Three and a half hours later, we were both glancing out the window as New York came into view. Amber clapped her hands together. “We’ll have just enough time to check into the hotel, eat, and then get changed!” Her voice was laced with the kind of excitement I reserved for when I won hacking tournaments. It was totally contagious and absolutely adorable. The fact that Amber had called my mother to give her all the details—including the hotel room—and clear everything with her was insanely cute. I’d tried and failed to not think about the two beds that awaited us in one room. I mean, sure, two beds, but…Amber would be sleeping not ten feet away from me. My blood rose a few degrees just thinking about it.

“You going to tell me where we’re headed yet?”

“Sure,” she said, and my eyes widened with anticipation. “The Sheraton Hotel,” she said, a smirk on her lips.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Not cool.”

She lightly smacked my chest. “I’m so cool! I took you on a train to NYC!”

I captured her hand, holding it in place against me. “Truth.”

Her breath caught, but she didn’t try to pull away.

I held her there until the train stopped.

And she let me.

…

“Why do you keep checking your cell?” Amber asked, a smile on her face as we took the elevator up to our room.

I pocketed my phone, shrugging. “Honestly, I keep expecting a text from your dad, complete with death threats or an admission that they’re staying one room over.”

She laughed, tapping the key against the door, and held it open for me.

“You sure they’re cool with this one-room situation?” I asked, tossing my bag on the bed closest to the window.

A flush dusted Amber’s cheeks as she set her bag down and nodded. “Yes. You know my parents,” she said, and it was comforting to know that I did. The last four weeks we’d spent plenty of time at her place, with her parents always around, and it was never a downer. They were cool, laid back, and yet…parent-y.

“I do,” I said. “But I’m still thinking this is kind of a dream.”

“They trust me. And you, apparently. Also, like you mentioned before, eighteen.” She tilted her head. “Your idea of a dream is sleeping in the same room with me?” She snorted. “We’re in the coding room for hours together. What’s the difference?”

I slowly rose from the bed, crossing the distance between us to gaze down at her. “There is a huge difference, Pixie. You know it.”

She swallowed hard, staring up at me, her eyes churning.

“You don’t snore in the coding room,” I said, and she blew out a breath.

“I don’t snore.”

I shrugged. “We’ll see about that.”

…