As we head back up the beach toward the inn, I feel like I’m doing the walk of shame without any of the benefits. In silence, he walks me to my room; I use my key card, and the door swings open, giving a clear view of the bed.

Ryan’s right behind me; I can feel his warmth, can still catch a whiff of his scent. For one split second, I have the insane urge to grab his arm and tug him inside.

“Where’s your room?” I say, instead.

“This is it.”

My breath catches and I whirl around to face him.

He’s grinning, eyes twinkling. “When I called to book you a room, the inn was full. I’m crashing at my parents’ place.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised by how let down I feel. Sleeping with the enemy is a terrible idea, I tell myself.

Only problem is, he doesn’t feel like the enemy anymore.

“But—if you go back to your parents’ house, they’re going to think we had a big fight or something,” I say, then bite my lip. What am I doing?

His grin slowly fades as my words hit him. His pupils dilate. “Do you…”

I swallow. Stare at his lips. Let my mind drift back to the feeling of his body on mine, his weight pressing me against the sand.

“I think you should sleep here,” I say. His eyebrows shoot up, and I blurt, “Just sleep.”

He blinks, and I catch a flash of—what, disappointment?—in his eyes before he nods. “Of course.”

“Of course,” I echo.

My heart knocks against my chest as I lead him into the room.

The door clicks shut behind us.

18

Ryan

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you about the Only One Bed scenario: there are a lot of details to deal with all at once. What side of the bed do you sleep on? Who gets which pillows? Where do you get undressed? What do you wear to bed?

I brush my teeth first, having grabbed my bag from the car, then Josie goes in, leaving me with all these questions. I usually sleep in boxers, but there’s no way I’m doing that tonight, so I put on the T-shirt I brought for tomorrow. I pick a side of the king-size bed at random and slide in, then start panicking because what is Josie going to wear? I imagine her coming out in lingerie, then smack that away because duh, of course she won’t. Then I imagine her in something cotton and cozy, which is somehow even more attractive.

She opens the bathroom door a sliver and says, “Um, Ryan?”

“Yep?” I say, stiffening.

“Can you, uh…turn off the light?”