Page 10 of Until We Fall

Rory’s still standing in our open doorway, one hand tightened around the handle of his suitcase, the other holding onto the keycard.

His head whips to me as I stop next to him, and then he… blushes?

There’s just enough illumination in the hallway to see it, a swell of pink under his freckles, branching out to his temples.

He shoves his keycard in his back pocket.

“Um,” he says then disappears into the room.

So, that was strange.

I brush the sand off my feet before stepping in. “Hey, Rory. Is everything…”

I stop.

There’s one bed.

One bed.

Holy fuck,YES.

Wait…yes? Is that what I just thought?

It totally is. I don’t know if I’m supposed to think that? But Jesus Fucking Christ, Iam.

This is so good.

I mean, Ilovewhen we study together on my bed. Just relaxing, his bare feet stretched out—he’s got cute, knobby toes—and I kinda sneak a smell of him whenever he moves closer.

And it’s not the first time we’ve slept in a bed together. There have been road trips and concerts, and a couple of times when we crashed somewhere after drinking.

It’s always so nice when it happens. Waking next to him, his hair deep red against white sheets. His freckles seem brighter in the morning, his eyes a darker gray. And once or twice, we might have woken up pretty close to each other.

One might, possibly, call it snuggling. Even though we rolled away pretty quickly, I still liked him being there.

Friends can snuggle, too.

Rory sets his suitcase next to the wall in the tiled entryway and gives me a tight smile. “This is awkward.”

Fuck, is it?

Shit. I feel like a dick. If it’s awkward for him, then it’s awkward for me.

I don’t know why though? We slept on the same bed before. What’s changed since then?

Regardless, I’m not going to pressure him.

“I can sleep on…” I point to a weird, donut hole thing against the far wall. “...whatever that donut hole thing is.”

His brows go up. “Donut hole?”

“That thing.” It’s honestly really strange. It’s weirdly pink and lumpy, although it looks cushy. It might be comfortable. “I think it’s a couch?”

I roll my suitcase next to his, set in the entryway, but I try not to crowd him. Salt clings to the tips of my hair. My pits are probably gross from that hot airplane. I’m sure I’m smelling intensely dude-like right now, and the last thing he wants is me snugged right next to him.

“You don’t have to sleep there.” Rory fiddles with the strap of his backpack before sliding it off. “That couch would kill your back. No lumbar support. It’s more, uh, logical to share the bed. It’s pretty big, anyway.”

He surveys the room, which isn’t all that interesting, one of those typical hotel rooms of neutral colors—other than the weird pink couch. But there’s a sliding door that leads out to what looks like a private patio, surrounded by palms and more lilies.

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