“I’ll sleep in the bathtub,” he says loudly as we walk to the elevator, getting a few looks from people.

“You’re an old man,” I say as the elevator door closes. “I’m not making you do that. It would be bad for your back.”

“Two years older, Chloe.”

I shrug and stare at the buttons lighting up.

After a silent walk to our room, Nick swipes the key card and the two of us attempt to walk through the door at the same time, bumping shoulders.

Nick closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Go ahead.”

I walk in ahead of him and sit down on the bed, then realize where I’m sitting and stand up again. “I’m gonna go get a pizza.”

“From where?” Nick asks.

“Um.” I point out the window. “There’s a Little Caesars across the street.”

Nick stares at me.

“Listen, if you don’t instinctively take stock of all food sources when you enter a new environment, then I don’t know what to tell you, but I made a mental note of that Little Caesars when we pulled in today and I’m going to get a Hot-N-Ready pizza before my stomach eats itself.”

I attempt to walk past him but he blocks me. “You’re not getting a Hot-N-Ready pizza.”

“Why not?”

He looks at me as if he’s explaining why I shouldn’t eat a hot dog that someone dropped on the sidewalk. “Because that’s disgusting.”

“Oh, so you’re too good for yacht rock and fast-food pizza?”

“You can’t call that pizza. I’m not eating that.”

“That’s fine, because you’re so high up on your horse that I couldn’t throw a slice to you even if I wanted to.”

“Good one.”

“I know.” I smile smugly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have six dollars burning a hole in my pocket, and a pizza that’s both hot and ready is calling my name.”

Nick sighs and stares at me for a moment. I let myself study the line of his jaw.

“Sit down,” he says. “I’ll go get your gross pizza.”

Mere minutes later, Nick returns, carrying a pizza box as begrudgingly as possible. I’m sprawled out on my stomach across the bed, scrolling through Instagram.

“My hero!” I shout, tossing my phone aside. “I was about two seconds away from eating this probably disgusting comforter!”

“I’m not sure you’re better off with this pizza,” Nick says, handing it to me gingerly as if he’s passing me a bag of dog poop he picked up off the street.

“Whatever.” I sit cross-legged and open the pizza box, then pat the bed beside me. “Sit down. Have a slice.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Nick.” I level him with a stare. “There’s no other food here. I know you’re hungry.”

He looks skeptical, but he pulls off his shoes and sits down beside me. It’s a big bed, and there’s room for an entire other person in between us, which is perhaps the only thing that would make this situation more awkward.