Chapter 7
VALENTINA
Number one: sleep outside.
It was an easy enough objective to tick off the list. Something to get the ball rolling, start building momentum for the more courageous items like skinny-dipping or breaking a law (I’d decided the speeding did not count).
And now, it came with the added bonus of avoiding Caden.
When I got back to our room—it must’ve been around eleven—he’d been in the shower.
The water was running, steam escaped from below the door of the adjacent bathroom, and my first thought had involved me in there with him.
Which catapulted me toward my decision to sleep outside.
Away from him, and my thoughts, and any more temptations.
I’d changed into my warmest pajamas, grabbed my blanket, wanted to take my bucket list-notebook (that was literally blank, save for the list), then realized I couldn’t carry it all and threw the book back onto my bed.
I’d been standing on the ladder to my bunk, sheets bunched up in my arms, when the bathroom door unlocked.
Damn it, I hadn’t even noticed the water stopped running.
There was a click that made me unwillingly straighten, very—too—aware of myself, and the situation he was about to find me in. Before Caden could even say anything, I warned, Don’t.
I really tried not to look at him, but five seconds and one glance later, I’d failed.
Caden leaned against the dresser by the bathroom door, arms crossed in front of his bare chest, dark blue towel hanging dangerously low on his waist. Failed spectacularly, judging by the way I had to force my gaze off him.
It snapped back to the blanket, which I pressed closer against me, and carefully climbed (alright, ungracefully jumped) off the bed.
My plan was simple: head low, avoid eye contact, and escape this situation without saying another word to him.
Sharing a room with me cannot seriously be this bad, he said, amused.
The corner of his lip tipped up further—and I’d already failed steps one and two of my plan, because I was looking right at him again.
Where are you going to sleep? On the couch?
Above the garage? he guessed. Are you going to squeeze between Annika and Mike tonight?
And step three followed: None of your business.
My tone wasn’t snappy, per-se, but it was… careless, in a way. Maybe because I actually was. Because there was no need to put up an act and convince him of how great Valentina Rhodes was. For the first time, I didn’t have Please, love me written on my forehead and the desperation that came with it.
Caden should’ve taken offense at my tone, the dismissiveness in my voice.
He did not. It’s not, he agreed instead.
Nodding pretend-thoughtfully as he went to grab something out of the drawer.
Underwear, I realized. My gaze darted away from him, back to the blue blanket in my arms. And yet, when your friends find out I made you flee the comforts of your own bed, it’ll be my head on a spike. Not yours.
I snickered. There will be no heads on spikes, I assured. They won’t even know—or care enough. Just Valentina being Valentina, I trailed off, but the look on his face made me do a double take.
Incredulously, he huffed, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but these people would die for you.
The way he said it was very… matter of fact.
Not a single trace of humor in his tone, which was rare.
The sincerity in his gaze made me honest-to-God uncomfortable.
Made me want to run the other way only to get away from it—in the best of cases, before I could read more into it.
I tried my best to laugh it off. Great. Thanks for the pep-talk. Then fled the room.
Unfortunately, PJs on, nothing but a thick blanket in my arms, it took about thirty seconds to decide this had been a terrible idea. I hadn’t even made it outside, and I regretted the entire plan, maybe the entire list, already.
I didn’t have a pillow, I forgot to bring mosquito spray, and—I stopped. In my tracks, at the bottom of the staircase I’d been… swiftly walking down.
Fuck. The notebook.
Resting on top of my mattress, exposed for all the world to see. Which was, primarily, the guy tall enough to easily peek at the top bunk. Something told me Caden was the nosy type.
My cheeks were a blotchy, embarrassing red even before I’d made it back to the room, and that couldn’t have taken longer than fifteen seconds, because I’d sprinted. Back up the stairs, around the corner, toward the first door on the right. I was panting when I basically threw myself against it.
Despite my efforts, I was still too late. I could tell.
By the way he leaned against the ladder of the bed, smile on his lips like he’d known I’d be back, and like he’d been waiting for me, wondering just how long it would take to realize my mistake.
Turned out: one minute. His hands were clasped behind his back, and I could only guess what he held in them.
My mind took stock of every single embarrassing thing I’d put on that list. Skinny dipping. Sex on the beach. If possible, the color in my cheeks got worse.
I kept my mouth shut when I dumped my blanket and closed the door.
And I did not take my eyes off him when I took a single step further into the room.
I hoped it was at least a little intimidating.
I don’t think it was. The smile on his lips grew, like he’d just been let in on a secret.
Then, from behind his back, he held the book out to me.
Forgot something? he asked sweetly, tilting his head.
Inviting me in, to come and get what was rightfully mine.
I wish I could say I didn’t fall for it.
