“Yeah, I’m getting it for him,” I reply, digging through my suit pants for my wallet.
“Just the tip?” she starts, and I might be exhausted from a long night, but I still meet her call and refrain.
“Just for a second.”
“Just to see how it feels.” She finishes, and we smile at each other like buffoons. I basically throw some cash at the driver who was kind enough to take us through a drive-thru before ushering us back here.
We walk arm in arm into the hotel, my other hand loaded down with the Taco Bell bag filled to the brim with goodies. I don’t know whose idea it was to feed a theater full of football players finger foods, but they should be fired.
It doesn’t hit me until the elevator is already ascending toward our floor that we are about to return to a hotel room that’s going to be uncomfortably tight. Nash and I have never shared a bed. There has always been a couch for me to crash on.
We pad our way down the long, carpeted hallway, quiet in the way that you have to be when you’re coming back to your room really late and you’re trying not to wake anyone up.
As I let us in the room, I decide to cut it off at the head. “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight. It was my fault we didn’t get two rooms, or at least two beds.”
“We can share the bed. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor on your award night.” She sits on the edge of said bed and starts to take her jewelry off.
“No, I’ll be fine. It’s no big deal.”
“We’ve been friends forever, it’s not weird,” she insists, patting the bed next to her.
And I am a weak, weak man. “If you’re sure. You can take it back any time tonight and kick me out.”
“I’m sure.” She stands and spins around so her back faces me. “Now, help me out of this dress.”
I am cursed. That’s the only explanation for how I got myself into this situation. I’m finally hearing words fall from her lips that I’ve always wanted to hear, and she thinks everything I said about her tonight is fake because this relationship is fake. God is trying to smite me.
I take the delicate zipper in my hand and slowly trail it down the dress. The bare skin revealing itself inch by decimating inch. It goes on for miles.
She’s not wearing anything underneath it, either. I bite down on my lip to keep my breath from brushing over her bare skin. She holds the front of the dress to her breasts and steps away from me. “Thank you.” And she’s gone. Back in the bathroom.
I hear the shower turn on and I give myself a second to stand there and calm myself. I’m about to lie next to her all night. I need to get my body under control before she comesout. It’s rude to pitch a tent next to your best friend. Who you’re fake dating. Alone in a hotel room. With one bed.
By the time I have everything calmed down and I’ve laid out our burritos to eat, she comes out of the bathroom wearing tiny shorts and another shirt she stole from me. I duck into the bathroom as quickly as possible and splash cold water on my face, considering even a cold shower.
I can do this. It’s just like every other time Nash and I have ever hung out as friends. Hopefully, I won’t even be conscious in bed because we are supposed to be sleeping. I change, carefully putting my suit back on its hanger. Luckily, I brought a pair of basketball shorts comfortable enough to sleep in; otherwise, I would have been in just my boxer-briefs. I contemplate taking a really long time in here to avoid facing Nash again, but I decide it’s not worth eating soggy burritos over.
When I step hesitantly out of the bathroom, Nash is already cross-legged on the bed with a Burrito Supreme in one hand and the TV remote in the other. She flips the channels so quickly I don’t know how she even knows what’s on. “I saved you all the Fire sauces.” She stops to push them to my side, and instantly sounds of carnal pleasure come blasting from the TV. “Oh my God,” she screeches, lunging for the remote and fumbling it trying to change the channel. I watch in disbelief as a young couple is naked on a bed together.Holy shit, it’s one of those soft-core porn channels that you can rent at a hotel.
Finally, she flips the channel to a sports talk show and heaves a sigh of relief. She looks at me, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Someone before us must have paid for it.” The pitch of her voice goes up at the end of the sentence, making it sound like a question.
I lift one brow at her in mock accusation. “Oh, really? The porn isn’t yours?”
“Stop! You know I wouldn’t–”
“Were you holding it for a friend?” I tease.
She throws a Mild sauce at me, and it hits me in the chest. “Wyatt!” she scolds, but it’s full of giggles. “It was an accident.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I believe you. I just want to eat my Cheesy Gordita Crunch in peace.”
We scarf down our Taco Bell while the random broadcaster on TV talks about the latest hockey game. I think the exhaustion from the day has finally hit us now that our bellies are full of massive amounts of Nacho Fries. When we’re done, I collect all our trash back in the bag and shove it unceremoniously into the tiny hotel room trashcan. That was a nice break from thinking about sharing a bed with her, but now it’s time to face the music.
I excuse myself to the bathroom once more to brush and floss, and when I come back out, Nash is already lying on her side scrolling through her phone. I lift the sheets and slide in next to her and lie on my back, staring at the ceiling.
“Thanks,” she says quietly, like if she spoke too loud, it would disturb the moment.
“For what?”