Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ALEX AND I TRUDGE ACROSS the street to the Oak Creek Lodge. As we near the entrance, we step around piles of dirt, wheelbarrows, and orange road cones. My foot skids on some loose gravel, and Alex steadies me with a firm hand on my elbow.
“Thanks.” It’s the first word either of us has spoken in twenty minutes. Ever since the pickle waitress informed us that we’d be staying overnight.
Alex nods, pulling the wooden door open and gesturing for me to enter first.
Millie would die if she knew we were checking into this lodge. She’d be screaming about signs from the universe and fate. Actually, I wouldn’t put it past her to sabotage Alex’s car so we’d have to spend the night. No, she wouldn’t possibly do that … would she?
As we step up to the counter, we happen upon an older man with wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose.
He closes his book with a thunk and removes his specs. “You two looking for a room?”
“Two rooms,” Alex says as he pulls out his wallet.
It didn’t even occur to me to get separate rooms. That’s one way to put an end to this awkwardness. And tension, for that matter. I can still feel the warmth on my back from Alex’s hand when I jumped into his lap.
God, why am I such a mess?
Because you’re misreading everything again, dumbass.
Alex slides his credit card across the counter, but I still his hand with mine. “I’ve got it. It’s the least I can do.” Little sparks sizzle under my palm. I wonder if he feels them, too.
“Not necessary, February,” he says curtly. He doesn’t even look at me.
I swallow down my embarrassment and lift my hand, offering the clerk my own card.
The man looks between us. “Only got one room. You want to split the charge?”
Seriously? Did Millie get to him, too?
“How do you only have one room?” Alex asks incredulously. “This place is huge.”
The clerk tilts his head. “Only got one room available. Lodge is under renovations.” He taps a sign on the counter that says, Pardon Our Dust.
“Okay,” Alex says, “please tell me it’s a double queen.” He sounds desperate. Like sharing a bed with me would be the worst punishment in the world. He rests his elbows on the counter, his upper arms covered in goosebumps. Also my fault. I stole his sweater, and now he’s freezing.
Crushing it, June. In every possible way.
“Double queen.” The man nods.
Alex blows out a relieved breath, then glances at me. “That okay with you?”
“Mm-hmm.” I force a smile. What the hell else are we going to do? Sleep in the car? “Just charge my card,” I say, “I’ve got it.”
Alex’s jaw ticks. I can tell he’s about to wave me off again, but when I remind him that he’s going to have a hefty bill at the repair shop tomorrow, he doesn’t argue.
We circle back to the car so Alex can get his laptop bag, and after a bit of prodding, he agrees to bring the dress up to the room. I can’t fathom the thought of something happening to it, or worse, having to tell Evelyn I failed her.
Alex and I climb the steps to the second story, and the old-fashioned key jingles against the plastic fob as I plunge it into the lock.
But when I swing the door open, my stomach freefalls straight to my feet. It’s not a double queen.
There’s only one bed.
“What the fuck?” Alex says, stepping around me and into the room. “He said it was a double queen.”
I survey the space—there’s a small, round table and two chairs by the window, a modest TV, and the bathroom. There’s not even a couch to sleep on.
I can feel Millie leaning over my shoulder, shouting with glee, “This is divine intervention! Both of you, take off your pants! Right now! The universe insists!”
I shoo her out of my mind.
“We’re both adults,” I offer, trying to sound casual while my heart beats like a drum.
So what if we’re sharing a bed? It doesn’t mean we’re going to have sex.
We can lie next to each other completely platonically.
I’m sure I won’t feel drawn to him at all.
Not his long, lean body. Or his smooth, hot skin.
His irresistible, pouty lips. I bite mine, wondering if he’s having any of the same thoughts about me.
“It’s fine, I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says without even glancing in my direction.
Guess not.
I’ve done it again. I’ve misread everything. Every smile, every laugh, every lingering glance. I built it all up in my own head. Again.
Just friends.
No wonder he was so adamant about the double beds.
Alex lays the garment bag on the stark white duvet, then rubs his hands over his chilled arms. “I’m going to take a hot shower.”
Guilt gnaws at me again. I peel off his sweater, handing it back to him. “Sorry. Thank you for letting me wear it.”
He smiles and heads to the bathroom. As soon as the water turns on, my mind is flooded with images of steam and suds caressing every toned inch of Alex’s naked body. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think about anything else.
It doesn’t do a damn thing.
