“You want something sweet?” He sets down the remote on the dresser and turns toward me. Already the cogs are spinning.

  “Yeah. You?”

  He tilts his head back and forth like he’s letting the idea roll around his brain. “Yeah, I could do something sweet.”

  So it’s decided then.

  “Get your shoes,” he tells me.

  We head for the second-floor vending machines. I know that somewhere in the world there are newfangled vending machines that accept Venmo and retinal scans, but Siesta Playa has the old-timers that take coins and cash and complain about walking five miles to school, uphill. I have no cash on me because I never carry cash. I’m a card girl. Cole’s only got a twenty, and the machines only accept one-dollar bills, so we make a pit stop down at reception, and Cole has them break it and give him change. All quarters. We need a bag to carry them all.

  I’m already excited about what candy I’m going to buy, but when we arrive at the second-floor vending machine, we find it’s been totally cleared out. Everything is out of stock save for a desiccated Honey Bun wedged between two rings.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Everything? They got everything?!”

  We both know who did it. One of the preppers got it in their head that we weren’t going to provide them three meals a day, I bet. He’s probably running some underground snack cartel out of his hotel room and charging people exorbitant prices. “Listen, I don’t make the rules. You want the M&M’s or not?”

  “What do we do now?” I ask, turning to Cole.

  We can’t give up. My sweet tooth is aching.

  “Downstairs, near the gym,” Cole says with no further explanation. There’s no need. I know he’s thinking of where another vending machine is.

  Lo and behold, that one’s cleared out too.

  “What the hell!” Cole erupts.

  He’s as mad as I am now. I don’t even suggest giving up and going back to the room. Either we get candy or we die trying.

  We both look at each other and say, at the same time, “Twelfth floor.”

  The twelfth floor has been undergoing renovations for the last few weeks because of water damage caused by a leak. No guests are allowed on the floor, but we are. We take the stairs up from the eleventh floor and push open the heavy door. Cole looks both ways, determining whether the coast is clear. Then we traipse right through the construction site. Considering it’s after dinner, the crew’s probably gone anyway.

  Down at the end of the hall, we find a gloriously full vending machine beaming at us with all the light of ten thousand suns. Snack food glistens inside.

  We make it rain on that machine.

  I’m not sure if Cole planned on spending his entire twenty bucks on junk, but we do it. Hell, we probably could have cleaned out his entire wallet if this thing took larger bills.

  It’s a tedious process deciding exactly which snacks we need. You can’t be hasty about this kind of thing.

  “Hold on,” Cole says, frantically reaching out for my hand before I can key in the code for a Butterfinger. “We already have a Hershey’s and Reese’s. We’ve filled our chocolate quota; now we need something fruity or sour and then something salty.”

  “Oh my god. Yes. Duh.” I can’t believe I was so close to leading us astray. What is this? Amateur hour?

  “Okay, regular Skittles or sour Skittles?” I ask.

  Cole looks at me, his eyes narrow subtly, and then he begins counting. “One . . . two . . . three—”

  “Sour,” we say together.

  Zap. It’s like Cupid’s arrow just struck me square in the heart. I’m surprised I don’t topple over.

  The urge to make out with him right this instant is strong.

  After I get our sour Skittles, I put my hands on my hips and turn to him again. My face is a mask of seriousness. I’m a researcher conducting a science experiment that could impact all humanity. “Cheddar and sour cream Ruffles or Cool Ranch Doritos?”

  Cole scoffs like, No way, man, but he doesn’t back down from the challenge. “All right. One . . . two . . . three—”

  “Cheddar—” we begin in unison.

  Oh my god, is this what it feels like to fall in love?

  I swear he sways toward me like he’s feeling it too. His nostrils flare. His eyes glaze over with a sultry heat.

  We’re going to kiss right here in front of this vending machine while getting slightly high off construction-site paint fumes. I can almost imagine it. As soon as our mouths make contact, I’ll drop the candy and he’ll grab my waist, hoisting me up against the glass, incensed and impatient. My lips will part, and his tongue will slip in so easily to find mine. I’ll whimper like I’m aching for him because, in fact, I am.

