be so awful, right?” He raises his eyebrows.
“What?”
“If someone assumed we were dating. Glad you set the record straight.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wanted me to lie to random rom-com fans!”
“You didn’t have to lie,” Nick says, shaking his head. “But you didn’t have to act like it’s such an unthinkable prospect.”
“I didn’t—”
He mutters, “This is like the article.”
I stiffen. “What article?”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, are you not familiar? The one where you told a reporter we would never, ever be in a relationship? The one where you essentially told the entire world you couldn’t even fathom it?”
“That is not what I said, and I thought you only used the Internet to listen to playlists on music blogs for old men.”
“I have a Google Alert,” Nick mumbles. “On our names.”
“Uh, okay.” I throw my hands up in the air. “It’s not my fault you’re a fame-hungry monster. I don’t have a Google Alert for us. Who are you, Kim Kardashian?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Well, maybe you should get a Google Alert for her!” I almost shout.
We glare at each other. The crowd at the convention center has thinned out since it’s the end of the day, but the people disassembling their vegan muffin booth stare at us.
I break first. “Listen, we’re both tired and we’ve only had sugar and massive amounts of caffeine all day. Let’s go to the networking event and eat all the appetizers.”
“I am not networking,” Nick says, sounding so irritable that I drop the subject.
“Whatever. You’re being a cranky baby. Let’s go back to our rooms.”
“I’m not a baby,” Nick mutters, but he follows me anyway.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time we get to the check-in desk, after retrieving our bags from the truck in the parking garage, I’m fuming. And tired. And hungry. And ready for a hot bath and a fluffy bed and one of the five book options I brought.
I don’t feel the need to accompany Nick to the desk, so I sit down in a faux-leather chair in the lobby and check my phone. It’s a text from Annie, and I brace myself for a barrage of questions about my time with Nick.
Hey, how are things going with your dad? Is there anything I can do to help? Remember that we can always jettison the pom wall if you don’t have time!!!
I sigh and shove my phone back in my purse. I know Annie’s concerned about me, but she has enough to deal with right now, what with planning a wedding to a celebrity and growing said celebrity’s spawn in her womb. I’m not going to make her handle my problems, too.
I close my eyes and although the chair isn’t exactly comfortable, I’m tired enough that I almost fall asleep to the ambient noise of the hotel lobby. Nick’s voice jolts me into consciousness, interrupting my daydreams about pizza slices and burgers and hot, salty French fries.
“So, uh . . . there’s a problem.”
I sit up from my slumped position and study his face. His eyebrows are knitted together in concern, not furrowed in anger like they were on the convention floor. I stand up and we’re face-to-face. “What is it?”
He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes. “I guess the room I thought I reserved yesterday didn’t go through and now . . . we don’t have two rooms.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to continue.
“We have one room.” He sounds out the words slowly, like it’s my fault for not understanding this preposterous and unbelievable situation. “And all the other ones are occupied.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. It’s whatever. Two beds, right?”
Nick’s lips are pressed together in a straight line. “One bed.”
I begin shifting away from anger and into crisis management mode. “Okay, have them send up a cot and—”
“They’re out,” Nick says slowly, “of cots.”
“Wait,” I say. “This sort of thing happens in real life?”
This is one of Annie’s absolute favorite romantic comedy tropes: when two people are forced to share the same bed (or sleeping bag, or whatever). Usually it’s people who hate each other but have sexual tension simmering beneath the surface of their anger. Like in Leap Year, when Amy Adams is stomping around Ireland and Matthew Goode is always angry at her but, of course, they end up at a B&B where they have to pretend to be married and share a bed. Or in What If, when Zoe Kazan’s and Daniel Radcliffe’s friends leave them stranded