Page 51 of The Bodyguard Proposal

Mine, too. For other reasons.

Huan takes a swig of water, clearly finding our conversation unworthy of input. "About that room," he asks Floyd.

“Impossible to get another. It’s a bank holiday this weekend.”

“Which means?—”

“You’re shit out of luck,” Floyd finishes. “And there’s that big football match going on. This place is booked tonight.”

I frown. “Not ideal, but fine. I’ll book another hostel or hotel.”

“There’s likely nothing left in the city. Even the places overrun with bedbugs are taken.”

“Surely, there must besomething.”

“You’ll take my room,” says Huan, returning to his sandwich.

Floyd doesn’t look impressed. “And where will you stay? I’d rather not watch you lift weights all night again. There’s only so much inadequacy a man can suffer at three in the morning when sweeping the floor for beer cans and condom wrappers.”

“Wait. When—lifting weights?” I’m confused.

Floyd rambles a date.

It’s the same night I spent in his room. The night he carried me on the street. When we pretended to be together to hide from Rachel. When the thick ridge of his—youknow—made an appearance.

Huan didn't have anywhere else to go, so he stayed overnight at the gym. He didn't have to do that. I don't want him to do that. Our eyes meet and our pupils bore into each other. I'm trying hard to radiate both censure at his unnecessary sacrifice and regret at not pushing harder to see where he would go that night.

There's also this other Thing. It stretches between us, tugging on a spot somewhere in my chest. I want to dig into his expression and see if there is anything under that calm mask of his to indicate he's got the same issue troubling him.

Alas, my bodyguard looks away.

Floyd steals more of my chips. “I feel like I’ve snuck into a periodical where the glimpse of an ankle sets the hero into the throes of wanton lust. Except in this situation, both of you give me that weird energy.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Huan says, ignoring the observation completely. “You don’t have to worry. She’ll have a place to sleep.”

Floyd gets up. “Not worried. We just met each other and frankly, I’m not that invested in your solutions. All I want to say is you better grab your stuff and move it. And—” he takes a notepad out of his back pocket—“the hostel is hosting a Camden pub crawl this evening. Can I put you two down? Not that I’ve got a quota to fill, but I’ve got a quota to fill.”

“Camden?” I parrot.

“Five pubs and free shots. You haven’t properly done London until you’ve partied until dawn with this route. Once in a lifetime experience. Everyone goes.”

Huan groans. “Yeah, you just said the magic words.”

“Is that why she’s smiling like that? It’s making me very uncomfortable."

“Put us down for two. And about an extra room, if there’s anything you can?—”

“Fine, Mom-ager. I’ll keep you on top of my list in case anyone cancels, which someone actually might. But keep all your stuff together in the private room for now.”

Together. Private room.

My mouth dries. Cool, cool.

That's just the back-up plan that will never be used. Of course, I won’t kick Huan out of his bed to wander the halls—or worse—exercise in the gym. But there’s no way we can share a private room together.

I reach for Floyd. “We believe in you. Please make it happen.”

Floyd bats my preemptive gratitude away like it’s a handkerchief full of dysentery.

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