  We’ll be complete animals.

  It’s so close to happening, and then a burly construction worker pushes past the crinkly plastic tarp I hadn’t even noticed. “Hey! You two shouldn’t be here.”

  I scream.

  Are we actually in trouble? No.

  Do we take off in a dead sprint like two delinquent teenagers anyway? Absolutely.

  “Stairs! Stairs!” Cole commands, taking my hand and tugging me along when I start to fall behind. I didn’t wear the right footwear for a quick getaway. My sandal strap keeps coming undone!

  I can’t control my laughter as Cole throws the stairwell door open and drags me in after him. We make it down to the eleventh-floor landing, and then, “The Skittles!”

  They just slipped from my hands.

  “Damn it, Young, we don’t have time for this!” Cole says, as invested in the pseudoaction as I am.

  That construction worker is up there scratching his balls, totally unbothered by us, but we don’t care. We’re fleeing for our lives. Cole runs back to pick up the Skittles, gets a firm grasp on my hand, and down we go, floor after floor, until we make it all the way back to our room.

  Bonnie and Clyde have nothing on us as we slam the door closed and double bolt it. With relieved sighs, we flatten ourselves against the door and start to catch our breath. My heart’s still racing when I slowly turn to face him. He turns to face me.

  We don’t say a word. We stare at each other, our eyes roaming with hungry abandon as we try to regain our composure.

  Adrenaline’s coursing through me like I’ve been hooked up to an IV filled with it. It’s the same for Cole. I can see it in the way his pulse jumps in his neck. There’s a spark in his brown eyes that seems to charge the moment with a dangerous edge. I realize now why couples are always making out at the end of action movies. Tom Hanks has just found Jesus’s long-lost goblet, and now all he wants to do is suck face with the female archaeologist who helped him dig it up. I’ve always thought it was a little dumb, but now I get it. Sprinting from the authorities really gets your heart going. Everything is pulsing and alive, and I’m not sure Cole has ever looked hotter than he does right now.

  I want to do something crazy: tangle my fingers in his hair, kiss up the side of his neck, wrap my legs around him and . . .

  “Say something,” he says with a gentle plea. Meanwhile, his attention is zeroed in on my lips like he wishes he could taste them.

  I wet the bottom one, and it’s like he can feel it too.

  “I can’t.”

  His eyebrows furrow in despair.

  “Are you hurt?” he asks, his tone now filled with mock gravity. He’s worried he missed a gunshot wound to the abdomen back there: I’ve been slowly bleeding out this whole time without him realizing. Our happy ending won’t come after all. Roll credits.

  He pushes off the door and turns to cage me in against it. I laugh as he pats me down like he’s checking for wounds. His hands slide gently over the sides of my chest and stomach. It’s playful and silly, but it’s also extremely hot. The edge of his thumb accidentally brushes the underside of my breast. His hand finds a spot on the side of my rib cage that isn’t ticklish, it’s sexy. A moan nearly sneaks past my lips before I bite down, stifling it.

  I’m not supposed to be majorly turned on, but soon, I’m panting for reasons that have nothing to do with our sprint back to our room.

  His hands freeze on my waist, and he bends so his gaze can find mine. His expression turns knowing as he recognizes what he’s doing to me. How does he know, exactly? Beats me. Maybe I’m drooling a little. Maybe my pheromones are wafting off me in great cloying plumes.

  I’m too on display, with him looking at me like this.

  “All good,” I promise, pushing off the door.

  The move brings me right up to his chest. I’m stuck unless he moves. In the small foyer, I can’t scoot around him, not unless I want to brush up against him even more, which . . . doesn’t feel like the best idea right now. Not while his gaze is as hungry as it is. Not while my common sense has officially left the building.

