Page 20 of Lost in You (Flirting with Forever 1)

I revel in the feel of his arms around me and the gentle caress of his hands as they move over my back in an effort to comfort me.

With a shake of my head, I mumble against his chest without daring to look up into his eyes. “I don’t know. I was so nervous about what they were going to say. I didn’t tell anyone you were coming with me, except, of course, my cousin because he needed to know, but oh my God, I think I just surprised the hell out of them, and I don’t know what exactly they thought of it, and holy shit, I’m a rambling mess. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. And here you were, so nice to me, and so good with my family, and I’m just one huge disaster.” My chest heaves, and I wrench out of his arms, putting a hand over my mouth, horrified at everything that’s spilled out of it. “I’m sorry.”

“Madison,” Shawn growls, “would you please stop apologizing? It’s okay if you are nervous. It’s not like we thought this would be a walk in the park. I figured it would get a little interesting.”

“I-I don’t know. I think maybe this weekend I’ve helped myself to a huge serving of weddings make me crazy, with a steaming side of family obligations are the worst?” I try to smile, posing that last bit as a question, but my lips wobble and my face falls. And I can’t even tell him that the other part of it is him and the way he’d just swooped in and taken care of things when I couldn’t handle it.

He works his jaw back and forth. “Okay.” He eyes me carefully. “So, why don’t we do exactly what we told them we were going to do?”

My mind goes blank. “What was that again?” My eyes shoot straight to the bed.

He takes my upper arms in his hands again, ducking his head down to my level. “Friends. We’ll watch some good old Ross and Rachel. My favorite episode is the one where they get married in Vegas.”

A sharp, watery laugh bubbles out of me. “That was a good one. They were so drunk they did some super dumb stuff.”

He nods. “Right. So, you go get ready for bed, and I’ll find reruns. Or I’ll pull up episodes on my phone to stream. Something. I’ll figure it out.” He leans in, brushing my cheek with his lips and, little does he know, sends a smooth river of want flowing right through me.

Crap. In and out. In and out. Deep breaths. He can’t realize what he’s doing to me. I back away from him and turn to the dresser, grabbing my sleep shorts and an old T-shirt before I scurry into the bathroom and away from his prying eyes.

I take several minutes to myself, washing the makeup from my face, brushing my teeth, and changing into my pajamas. I hadn’t really thought about this part—the hours we’d spend in the same room sleeping. This won’t be awkward at all.

Does he snore? I cringe.

Oh my God, do I? I cringe harder.

Does he like to sleep in a warm room or a cooler one?

Blankets on or off?

One pillow or two?

My eyes bug out. What does he sleep in?

I flap my hand in front of my face in an effort to cool myself down. Okay, going through everything like this in my head is not helping, especially not the part about what he’ll wear to sleep in. And the unknown of this whole situation is just scary because of that—it’s unknown. So. Good pep talk, Madison. You’ve just freaked yourself out even more.

I open the door to the bathroom, expecting to find Shawn still in his jeans and shirt from earlier, but he’s not. Oh no, he’s not. While I was otherwise occupied, he’d gone ahead and changed, too—into a pair of pajama bottoms and … that’s it. Just pajama bottoms. He’s lying back on the pillows on the bed, all kinds of smooth skin and muscular torso greeting my eyes, his bare feet are crossed at the ankle as he watches the TV. The episode has him so engrossed he doesn’t even glance my way, so I take a few seconds to study him further.

He chuckles at something onscreen and that simple act has my eyes glued to his abs where his muscles move with his laughter, taunting me as they flex and ripple. Oh, how I want to walk over there and just run my fingers over all the ridges of his washboard stomach. It’s so incredibly unfair that he looks this good.

A quick glance at what he’s focused on tells me that he did, indeed, find Friends for me. At least I’ll have some sort of a distraction from his ridiculously perfect torso.

With a big gulp of air, I step out of the bathroom, and his head swivels toward me. His mouth parts, and he scrambles to sit up. “Sorry. I just—well, there’s really nowhere to sit in here.”

“Stay. We’re just watching TV, right? That’s what you said. There’s room.” No problem. We’ll just sit on that teeny, tiny, little bed together. I walk over to the small closet in the corner and find a couple of extra pillows. I try to focus on what I’m doing as I approach the bed—not his hard pecs or strong shoulders or bulging arms—and arrange the extra pillows on the side that’s free.

I use the term “side” loosely. I don’t think this bed is more than five feet across—somewhere between what a twin and a double should be—and Shawn takes up almost two-thirds of it. I see why, though. The bed frame is obviously an antique and not sized like modern furniture. It’s gorg

eous but man, what a surprise to unsuspecting travelers. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why I was put in this room in the first place. They thought I’d be coming alone until the very last minute.

Solo.

Party of one.

Lonely girl.

Well, I guess I showed them, but now the laugh is on me. While I fluff the pillows, Shawn rises from the bed and crosses to the bathroom. When the door shuts behind him, my whole being sags down onto the mattress. Holy. Crap. Again—what have I gotten myself into? All of a sudden, this feels like a very adult slumber party, and I’m not so sure I can handle it.

As soon as I grab my phone, which I haven’t checked all afternoon, I see a group text that was started a few hours ago. When I open it, I’m greeted with the many antics of my girlfriends.

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