of one to ten, how dangerous is it to share a hotel room with the guy you work with?
* * *
Katie: I feel like this might be a trick question.
* * *
Emerson: So the answer is . . . not dangerous at all. Cool. I’ll just carry on.
* * *
Katie: I’m going out on a limb here . . . but does this mean you and your hottie co-host with the cute glasses and the charm and the sex eyes and the tight T-shirts are shacking up tonight?
* * *
Emerson: You’re so mean. Thanks for mentioning he’s cute and bangable. Also, we’re just sharing a room.
* * *
Katie: Ah, is this where I tell you stay strong, girl, in the face of the bangable guy?
* * *
Emerson: Yes! But I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to stay strong about. He’s given me no reason to think he wants to do the hotel bed horizontal shimmy-shimmy, bang-bang . . . So really, I just needed to put the hypothetical sex question out there for you to dismiss and then send it packing for the night.
* * *
Katie: So that was a dismiss-the-hypothetical-possibility-of-sex text?
* * *
Emerson: And it worked! Yay! I’m no longer sex-crazed.