Luke says as we climb the ladder.
I don’t say anything, but he must misinterpret my silence because a second later he says, “Don’t worry. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
I hadn’t been thinking about that at all. “Actually,” I say, “do you think they’re filming inside the rooms?”
“Nah. It’s against the contract. But the rooms are probably bugged for sound.”
“Oh. The bed is bigger than at the other place. It wouldn’t be terrible if you slept on the bed with me. If you stay on top of the sheets. Right?”
He gives me a raised eyebrow. “You’re the boss.”
“Oh. And you have to wear clothes.”
“If you say so.”
We go inside, and I take my pajamas out of my bag. He pulls off his shirt. I motion for him to turn around, and I pull on my tank and boxers. “I’m done,” I say, slipping under the covers.
He sits down and pulls off his cargo pants, then lies beside me in his boxer briefs.
After the kiss, it feels strangely intimate. Everything he does now feels intimate. Like we should be doing more.
I reach over and turn out the light. The second the light is out, I know I’m going to have trouble sleeping. It has everything to do with his naked body, inches from mine. “Do you want to . . . practice? For the Marriage Test, I mean?”
His laugh is low. “Didn’t think you’d want to practice anything else, sweetheart.”
I’m glad it’s dark so he can’t see the way I blush. I try to think of some of the questions they asked on the test. “What’s my favorite food?”
He rolls over onto his elbow, staring at me in the firelight. “Let me guess. Slim Jims.”
“No. Beef Wellington. I also like brussels sprouts.”
“You’re just fucking with me, right?”
I ignore the question. “Yours is . . . Slim Jims?”
“Bingo.”
I smile. “Um . . . who inspires you?”
“Easy one. My grandfather. You?”
I shake my head, and now I’m really blushing. “I don’t . . . really have anyone. I left that question blank.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I don’t need anyone to inspire me. I rely on myself.”
He nods like he understands, then says, “Huh.”
I look over at him. “Huh, what?”
“Nothing. Just . . . sounds kind of lonely.”
“Says the man who doesn’t want to get married.”
“I don’t. But I love surrounding myself with others. The more, the better. What can I say? I like people. Most of them.”
I cringe. “I guess I . . . don’t. I mean, I might. I’d rather just surround myself with a few close people who I know have my back. And one of them will be my husband. Maybe he’ll inspire me.”
“Shit, girl. You’re going about it the wrong way. You won’t meet him if you hide away from everyone and don’t give ’em a chance. You know?”
He’s probably right. But that’s . . . terrifying. “I just don’t think those people like me all that much. I’m too different from them.”
“No, you ain’t. They would like you. You just don’t give them a chance.”
I guess that’s true.
A moment later, he says, “Penny?”
“Nell.”
“Right, whatever. Say something in French to me.”
I laugh. “What? Why?”
“Because I don’t sleep so good. And maybe it’ll keep my mind off the game so I can.”
“Okay.” I think for a little while before saying:
Comme deux anges que torture
Une implacable calenture
Dans le bleu cristal du matin
Suivons le mirage lointain
I open my eyes. In the firelight, he’s rolled over onto one elbow, looking at me. The shadows of the flames dance across his tattooed skin, a pleasant blur with my poor eyesight. “Fuck. What did you just say?”
“It’s Baudelaire. Basically that we should go to sleep.”
“Hell. Is that all? Everything in French sounds so hot. I could’ve sworn you wanted me to climb under the covers with you.”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “No more French.”
He falls onto his back and puts his arm over his eyes. “Damn.”
“Um. Why would you want to?”
He pulls his hand off his head. “Why? You’re shitting me, right?”
“Well. I’m not exactly your type, am I?” I say lightly, pulling the covers up to my chin. “I mean, boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses, right? And the women on the other teams seem like—”
“You felt my cock. You don’t think you got all the right equipment to turn a guy on?”
“I don’t . . .”
“I happen to find those Coke bottles you hide your face with sexy as fuck,” he says. “And I sure ain’t the only one.