Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
bennett
Bennett woke up once in the night to the sound of the wind pressing against the window. For a disoriented second, he forgot where he was.
Then he remembered.
One bed. One room. Jasper Quinn was asleep a careful distance away, as if he had decided restraint was its own kind of politeness.
Bennett stared at the ceiling. His mind catalogued details it had no business noticing. The steady rhythm of Jasper’s breathing. The warmth through the mattress. The quiet ease of a man who could sleep anywhere.
Eventually, Bennett fell back under.
Morning arrived, bright and white. The snow outside reflected light into the room as if the world were trying to be cheerful about this situation.
Bennett sat up slowly. Jasper was already awake, propped against the headboard, infuriatingly relaxed for someone who had shared a hotel bed with a rival.
“You snore.”
“I do not.”
Jasper held up his phone, as if he had evidence. “Softly. Like a disappointed cat.”
Bennett rubbed his face. “If you recorded me, I will sue you.”
“I would never,” Jasper said, then smiled. “Not without monetizing it.”
Bennett swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He kept his focus on the floor, on the tight loop of his own routine: Stand. Stretch. Breathe. Anything that did not involve acknowledging how close Jasper was.
“How bad is it?” Bennett asked.
Jasper glanced out the window. “Snowed in. Roads look terrible. Flights are still grounded.”
Bennett’s stomach sank, despite expecting it. “How long?”
Jasper’s tone softened a fraction. “They are saying another day at least.”
Bennett exhaled. One day turned into two too easily. He pictured the client conference continuing without them, the pitch team scrambling, the optics of two senior leads missing key meetings.
He reached for his phone and immediately found no signal strong enough to be useful.
“Perfect,” he muttered.
Jasper slid off the bed and stretched, casual, unbothered. The movement pulled his shirt up slightly at his waist.
Bennett looked away so abruptly that he felt the burn of embarrassment.
Jasper noticed anyway. Bennett could tell. Jasper noticed everything.
“Coffee,” Jasper said. “I am going downstairs. Want me to grab you one?”
Bennett hesitated. “Black.”
Jasper made a face. “That tracks. You are the kind of man who punishes himself in small ways.”
“It is not punishment,” Bennett said. “It is coffee.”
“It is regret in liquid form.”
Bennett looked at him. Jasper was smirking, but there was no real bite in it. Just that calm confidence that made Bennett want to argue even when he didn’t care.
He hated that it worked.
“I will come with you,” Bennett said, because the idea of Jasper wandering off alone and returning with updates and a new level of comfort in the hotel did not sit right.
Jasper’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you worried I will make friends?”
“I am worried you will embarrass us.”
Jasper leaned closer, voice dropping. “You mean embarrass you.”
Bennett held his gaze and refused to flinch. “I mean, embarrass us.”
Jasper’s smile widened like Bennett had said something else entirely.
They walked down together. The lobby had quieted since last night, but the snowstorm had created its own community. People were gathered in pockets, trading information and complaints, making plans they couldn’t fully commit to.
At the coffee station, an older couple was debating whether to try driving despite the warnings. A family with two young kids looked exhausted, the parents trading shifts entertaining restless children. A woman in business attire typed furiously on her laptop, phone wedged between shoulder and ear.
Bennett recognized the energy. Everyone trying to maintain control in an uncontrollable situation.
“Looks like we’re not the only ones struggling,” Jasper observed.
Bennett watched a toddler sprint past, shrieking with delight while his father chased after him. “At least we don’t have to entertain children.”
“You’d be terrible at that,” Jasper said.
“I would,” Bennett agreed without defensiveness.
Jasper looked surprised. “No argument?”
“Why would I argue with the truth?” Bennett replied. “I don’t have the patience for children. I barely have patience for adults.”
Jasper’s mouth curved. “And yet here you are. Tolerating me.”
“Tolerance is a strong word,” Bennett said, but there was no bite in it.
At the coffee station, Jasper hovered near the pastries with exaggerated interest.
Bennett took a cup and filled it with black coffee, no sugar, because it was not an aesthetic choice. It was a decision. It was control.
Jasper watched him do it. “You are consistent.”
“Consistency is a virtue.”
“No,” Jasper said, “consistency is a coping mechanism. Virtue is optional.”
Bennett paused mid-sip. “Do you always psychoanalyze strangers before breakfast?”
“You’re not a stranger,” Jasper said. “And you started it.”
Bennett narrowed his eyes. “I started nothing.”
Jasper took his own coffee and nodded toward a cluster of people at the fireplace. “They are playing cards. We could join.”
