Page 56 of Best In Class
I lift one eyebrow at Dom. He shrugs, giving me a ‘what do you wanna do’look.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Mrs. Vann checks us in and tells us that we’re welcome to come to the parlor and get a drink.
“A lot of our guests like to sit on the porch. The swing is very popular.” She gives both of us a knowing look.
I grab the room keys and give her a tight smile.
The WaltonRomanceRoom isaggressivelySouthernandgirlie.
A wrought-iron king-size bed sits by a window. The wallpaper is floral, but charmingly faded, as if it has been loved into submission. The quilts are white, fluffy, and dare you to wrinkle them.
Everything smells faintly of lavender and old money—like someone’s Southern grandmother decided luxury and hospitality should always go hand in hand.
A clawfoot tub glimmers in the attached bathroom like it’s ready for a slow-burn historical romance. His and her robes are hanging temptingly on ornate hangers next to it.
Christ on a fucking crutch!
I drop my backpack on the antique chair by the writing table. I kick off my boots with a sigh.
Dom leans against the door, watching me with that too-familiar look. “The room suits you.”
“Bite me.” I lay down, my legs hanging off the bed.
I’m tired. Bone-deep. But I’m also aware that we’re going to sleep together—and not in the metaphorical, euphemistic way.
Just sleep.
Right?
The thought is exciting. Intimate. Dangerous.
I can’t possibly ask him to sleep on the couch—first, because it’s tiny and second, because it’s ridiculous. We’re ex-lovers and friends. We grew up together. Sharing a bed should be no problem.
Would you sleep in the same bed with a colleague?
Yes.
Male colleague?
I turn off my conscience; she’s just being a bitch.
I’m trying to protect you, moron.
“Want to go to Mrs. Vann’s parlor and get a drink?” Dom asks.
I take a deep breath and sit up. “That’s not a bad idea.” I look around our space. “It’s not like we have much to unpack.”
Mrs. Vann told us that the bathroom is fully stocked with all the essentials: spare toothbrushes, a wooden-handled hairbrush, and toiletries.
Dom laughs. “Well, I have my gym bag in the trunk.”
“Lucky you.”
“You can borrow my T-shirt to sleep in.” His eyes heat up.
I know mine do as well.