My strides were forceful and long, and it barely took five until I stood right in front of him, once again way too close for comfort; a situation we kept finding ourselves in.
Unfortunately, the second I reached for the notebook, the hand holding it stretched upward, casually keeping it out of reach.
Bastard, I thought. Then realized I could say it, too, and did. Caden only snickered, half-amused, half-surprised. Tell me, Valentina, he drawled, and my stomach dropped. Another rush of heat climbed up my spine when I was sure he was going to bring up item number seven: the sex thing.
But he did not.
I know what moonwalking is. But what the fuck is full moonwalking? He pulled a face. Is it like an extra step only real Michael Jackson fans know? Which would lead to my next question: are you a real Michael Jackson fan? Are you trying to become one? Why?
I blinked at him. Why on earth was he talking about Michael Jackson? What?
It says right here, he explained. Above his head, he opened the notebook onto the first page (in hindsight I should’ve put the list somewhere in the middle of it), and tapped on item number three.
I wondered if he might’ve been so baffled by what he’d interpreted as a dance move on my list, that he didn’t even read the points below it.
It was some glimmer of hope I held onto as he continued. Full. Moon. Walk, he read, slowly.
Despite the precarious situation I’d found myself in (being this close to him again, detecting the fresh scent of his body wash, noticing the single drop of water running down his chest, which was still bare), I laughed. Or, well, snorted loudly in amusement—which was almost the same thing.
He seemed offended. What?!
It’s not— I shook my head with another laugh. A walk. During a full moon, I explained. His confusion was kind of… endearing, I guess? At least it was something other than that mask of confidence he wore. What about that list made you think my priority this summer would be learning how to moonwalk?
Literally nothing. Caden’s blue eyes narrowed before something in his expression lightened, and I was back on high alert. It did seem weird. Imitating Michael Jackson on the same list as sex on the beach.
So he had read the whole list—great. Whatever trace of amusement in my features was gone. I liked that you specified, by the way. In case you forget you didn’t mean ordering a cocktail.
Which was exactly when I gave up. The tension in my body dissipated, and I deflated like an old balloon. Alright, fun’s over, I deadpanned. You can give it back now. My eyes flicked from his face to the notebook high up in the air above us. Wasn’t his arm starting to hurt?
Aw, he cooed. Already? He did not lower the book, and I didn’t feel like humiliating myself further by trying to reach it. I wasn’t necessarily short, but he was tall.
I sighed, and a note of warning lingered in my voice when I said, Caden.
His smile deepened. Valentina, he sing-songed.
My groan was loud and unapologetic—and made him smile even wider.
I could abandon the notebook, if I had to. Copy the list to my phone and never again think of the fact that Caden had the original. But abandoning the first thing I’d done for myself felt objectively wrong, so I heard myself ask, What do you want?
For this? he waved the book around, and the sound of his playful hum filled the room.
It seemed awfully clear he’d had something in mind way before I’d actually asked, so I didn’t know why he bothered pretending to think about it.
How about, he finally said. You tell me what your problem is? What did I do to make you hate me?
What I really hated was how sincere he sounded. Like he’d been dying to ask, and dying to know.
I considered Caden in the low light of the room. His pink lips, dark eyebrows drawn together just slightly. Those blue eyes resting patiently on me, blinking slowly as he waited for an answer I knew wouldn’t come.
If I confessed that all that was keeping me away from him was a flimsy pact made years ago, I doubted he’d hold back his advances as much as he had been. I doubted he’d understand that it wasn’t just a stupid rule, and that for Iris, there was trauma and feelings attached to the entire ordeal.
Then, if he wasn’t holding back, I’d give myself a week before I couldn’t hold back anymore, either. It was already hard enough now.
When he was standing as close as this. Arm stretched upward, defined muscles strained. His bare chest almost touching mine. It was probably delusion, but I felt the air radiating off him. The smell of his shampoo lingered between us, and almost made me want to throw the NFR to hell.
And the way he was still patiently looking at me gave me the rest, I think.
I abandoned the notebook. I left Caden standing there, arm in the air, and turned on my heels. Gathered my blanket into my arms again, held it tightly against my chest, and made a run for it. Or tried to, at least.
What makes you think I’m going to let you sleep outside by yourself?
I guess, after reading the list, he interpreted my exit correctly.
My brows furrowed. At the playful tone that contrasted the genuine concern in his words. What makes you think I need your permission to do anything?
Caden huffed. You don’t, he agreed. But may I remind you about my head on a spike? Something happens to you, I find myself in the same scenario.
I rolled my eyes as I fled toward the door. Just before closing it behind me, I poked my head into the room again and pinned him with a look. Do not follow me.