“We could not,” Bennett replied immediately.
Jasper’s smile turned sly. “You are afraid of losing.”
“I am afraid of wasting time.”
“I am afraid you will say that until you are dead,” Jasper said, and there was something in his voice that made Bennett pause.
Bennett stepped away from the coffee station. “We should check the road updates. Call the airline again. Tell the team we’re delayed.”
Jasper followed him back toward the elevator. “We already did all of that.”
“We should do it again.”
“Bennett,” Jasper said, calm and irritating, “you can’t spreadsheet your way out of a snowstorm.”
Bennett’s jaw clenched. “Watch me.”
Back in the room, Bennett opened his laptop on the desk and pulled up every email thread tied to the conference. He typed fast, precise updates, minimal emotion. He could manage this if he kept his mind on tasks.
Jasper sat on the edge of the bed and watched him like he was a puzzle.
“Stop looking at me,” Bennett said without glancing up.
“I’m not looking at you,” Jasper replied.
Bennett lifted his gaze. Jasper was absolutely looking at him.
Jasper shrugged. “Fine. I am looking at you. You’re interesting.”
Bennett’s throat went dry. “No, I am not.”
“That’s a lie,” Jasper said. “You have the vibe of a man who has never once allowed himself to be taken care of.”
Bennett’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. He forced them to move again. “I do not need to be taken care of.”
Jasper’s tone stayed light, but something underneath it sharpened. “No. You just need to be in control at all times so no one can disappoint you.”
He shut the laptop a little harder than necessary. “Are you done?”
Jasper blinked, then smiled like he had found the crack in the armor and was choosing not to exploit it. “I am.”
Bennett stood. “I’m going to the gym.”
“There’s a gym?” Jasper said, amused.
“I saw it in the directory.”
Jasper’s gaze flicked over him. “Of course you did.”
The gym was small. Mostly empty. Bennett climbed onto a treadmill and started running like he could outrun the feeling sitting under his ribs.
Jasper sat on a bench nearby, scrolling through his phone, sipping coffee like this was a perfectly normal way to spend a business trip.
Bennett lasted twelve minutes before Jasper spoke again.
“Do you always exercise when you are stressed?” Jasper asked.
“Yes.”
“Does it help?”
Bennett increased the speed. “No.”
Jasper laughed softly. “That tracks too.”
Bennett ran until his lungs burned, until the buzz in his skin felt like relief. Then he stopped, braced his hands on the treadmill rails, and tried to breathe through the residual tension.
Jasper stood and offered him a water bottle from the cooler, as if it were a peace offering.
Bennett took it because refusing it felt petty.
Their fingers brushed when the bottle changed hands.
It was nothing. Barely contact.
Bennett’s entire body reacted as if it were something.
He closed his grip around the plastic and forced himself to look anywhere but Jasper’s face.
Jasper did not move away. Jasper did not joke. His expression was suddenly focused, careful.
Bennett swallowed hard. “Thanks.”
Jasper’s voice was quiet. “You are welcome.”
The air between them shifted.
Jasper’s gaze dropped to Bennett’s mouth.
Bennett’s pulse jumped.
He hated that his body was telling on him.
Jasper spoke first, soft and steady. “If this is too much, tell me. We can adopt a phrase, like ‘green light?’ to check comfort.”
Bennett stared at him. “Too much of what?”
Jasper held his gaze. “This.”
Bennett’s throat worked around nothing. “You are imagining things.”
Jasper’s smile was faint. Not smug. Just knowing. “Maybe. Or maybe you are.”
Bennett should have stepped back. He didn’t. He stood there, holding the water bottle as if it were an anchor, letting the moment stretch until it became dangerous.
Then Bennett forced a laugh that sounded wrong in his own ears. “You have an ego problem.”
Jasper’s eyes stayed on him. “I have a patience problem.”
Bennett’s stomach flipped.
He turned away first. “We should go back. We have work.”
Jasper followed at an easy distance. “Whatever you say.”
When they returned to the room, Bennett showered immediately, as if water could reset his brain. He stood under the spray longer than necessary, trying to quiet the memory of a brief touch that had felt like a match struck in the dark.
When he came out, Jasper was on the bed again, laptop open this time. He looked up.
“Better,” Jasper said.
Bennett paused. “What?”
“You,” Jasper replied. “You look like you’re not about to throw yourself out a window.”
Bennett’s lips twitched despite himself. “Give it time.”
Jasper smiled. “That is the spirit.”