Page 18 of What are the Chances

“Why do you always have to be such an asshat?” The tops of her ears flame beneath her chestnut braided hair.

“Asshat?”

Shoving the blanket aside, she climbs out from under the sheets and spins around, firmly planting her hands on her hips.

“Yes, I called you an asshat. It’s an American term.”

“I’m fully aware it’s an American term,” I say, laughing under my breath.

Charlotte bends down to pick up the pillow she smacked across my face mere seconds ago. I bite the inside of my cheek, watching the fabric of her shorts ride up the top half of her thighs. I stare at her longer than deemed appropriate, and the longer I stare, the more I question whether she wore her outfit on purpose, just to mess with me. She could have easily worn a long t-shirt and the black leggings she wore on the flight. Instead, she’s standing in front of me, in the sexiest pair of shorts and tank top I’ve ever seen.

With her eyebrows furrowed, she throws the pillow at me again, this time, hitting across my arm. She stares at my bare chest momentarily, her throat dipping as she swallows before stomping across the two feet of free space in the room. Finding a pile of pillows in the corner of the room, she lifts the pile in her arms and carries them over to the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Climbing under the sheets once more, she begins shoving the pillows up against my body, creating a wall.

“I’m making a wall. I don’t want you touching me while we sleep.” She doesn’t move her focus away from the pillows, ensuring each one is strategically placed between our bodies.

“You’re being ridiculous.” I roll my eyes and lie back down, making myself comfortable, feeling the wall of pillows make its way down my body.

When Charlotte’s finished, she remains sitting up, seemingly satisfied with the wall she’s purposely made to divide us. I ignore the pain growing in my chest at her need to make it a point not to touch me—even if it isn’t intentional.

“Was there really no other place for us to sleep?” she asks, still sitting up, staring me down. “Couldn’t one of us have slept in the other room? Isn’t there only one couple staying here?”

“No,” I sigh. Turning on my back, I look at the ceiling, raking my fingers through my hair. “Sam didn’t mention he’d booked two couples instead of one. One couple is staying in my parents’ room, the other in Sam’s and my old room. Like I said, I couldn’t sleep on the couch because we need to stay out of their way when they’re here. Do you know how awkward it would be when one of them wakes up and finds me laying out on the couch?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Charlotte looks down at her lap, her breasts pressed together as her arms rest against her body.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Finally lying down, she mimics me, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. My view of her is partially obscured, but I can see the side of her face. I silently thank her for not placing a pillow between our heads. The side of her gorgeous face is illuminated by the glowing moon still peeking through the window. I turn my head and close my eyes, hoping I can fall asleep and shut off all thoughts of Charlotte, but I fail when I hear her small voice fill the room.

“Mason?”

“Yeah?” I clear my throat, keeping my eyes closed.

“Thank you for paying Bern for my beer.”

Opening my eyes, I keep them trained on the ceiling and don’t say a word.

“And for giving him more than I owed,” she adds.

“You’re welcome.”

***

When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I think about is how warm my back feels. It’s strange and takes a moment for me to remember why.

Miraculously, all the pillows Charlotte had laid against my body last night have stayed upright except for the one by my feet. Groaning, I turn and stretch my arms out, allowing the pillows to fall to the side. My hands hit the metal bedframe and I look up, cracking my eyes open to see the morning sun peeking through the open window. Charlotte must have cracked it open to allow the fresh air to pour in.

I smile, feeling completely rested. I’m not sure if it’s because I hadn’t had much rest since the thirteen hours it took to fly here or if it was the fact, for once, I wasn’t sleeping alone. Last night was one of the best sleeps I’ve had in a long time. A tiny fragment of common sense tells me it was because I was sleeping next to Charlotte. Although I hate to admit it, her pillow wall had proven effective, preventing me from having any physical contact with her.

When I sit up, I realize I’m alone in the bedroom, and Charlotte isn’t in the bathroom either. The bathroom door is halfway open, her open suitcase still sitting on top of the wicker hamper on the far side of the wall.

Climbing out of the bed, I find my discarded shirt from the night before on the floor and quickly throw it on, anxious to find Charlotte. As I make my way through the hallway and down the stairs, I wonder how she’s feeling. I’m all too familiar with the feeling of being in a strange new country, and on top of that, I can’t imagine how it feels to have your wallet stolen within the first twenty-four hours.

I wanted to press her for more details. I wanted her to tell me how in the hell she managed to allow herself to become so vulnerable, but I couldn’t. After she threw the pillow against my face, before she built a physical barrier between us, I knew she needed space. But now, as I make my way downstairs and into my parents’ kitchen, my questions about how last night came to be gnaw at my brain.

---