“The music doesn’t bother him at all.”

It took my spinning brain a second to get Henry’s dry joke, and a genuine giggle slipped out. Who knew he actually had a sense of humor?

He added, “Yes, I took piano lessons growing up. And it doesn’t sound horrible.”

Again, it took me a moment to understand what he was saying—that it didn’t sound horrible for me to not want my mother here. Gratitude welled up in me for his understanding and the mildly catty comment about Kuznetzov. Of all people, he got it. He got me. My life was so fucking weird.

Henry squeezed my shoulder, and my breath caught. His thumb rested a fraction from the edge of the robe and my bare collarbone. God, I wanted him to touch me. It didn’t have to be sex or anything. I just wanted to feel his skin on mine.

He motioned toward the headboard, which I took to mean I should sit back. So I crawled over to the pillows while he called down and ordered a bunch of things. Then he went through the movie selection and picked one. I was absurdly grateful not to have to make any choices.

Henry sat on the end of the bed again, and I reached forward with my right hand to tug his arm, a thrill shooting through me as my fingers curled around his bare elbow. He briefly looked at me over his shoulder before scooting back and sitting cross-legged, maintaining the couple of feet distance between us given how huge the bed was.

We stacked the extra pillows to lean against, and I idly tugged at a loose thread on the robe. Because I’m the worst, I said, “I wonder if there are jizz remnants on everything in hotel rooms. I remember something about fluids sprayed on walls.”

Henry jerked to look at the padded headboard behind us. He fiddled with the pillows. Then he looked down at the remote with sudden alarm. “I hope you disinfected this.”

“The remote?” I stared at it blankly.

With a sigh, Henry got up and left. I sat there puzzling over it until he returned a minute later with a package of antibacterial wipes. He picked up the remote with two fingers as though it might bite before wiping it thoroughly, between the buttons, and around all surfaces. He proceeded to disinfect every handle and touch surface in my room.

It should not have been sexy.

It should have been annoying or something. It should have been weird. But it made me want to pull him close for a kiss, even if he wiped my lips with Clorox first. Except that might be poisonous.

He disappeared into the bathroom. After a minute, the tap ran, and he was surely washing his hands. When he returned, he went to the newly sanitized mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of white. After a brief inspection of the glasses by the empty ice bucket, he poured the wine.