“And that’s a good thing,” I say emphatically.
“Not exactly,” he says grimly. “They cancelled my entire room booking instead.”
“Oh my God.” I turn to the concierge. He’s an anxious-looking dark-haired young man with a face that looks like it’s usually more ready to smile. “Can he book another room?”
He spreads his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Usually that would be fine, but unfortunately we are fully booked. It is close to Christmas, and the city is very busy.”
“I’ll see if I can get a room somewhere else,” Jack says, smiling kindly at the worried man. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But I don’t want you somewhere else,” my brother protests. “This is a special occasion. I want us all together.”
“Why is this a special occasion?” Bee asks.
My brother ignores him in a very obvious fashion and turns to the concierge. “Surely we can do something?” he asks beseechingly.
“How about if Jack stays in Arlo’s room?” Bee suggests.
It’s like he’s launched a stun grenade. Everyone goes silent as we stare at him.
He shrugs. “Arlo’s got a twin room. Jack could have the other bed.”
“That would work,” my brother says excitedly. “You’re a genius, babe.”
“It has been said,” Bee says without a shred of conceit. Probably because he’s the cleverest person any of us know.
Discreetly, he drops me a wink. You’re welcome, he mouths and I shake my head sternly at him.
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Jack says, breaking the mood.
My brother gapes at him. “What? Why not?”
Jack shrugs helplessly. “You can’t just force me onto someone. Your brother might not want to share with me. And that’s okay,” he says quickly as I open my mouth to speak. “It’s your holiday too, Arlo, and you should have your room to yourself.” He turns to the concierge, who is watching us all as if he’s at the theatre. “Could you ring around and see if you can find me a room elsewhere, please? I’m not picky.”
I stare at Jack’s broad shoulders and his thick, dark hair. This has got disaster spelt all over it. Me sharing a room with the bloke I’ve had a crush on since I was eleven and scrawled “Arlo Cooper” on my school books.
“It’s absolutely fine.” My urge to look around to see who’s talking is ridiculous; I know very well it’s me. “You can have the other bed, Jack.”
“Are you sure?” Jack asks. “You don’t have to do what your brother tells you.”
“Hey,” my brother says crossly. “I really wish you’d stop peddling that crappy idea.”
“It’s fine.” I smile helplessly at Jack. At those warm worried eyes and his hair which he’d be horrified to know is a mess since he’s been shoving his fingers through it. “What could go wrong?”
Three
Arlo
As Jack and I stand in our hotel room, we seem to be making a concerted effort to not look at each other.
The room is lovely. Wood panelling covers three walls, and the other is papered in a duck-egg blue. The beds are puffed high with pillows and thick duvets, everything coordinated in the same shades of blue and pale yellow.
But what really captures my attention about the beds is their proximity. The room isn’t big. If I wanted to reach out during the night, I could touch him. Touch that tanned skin that looks soft to the touch, feel the crinkly hair on his chest. I know it’s there because I’ve seen him shirtless before. The fact that I have lain in wait for an hour to run into him accidentally in the corridor of my mum and dad’s house is neither here nor there. He has wonderful chest hair and a pair of abs you could grill chops on.
I shake my head free of my lustful thoughts. “Bagsy me the bed near the window,” I say loudly. Too loudly.
Jack gives me a startled look. “All right.”
Great. It’s wonderful that I’ve just reinforced his opinion that I’m five years old. If I really want to capitalise on that, maybe I should jump up and down on the bed and demand a pillow fight.
“Arlo, are you really okay sharing?” he asks.
I smile at him. Jack never shies away from uncomfortable situations and favours honesty at all times. It makes a person feel safe to be around him.
“I’m fine,” I say. “We’re not moving in together. Or were you worried that my father would turn up in an hour to ask you about your intentions?”
“I’m not sure I really want to know what he considers appropriate intentions.”
“Probably best,” I say cheerfully. I wander over to the big window and push the heavy curtains aside. “Ooh,” I exclaim in delight. “Come and look, Jack. It’s so pretty.”
He meanders over and makes his own pleased sound at the view. We’re looking out over the canal to a row of little restaurants and bars. The buildings have been strung with fairy lights, and streetlights shine on the cobbled street below. The effect is magical.
“This room must have cost a fortune,” I muse.
“Probably.” He gives me an affectionate nudge. “But think of it like this. At some point, Tom is going to piss you off. It’s as sure as night following day. When it happens, just sit back and think of his hotel bill.”
I laugh. “I’ll make sure to order something expensive on room service, too.”
“You do that.” He turns away from the view and hefts his case onto his bed. “Let’s get unpacked. We’re meeting the others in an hour to go out and get dinner.”
On cue, my stomach rumbles. It’s loud in the quiet room, and Jack laughs as he opens his case. I shoot a look at the contents. Everything is folded and packed neatly—heavy denim and shoes at the bottom, T-shirts rolled into neat balls, and shirts folded as precisely as if they’re on display in a shop.
I open my own bag and look disconsolately at the interior. It looks like a bomb went off, as everything is shoved in regardless of size, weight, or purpose. Hardly surprising, as I’d left off packing until the last minute, still in massive denial that I’d have to get on a plane.
I gather a handful of T-shirts and stuff them into a drawer, adding jeans and boxers and socks to another. After a brief struggle, I manage to close the drawer before hanging my only pair of dressy trousers and my one nice shirt in the wardrobe. They swing there, looking lonely in all the space. I grab my shaving bag and put it in the bathroom, admiring the chocolate-coloured subway tiles and a huge shower that’s big enough for two. Pushing that thought smartly away, I chuck my case in the wardrobe and shut the door. Then I throw myself onto the bed and reach for the remote control.
Becoming aware of Jack’s sudden silence, I look up to find him staring at me, a pair of shoes forgotten in his hand. “You okay?” I ask.
“Oh yes, fine,” he says faintly. Then he seems to shake himself and goes back to the process of colour coding his clothes or whatever he’s doing. I look back at the TV and start flicking through the channels.
I finally settle on an old music channel that’s playing eighties videos. Jack smiles at me. “You love music, don’t you?”