I need to call Millie. She’ll know what to do. I roll my eyes—no she won’t. She’ll tell me not to squander my chance. But then I’ll get to tell her that Alex would rather sleep on the floor and wreck his back than share a comfy bed with me.
I pull out my phone and swipe the screen, but nothing happens. It’s completely dead. A low growl leaves my throat. I didn’t think to bring a charger. I fall back against the bed with a frustrated ugh.
But then my gaze locks on the gray garment bag.
Despite misreading things with Alex, I had a kick-ass day.
I not only met Evelyn Davera—sexual health icon and my personal idol—she let us borrow this unbelievable condom dress.
And not just as a display—she told me to wear it.
Might as well see if it fits. And since Alex is occupied, he’ll never know. I just have to be quick.
Carefully, I tug the zipper all the way down.
The rubbery scent of latex fills the room as I slide the bag off the top of the hanger.
I still can’t believe how intricate the details are.
This must have taken months to craft. I lift the skirt, trying to figure out how the hell to get it on.
If I try to slide it over my head, the weight will knock me off balance.
And it’s so heavy, I might just get pinned underneath. Gah. How embarrassing would that be?
Nope. Not happening. I’m going to step into it.
Problem solved.
I remove the hanger, then as gently as possible, guide the dress to the floor and spread the skirt out in a large circle, careful not to tear any of the condoms. I kick off my tennis shoes, then gradually step inside.
Even attempting to pull the straps up proves difficult.
And it’s no wonder—between the layers of scalloped condoms and the miles of thread holding it together, I think metal armor might be more flexible.
I squat down, getting low enough to slide my arms through the stiff straps. Except I’m not quite able to get them up to my shoulders in this crouched position. They’re digging into my upper arms, cutting into my biceps. I attempt to stand up, but the dress is so heavy I can’t get out of the squat.
Shit. This isn’t going to work after all. I’ll practice when I’m back home and have Millie help me.
I try to shrug out of the straps, but my upper arms are completely pinned at my sides. Panic grates at me as I shimmy, trying to use gravity to my advantage, but the straps won’t give at all. They’re stretched to capacity.
Oh, god. I’m stuck inside the dress like it’s leather bondage.
I twist and jerk, and with every movement, unraveled condoms from the skirt pelt me in the face. Smack, smack, smack. Like someone is flicking me with a rubber glove.
No matter how much I try to contort my body, I can’t break free. Or stand up. The more I struggle, the tighter the bodice constricts. It’s cutting off my circulation like a Victorian corset.
A series of squeaks carries from the bathroom as the water turns off.
Oh, god. No. He couldn’t have possibly showered that fast.
Behind me, his footsteps grow louder as he gets closer to the bathroom door. Closer.
My heart pounds, thundering in my ears. He can’t see me like this. Not like this.
The doorknob rattles. And then the hinges creak.
Fuck me.
“Forgot my—” Alex’s voice dies as he no doubt sweeps his gaze over the ridiculous predicament I’ve gotten myself into. Though I’m unable to see him, I hear the subtle yet unmistakable sound of fits of laughter being suppressed.
I can’t blame him. What a sight this must be: me, completely stuck. In a condom dress. In a hotel room. In the middle of bumfuck nowhere.
All the times I pictured being alone with Alex, and this is how it works out. Thank you, Universe. Remind me to buy you a fruit basket.
His stifled laughter breaks out in a wheeze.
That’s right. Get it all out.
He inhales sharply, then blows out a short breath. His footsteps approach until he squats down in front of me. He’s barely able to school his features as he says, “Need some help?”
Bite me. It’s on the tip of my tongue. But before I can say it, he slides his nimble fingers under the left strap, giving me just enough leeway to wriggle out.
“Oh, no.” He stops me, sliding the strap up higher.
“What?” I blink in disbelief.
His fingers skim my other arm as he hauls the strap up. “I mean, you got this far.”
“Oh, no, we don’t—”
“Oh, yes, we absolutely do.” After both straps are secured on my shoulders, he grasps my hands, pulling me to my feet.
As I wobble, the bulky dress sways, threatening to send me sailing backward.
He steadies me quickly, securing his arm around my waist in a protective hold.
Reflexively, my hands fall to his chest. It’s so unbelievably solid. His heart thumps wildly under my palms.
“You good?” he rasps, his face mere inches from mine.
I manage a microscopic nod. And that’s all it takes for him to release his grip on me. I can still feel the imprint of his hand on the small of my back. Even through the thick layers of latex.
He steps back and his eyes soften. “Wow,” he breathes as his gaze rakes over me.