“Fuckkk,” Oakley playfully rasped. Poor Brian just looked at us with a confused expression. “I love when you talk dirty to me, babe.”

He leaned in and chuckled against my neck. Fucking asshole. Just as I pulled away, Oakley addressed Brian once more. “No need to give us separate rooms. She really wants to keep an eye on me, and I think the best way to do that is to put us in the same room. Don’t you think, babe?”

Oakley winked at me, and I could have slapped that smirk off his face. I knew this was a challenge. He wanted to see if I’d call his bluff and disappear to another room. Fuck that. If he wanted to share a room, then by golly, we were gonna share.

“Sounds good, schnookums,” I replied, poking at his side and turning to Brian. “He loves that nickname. I can’t wait to wake up in your arms at five a.m. tomorrow.”

11

I was lying in a bed with Oakley Davis. I couldn’t sleep. My eyes refused to shut.

And I had to fart.

I peeked over the pillow barrier I had built between us and was fairly certain Oakley was asleep—like ninety-three percent sure. I was kicking myself for letting him goad me into sharing a room with him. On top of not being able to fart, walk around without makeup, or wear my ratty-ass, comfortable-as-hell, stained sweatpants, I could only imagine what the coach was going to say when he found out.

I was contemplating getting up to go to the bathroom to fart while running some water when Oakley let out a snore. I had forgotten that he snored. It was really soft, and I found it soothing. It reminded me of my childhood dog, a pug named Charlie. She slept with me until the day I left for college. Listening to Oakley snore and thinking about Charlie relaxed me enough to snuggle down into the bed and let out a, thankfully quiet, toot. A little air poof.

I went back to worrying about what Coach Howard was going to say, and then pictured what sexual harassment webinar Dr. Haynes would make me take, because if the coach knew, he was for sure going to tell my mentor. I was pretty sure that sleeping in the same bed as your client would violate all kinds of ethical boundaries. Even if it was his idea—especially if it was his idea.

I rubbed my temples, trying to release some of the tension, and realized that the snoring had stopped. I turned to look in Oakley’s direction again and found him staring back at me with half open eyes. We just stared at each other for a few moments, then Oakley broke the silence. “Hey, Solver. What are you doing up? Am I just too sexy for you to sleep?” he asked, his voice groggy.