  He doesn’t move right away. There’s a moment when he’s crowding me, tall and foreboding. It’s the way a high school bully would trap a cowering nobody against a set of lockers. The bell already rang; the hallway’s deserted. He’s playing chicken, testing me.

  Let’s finish what we started, he seems to say as he takes a tiny step forward.

  I can do nothing but gulp.

  I want to meet his challenge head on, throw myself at him, fuse myself to his body from this day forward as long as we both shall live. The last few days have felt markedly different for us. His confession about Todd, us sharing a bed last night . . . it could be the catalyst we need to finally get out of our own way. The trouble is we’ve been here before. That night on the beach felt like it could have changed things for us, but it didn’t. We kissed, and then the next day, poof, nothing. So how can I be certain things won’t go right back to normal the second this weird roommate situation wraps up?

  A few days from now, we could be adversaries across the lobby.

  Only this time, I know with absolute certainty that I won’t be able to bear it.

  Whether or not things have changed for Cole, they’ve changed for me. I’ve given him too many pieces of me, little by little. If things don’t work this time, there won’t be anything left. No more banter. No more friendship. I’ll have to be done.

  The thought hangs like a storm cloud over me, dousing whatever steamy moment we were building. I’m terrified he’ll see it—all of it—before I’ve composed the full picture for myself.

  I yank the Reese’s out of Cole’s hand and cut past him to get to the bed.

  For now, I’m putting us on ice.

  At least until I finish this chocolate.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  PAIGE

  I do a poor job of acting normal the rest of the night.

  After I leave him hanging at the door, Cole catches the hint and backs off the buddy-buddy stuff. We sit on the bed and share our candy while we watch the second half of a zombie movie. I’m usually a wimp when it comes to thrillers, but not tonight. My eyes are on the screen, but nothing gets transmitted to my brain. Jump scare after jump scare, blood and guts galore—I don’t even blink. Cole thinks I’m a total badass, when really I’m just distracted.

  The movie ends, and Cole reaches for the remote and turns off the TV. It’s dead silent when he looks over at me. I panic, thinking he’s about to ask me what’s going on, and I’m not ready. I’m not. I just need a little more time. A shower.

  Sure, I took one earlier, but that run from the twelfth floor is my excuse for why I need another. And if I happen to stay in there awhile, it’s because I’m being really thorough. You have to wash all the crannies, not just the nooks.

  I’ve never taken more care with my postshower skin care routine. Sure, it’s just toner and a moisturizer, two products I usually slap on while on my way to pee. Tonight, however, my skin is singing by the time I walk out of the bathroom and find Cole reading in bed.

  I’m sorry, let me paint a better picture.

  Ahem. Cole is lying back on the bed in nothing but his pajama pants. His legs are crossed at the ankles. One hand is resting behind his head on the pillow—elongating his toned stomach. His other hand cradles a paperback on top of his abs.

  He doesn’t pause his reading on my account. I think there’s only so many times a person can try to strike up conversation and get shot down before they realize it’s probably best to not bother at all. Hopefully he just thinks I’m in a quiet mood.

  I skim around the edge of the bed and walk up along my side. Cole’s T-shirt—the one I slept with last night—is folded neatly by my pillow. He put it there again. Before I can help myself, I reach out and feel the material between my thumb and pointer finger, rubbing the soft cotton. Maybe I’m a tactile person, because it actually calms me down a little.

  I feel Cole’s gaze on me, but by the time I glance up, he’s reading his book again.

  This is it, I think.

  Now or never.

  I gave myself the last few hours to come to terms with what I have to do: come clean once and for all.

  I took the shower; I dawdled and delayed. Here I am with the perfect opportunity, and what do I do?

  I hurry under my covers, tuck them up to my chin, then reach up and turn off my lamp. My half of the room goes dim.

  Now.

  No.

  Now! Just say it and be done!

  It’ll change things forever.

  That ship has sailed. You’re hugging the guy’s T-shirt. Just do it!

  I go to turn over, but then Cole stands up to do his nighttime routine in the bathroom.

