Page 45 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show
“S-sorry.” I turn around hastily, whipping into the chest of drawers.
“Hey.” His voice is calm and steady and soft. “You’re fine. Everything is good.”
He murmurs to me like I’m a stray cat he’s coaxing from underneath a porch, but relaxing isn’t something I can do. Because once that cat comes out, the victory whoops will make it tremble, blinking into the bright light, not able to return to its favorite spot.
“I’m going to change.” I head for the bathroom, then remember I don’t have my pajamas. I turn around. “I need my things.”
He steps to the side, his gaze more concerned than I would like, and I fumble with my suitcase, my hands doing that trembling thing I hate.
Luke finds the folding luggage stand and sets it up by the wall. He then carries my suitcase and places it on it. Finally, he unzips my suitcase, pushes up the lid...
Too late it occurs to me it’s a terrible idea.
Because I know what’s at the top of the suitcase. What I threw in last minute before I left for here, because I don’t have a lot of privacy in Boston and thought this was something I could enjoy.
Maybe he won’t notice it.
I hope my things have shifted, but it’s a suitcase, not a washing machine, and I see the moment Luke notices it. His shoulders stop their graceful movement.
His eyes bulge. His jaw drops.
Yep, he totally noticed my dildo.
“You weren’t supposed to...”
“I-I know.”
He still stands in front of my suitcase. My dildo, veiny and flesh-colored, sits on top of my clothes in its clear plastic bag.
“You put that in...” he gestures in my general direction, then drops his hand.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I hurry over to him and close the lid of the suitcase. “That’s personal.”
“But it fits?” His forehead is drawn together and sweat beads over his forehead where there was none before. He glimmers, like a Cullen brother.
“Um...”
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. Obviously.” This time he’s apologizing to me, and red sweeps over his cheeks. He’s probably never seen something like that before.
My heart skitters, my nerves jumble.
But it’s fine. He knows I’m gay.
But knowing someone is gay and seeing a dildo is perhaps different.
My clothes are still in my suitcase, and I still need them. I approach him. “Sorry. My clothes—”
He jerks his head toward me, his eyes wide. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”
He steps out of the way. I hastily grab my pajamas and tuck the dildo way into the bottom of the suitcase as if it might suddenly show up and make things embarrassing again.
I rush into the bathroom and perform my nighttime ablutions, then I head into the bedroom. Luke looks rather more undressed than he did to begin with. My gaze falls to his now naked torso, to his abs, all eight of them, and his long pajama pants.
He pulls a sweatshirt over himself, and I hope it’s not because I was staring.
The lights turn off suddenly. He’s disappeared, like he’s been part of my imagination all along.
