Control. That's what this was really about, wasn't it? My complete and utter lack of it in this situation. I'd spent so many years carefully constructing a life where nothing was left to chance, where every variable was accounted for. And in the span of one day, it had all gone spectacularly off the rails.
I changed into my pajamas—a matching silk camisole and shorts set in deep burgundy. They were practical, comfortable, and completely inappropriate for sharing a bed with a virtualstranger. But they were all I had packed. Another failure of preparation on my part.
Taking one final steadying breath, I gathered my clothes, unlocked the door, and stepped back into the room.
Griffin was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up as I emerged, and I saw his eyes widen slightly before he quickly looked away.
"Bathroom's all yours," I said, trying to keep my voice casual as I folded my clothes into my suitcase.
"Thanks." He stood, grabbing a small bag from his duffel. As he passed me, I caught the faint scent of cedar and something earthy—like the forest after rain.
The bathroom door closed, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I sat on the edge of the bed, sending a quick text to Bowie to let him know I was alive and had found accommodation for the night. I deliberately omitted the details about sharing a room with Griffin. My brother's protective instincts didn't need that kind of fuel.
His response was immediate: "All good here. Angie says hi. Kick ass tomorrow, sis."
I smiled, feeling a pang of homesickness. Despite our competitive banter, Bowie had always been my rock. After our parents fell apart, he'd stepped up, making sure I stayed in school while he worked multiple jobs. He'd never once complained, even when it meant putting his own dreams on hold. It was a debt I could never repay, but one I hoped to honor by succeeding at Sparkling Oak.
The bathroom door opened, interrupting my thoughts, and Griffin emerged in a cloud of steam. He'd changed into loose gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, but the most alarming development was his complete lack of a shirt. Waterdroplets clung to his broad shoulders, and I found myself tracing the path of a particular droplet as it made its way down his chest, over a taut abdomen, and disappeared into the waistband of his sweats.
I jerked my gaze away, heat flooding my cheeks. "No shirt?" My voice came out higher than I intended.
Griffin glanced down, as if surprised to find himself half-naked. "I usually sleep shirtless. I can put one on if it makes you uncomfortable."
"No, it's fine," I said quickly—too quickly. "I mean, it's your normal routine. No need to change it on my account."
He raised an eyebrow, and I could see he was fighting a smile. "Alright then."
I busied myself with turning down the covers on my side of the bed, hyperaware of his movements as he set an alarm on his phone and placed it on the nightstand. The king-sized bed suddenly seemed much smaller than it had when the clerk first mentioned it.
"Which side do you prefer?" Griffin asked, gesturing to the bed.
"Left," I said automatically. I always slept on the left, another one of my small rituals.
He nodded and moved to the right side, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped slightly under his weight, and I felt a momentary panic at the tangible evidence that we would indeed be sharing this space for the next eight hours.
I slipped under the covers, careful to stay firmly on my designated side. The sheets were surprisingly soft, the mattress more comfortable than I'd expected from a roadside motel. I removed my glasses and placed them on the nightstand, then reached for the lamp.
"Ready for lights out?" I asked.
"Go for it."
I switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the thin curtains. I lay rigid on my back, staring at the ceiling, acutely aware of every movement Griffin made as he settled in beside me.
The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken tension. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, even with the careful distance we'd established between us. It was maddening. I'd shared beds with people before—friends, ex-boyfriends—but never had I been so attuned to another person's presence.
"You okay over there?" Griffin's voice came softly through the darkness. "You're breathing like you're about to run a marathon."
I exhaled slowly, trying to relax. "I'm fine. Just... processing."
"Processing what, exactly?"
"The fact that I'm sharing a bed with a man I met less than twelve hours ago, after my car broke down, effectively destroying my meticulously planned road trip to my dream job, which I now might be unprepared for because I'm sleeping in a motel instead of reviewing my notes in a quiet hotel room with proper Wi-Fi."
The words tumbled out in a rush, and I immediately regretted them. The last thing I needed was to appear even more uptight in Griffin's eyes.
But he didn't laugh or make a sarcastic comment. Instead, after a moment of silence, he said, "You don’t need to worry, Lila. You're going to nail it."
I turned my head to look at him, though I could only make out his silhouette in the dim light. "You don't know that."
