Page 9 of Christmas With the Jerk

“Go to sleep, Thorne,” I say, finally turning toward the bed. “We’ve got another nine hours to go in the morning.”

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he sighs and drops his bag next to the other bed. “Yeah. Merry Christmas to us.”

2:41am

I should be asleep.I’m so tired that my entire body feels like lead sinking into the lumpy mattress. Might as well be driving through the Alaskan tundra out there if I'm awake like this.

Instead, I’m lying here, staring up at the dingy ceiling, eyes wide open. It’s ridiculous. I wanted nothing more than to collapse in this bed and pass out, but now, with the dry heat blastingthrough the room and the faint hum of the old heater vibrating against the walls, sleep is the last thing my body will submit to.

I turn onto my side, adjusting the thin pillow beneath my head, and hear a quiet groan from the other side of the room.

“You can’t sleep either?” I ask, my voice breaking the silence.

Thorne lets out a heavy sigh, shifting in his bed. “No. This bed feels like it’s made of bricks, and it’s so damn hot in here. What the fuck, are we inside of a kiln?”

I laugh softly, pushing my hair out of my face. “I know. I think that heater is stuck on full blast.” The heat is oppressive, making the air feel thick and dry. I glance toward the bathroom, remembering seeing something that looked like an ancient thermostat on the wall outside. “Maybe I can turn it down.”

“Good luck with that,” Thorne mutters, still tossing and turning in his bed. “This place looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 70s. If you can figure that thing out, I’ll be impressed.”

I slip out of bed, the only cold air in this room hits my bare feet as I walk across the room as it drafts in from under the door. That's comforting to know there is an icy breeze coming from somewhere low.

The worn carpet feels like sandpaper under my toes, and the dim lighting makes it hard to see the ancient thermostat by the bathroom door. I squint at it, turning the little wheel on top, but nothing seems to change. The dry heat keeps blasting, filling the room with a stifling blanket.

I fumble with the settings, twisting the dial and flipping random switches, but it’s like the thing is stuck in permanent sauna mode. “I don’t think this is working,” I say over my shoulder.“I’m pretty sure it’s just blowing hot air whether I touch it or not.”

Thorne groans again, and I hear the creak of the bed as he gets up. “Here, let me try,” he says, his voice close behind me. He holds up his iPhone with the light on the thermostat.

Before I can move out of the way, I feel him brush past me, his hand grazing my arm as he reaches for the dial. The moment his skin touches mine, it’s like a jolt of electricity shoots straight through me. My breath catches, and for a second, everything in me reacts in a way I wasn’t expecting.

Suddenly, the room doesn’t feel hot from the heater—it’s him. The brief contact, the graze of his hand against my arm, sends a wave of heat coursing through me, compounding the hot flash I'm already experiencing. My heart pounds in my chest, and an unfamiliar flutter deep in my stomach begins to rise.

I blink, trying to focus on the ancient dial, but all I can think about is the way he smells, so close to me, suddenly un-repulsive. It was just an accident, just a light touch, but somehow it’s set off every nerve in my body like a live wire. All my senses are on high alert. I can feel his presence behind me—too close, too overwhelming—and I have to remind myself to breathe.

He leans in closer, squinting to see the non-digital thermostat's tiny slashes and faded gold numbers. I’m wondering if people’s eyes were better in the olden days.

The faint scent of his cologne is suddenly the most heavenly scent I've ever encountered. It's warm and clean and makes my head spin. Now that I know that this archaic box on the wall thatis supposed to control the temperature has no significance to me, I have no use for it. The only thing that matters is him.

My pulse races, the energy between us crackling in the air. This is ridiculous. It’s Thorne. The thorn in my side is more like it. I’ve barely been able to tolerate him this entire trip. The guy who drives me crazy in all the worst ways.

Standing here in the dark, with his arm brushing mine again as he adjusts the spiky little wheel protruding from the top of the thermostat. and insomnia keeping me awake, all I can think about is his electric proximity. How my entire body is reacting to him in this dark, run-down motel room in the middle of nowhere—days before Christmas, too—is beyond me. But the truth of that notion is unavoidable.

I swallow hard, my breath shallow as he turns to look at me, his face only inches away. Whatever the reason, there’s something different in his eyes now. A flicker of something that tells me I’m not the only one noticing the shift.

I try to say something, anything, but the words get stuck in my throat. All I can do is stare at him, the tension between us suddenly thick, palpable. The air between us is charged, like something is about to happen, and I don’t know if I can stop it.

I’m not sure I want to.

FOUR

Thorne

I really can't stay / (But baby, it's cold outside) / I've got to go away / (But baby, it's cold outside).

2:57 am

There’ssomething almost surreal about this moment. The room is hot—too hot—thanks to the busted thermostat that won’t quit pumping dry heat through the vents. I crack the vertical slat glass window to let in some relief.

The bed is uncomfortable as hell, and this motel looks like it belongs in a horror film. Now, here we are, standing next to each other, in the middle of the night, in this godforsaken place, and all I can think about is this undeniable desire to kiss her.

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