23 - ONE BED

23 - ONE BED
Cheryl’s POV

The words hung in the air like an unfinished thought: One room left.

I turned to Aiden, hoping he’d do the decent thing and sleep in the car, or better yet, vanish into thin air. But there he was, standing behind me, hands shoved into his pockets, a small, self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Of course, he’d find this funny.

“Well, this is awkward,” I muttered, my voice tinged with the kind of humor people use when they’re seconds away from losing it.

“Awkward?” Aiden raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, Cheryl. It’s just one room. I promise not to snore.”

Snore? That was the least of my concerns. The thought of being cooped up in a small space with Aiden Scott—the same Aiden Scott who’d bullied me all through high school and was now inexplicably hot and annoyingly smug—was enough to send my stress levels skyrocketing.

“Fine,” I finally said, trying to sound unfazed. “We’ll take it.”

The receptionist slid a rusty-looking key across the counter, her face as tired as my soul felt. “Room 204. Upstairs, end of the hall. Enjoy your stay.”

Enjoy? Sure, because sharing a room with Aiden was everyone’s idea of a romantic getaway.

As we made our way up the creaky staircase, I could feel the tension building between us. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was charged. Every step seemed louder than it should’ve been, like the universe was mocking me.

When we got to the room, I unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a small, cramped space with peeling wallpaper, a flickering overhead light, and—oh, joy of joys—one bed.

I stopped dead in my tracks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Aiden stepped in behind me, and I could feel the warmth of him standing way too close. He took one look at the bed and let out a low chuckle. “Cozy.”

“This is not cozy,” I snapped, spinning around to glare at him. “This is… this is torture.”

“Relax,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it onto the bed like he owned the place. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “You’re not exactly dressed for a camping trip.”

“I’ll survive.” He gave me that lopsided grin that always made my stomach do this weird little flip. Stupid stomach. “Unless you’re offering to share.”

Heat flushed my cheeks, and I turned away quickly, pretending to inspect the room. “Don’t push your luck, Scott.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm and far too distracting.

I busied myself going through my empty purse—phone charger, and a bottle of water I’d grabbed from the car. Anything to avoid looking at him. But even without looking, I could feel him. The way his presence filled the tiny room, the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the air mixed with a hint of liquor.

“Why’d you really really agree to come with me, anyway?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

I paused, my hand hovering over my bag. “What do you mean? Because you asked me to?”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, leaning against the wall and watching me with those piercing eyes of his. “You had Damon. You could’ve stayed. You have no reason to help me, sure we’re friendly now but it doesn’t erase those years of torture I put you through”

I snorted, more to distract myself from the way his gaze was making my heart race than because I actually found anything funny. “Yeah, well, Damon was busy… getting cozy with another woman. Figured you could use the company more than he could.”

Aiden’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening. “Figures.”

For a moment, the playful edge was gone, replaced by something deeper. Something I didn’t quite know how to handle.

“Besides,” I added quickly, “I couldn’t just let you go alone. You were practically vibrating with nerves back there. Someone had to keep you from imploding and you needed a sober driver”

His lips quirked up at that, the tension easing. “And here I thought you just couldn’t resist my charm.”

“Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Your charm is about as subtle as a sledgehammer and yes, I still hate your guts”

“Is that so?” He took a step closer, and suddenly the tiny room felt even smaller.

“Yes,” I said, my voice a little too breathy for my liking.

We were standing way too close now, and I could see every detail of his face—the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the faint stubble on his jaw, the curve of his lips as they curled into a smirk.

“Good thing you’re immune, then,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage like it was trying to escape. Immune? Not even close.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Scott,” I managed to say, stepping back and putting some much-needed distance between us.

He just grinned, clearly enjoying how flustered I was. “You’re fun to mess with, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, I know that very well,” I shot back, trying to regain some semblance of control.

But as I turned away, I couldn’t help but glance back at him. And there it was again—that spark. That unspoken thing between us that neither of us wanted to admit was there.

As I climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, I couldn’t help but wonder: what was I getting myself into?

And why, despite everything, did part of me not want this night to end?