  No problem, I’ll wait up for him.

  But then when he walks back out a few minutes later, he lies down, and his lamp cuts off.

  Now the room is good and dark.

  Good going . . . you waited too long, and now it’s too late.

  I listen to him getting comfortable.

  “Night, Paige.”

  “Night,” I reply lamely.

  No. NO!

  A few minutes pass—enough time for me to sufficiently berate myself for not being braver—and then I speak up.

  “Psst . . . Cole? Are you awake?”

  “What?”

  He sounds groggy, like maybe he was asleep and I woke him up.

  “No. Never mind. Go to sleep.”

  I roll over and face the window.

  “Now you have to say it. Don’t leave me hanging or I won’t be able to sleep.”

  “It’s okay, forget it.”

  He takes ahold of my arm in the dark and rolls me over, flat onto my back. “What?”

  “You’re not tired?”

  “You’ve been acting weird and quiet for the last few hours. Please, for the love of god—”

  “Okay . . . well, I have a question I’ve been wondering about for a while, actually.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Us.”

  There’s a long delay, and then he replies, “Am I going to have to pry it out of you, or are you going to get on with it?”

  “I’ll get on with it. Yeah . . . I can. Let me just—”

  I sit up all the way, leaning my back against the headboard. I feel for his T-shirt and clutch it to me and speak like I’m inside a Catholic confessional, like nothing I say can be held against me. That’s how those work, right? I’m not sure. Where’s the pope when you need him?

  “Paige,” he prompts.

  “Did you . . . have you . . .” It’s like I’ve got a tenuous grasp on the English language, like that little boy in the viral video asking, “Have you ever had a dream that, that, that you, um, you, could, you could do, you, you, um, you want, you want, you, you could do anything?”

  That’s me.

  “Do you sometimes think about the kiss we shared a few months ago?” I finally force it out. Then I press my face into his shirt, waiting for the inevitable heartbreaking comment that’s about to come.

  He doesn’t answer within half a millisecond, so I immediately panic.

  “Yeah, me neither! Good night!”

  I lie flat again, roll over, and squeeze my eyes closed, praying with every fiber of my being that a sinkhole suddenly erupts beneath us and we go down in a crumbling heap of rubble. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? A nice big boulder, smack to the forehead.

  Cole chuckles, and my eyes ping open.

  “I can’t believe you’re even asking me that right now . . .”

  I frown, confused. “Because I should already know the answer?”

  He sighs. “Paige . . . yes, I think about it. I think about it all the time.”

  I hold perfectly still. “Why?”

  I know why I think about it. It’s my most frequented fantasy, the one I revisit every night, alone in my dorm. Never mind that I feel foolish doing it. I can’t give it up, no matter how hard I try.

  He scoots closer. “Because every moment of my day is spent the same way. Hour after hour. Minute after minute. I want you, always.”

  Holy hell.

  That’s . . . that’s really something.

  I repeat it all back to myself in my head, just to be sure I’ve got it right. There was no double entendre I was too stupid to pick up on the first time, right? No hidden meaning?

  “But you never—”

  “When would I—”

  Oh my god.

  I stare up at the dark ceiling as the numbness from the last few hours starts to lift, replaced by a delicious warmth.

  “I think I’ve been blind,” I tell him.

  “And I’ve been too shy . . .”

  It’s too late for me to rein in my elation. I’m a confetti cannon, ready to fire. I turn over and hurriedly reply, “You don’t have to be shy now. It’s just me in the dark.”

  Me, the girl who’s loved you in quiet for months and months.

  A heavy pause sends a frisson of fear through me. Things aren’t set in stone. My heart is still waiting on tenterhooks, hoping for the best. This could all go up in smoke.

  Then I feel Cole shift on the bed, scooting even closer to me. I feel his heat before I feel him touch my arm. He drags his hand up until he reaches my neck, my face. Then he cups my cheek and turns my face so that I’m looking at him in the dark. What is he thinking? Where is he looking?