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Page 49 of Beauty and the Beach

She clicks her lamp off a moment later, and the room falls into darkness; my last, reassuring thought is that it could be worse.

Because desiring her is one thing, but it’s better than falling in love.

I awake suddenly,and for a second, I don’t know why. It takes me a minute of reorientation to even figure out where I am or what I’m doing—or why I can hear the sound of another person in bed with me.

It all comes rushing back, though, when I hear a knock on the door. That’s what woke me, I realize, and I grope around in the dark for my phone to check the time.

One-thirty-eight in the morning.

My pulse hitches and then begins to speed up. This is Mavis; it has to be.

I reach blindly to my left, shaking Holland.

“Wake up,” I whisper. “Amsterdam. Amsterdam!”

Her groggy groan does notinspire confidence.

“Someone is knocking on the door,” I say.

I hear a yawn. Then she mumbles, “What are you talking?—”

Thud, thud, thud.

A second of silence. Then, sounding more alert, she says, “Someone is at the door.”

“I know,” I say quickly as I reach for the pillow barricade that has miraculously survived the night so far. I grab as many as I can with one clutching hand, tossing them aside frantically. “Come on, help me get rid of the pillows.”

“I don’t want to get rid of the pillows—ouch,Flamingo, that was my head!”

“Stop flailing around, then!” I say. “Help me get these off.”

Thud, thud, thud, thud!

We throw pillows until there aren’t any more; my eyes have adjusted to the dark enough that I can see them on the floor, vague light splotches.

“Now spoon,” I say, hating every word. “Come on—spoon me.”

“Absolutely not,” she says; I can make out the shape of her, roughly, and I think she’s folding her arms. “This is insane. What if we were naked in here? This is illegal, isn’t it?”

“Not if Mavis’s name is on the reservation,” I say irritably. “Which it is. It’s just scummy. Come on—over here.” I pat the bed next to me. “You can be little spoon.”

“I—”

“Amsterdam!”

“Fine!” she snaps. “Fine. For the record, I will only ever be little spoon,” she goes on. “Never expect otherwise.”

I pause, even though there’s no time. “This isn’t something we’re going to do a lot. Or ever again, for that matter.”

“I know,” she says after a beat of silence.

Her voice is near now, so I reach blindly into the dark in front of me and find her—the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. I lock my arm around her and pull her closer.

“Sorry,” I mutter, because we’re closer than either of us wants to be.

From across the dark room, the door beeps—the sound of a key card being accepted.

“Pretend to be asleep,” I say quickly. “Now. Close your eyes. Pretend to be asleep.”