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I open the door to find him sitting at the small desk, still dressed, clearly on high alert despite the late hour. He stands when I enter, relief evident in his expression.
"You didn't need to wait up," I say, though we both know it's not true. Of course, he waited up.
"Yes, I did," he replies simply.
We stand on opposite sides of the room, the bed between us like a no-man's-land neither is willing to cross first.
"I should have told you about the security contract earlier," he says finally. "I'm sorry for withholding that information."
The apology is unexpected, and it takes some of the wind out of my indignation. "Why didn't you?"
"Professional habit," he admits. "The less people know about security operations, the more effective they are. And initially, you were just a passenger. I didn't anticipate..." He gestures vaguely between us.
"This," I supply. "Whatever this is."
"Yes. This."
I sink onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. "I don't even know what 'this' is, Jake. One minute you're kissing me like your life depends on it, the next you're pulling back and talking about complications. Then I find out you're working security for my best friend's wedding, which means we were always heading to the same place for entirely different reasons. It's a lot to process."
He approaches cautiously, sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, maintaining a respectful distance. "I know. And I'm not handling it well. But my attraction to you is real, Trish. So is my concern for your wellbeing. Those aren't part of any professional calculation."
I want to believe him. Despite the complications, despite the brief time we've known each other, despite the warning bells sounding in my head, I want to believe Jake is telling me the truth.
"So, what happens now?" I ask, too tired for games or further evasion.
"Now, we get some sleep," he says pragmatically. "It's late, and we have another long drive tomorrow."
"And after that? When we reach Nevada? When the wedding is over and your security contract is fulfilled?"
He looks at me directly, his expression more open than I've seen it since we met. "That depends on what you want, Trish. What are you looking for?"
It's a fair question, one I'm not sure I have an answer to yet. "I don't know," I admit. "I didn't exactly plan to develop feelings for my ride share driver."
The confession slips out before I can censor it. Jake's expression softens, something warm and surprised flickering in his eyes.
"Feelings," he repeats, as if testing the word.
"Don't make me say it again," I mutter, embarrassment heating my cheeks. "It's been a long day, and I'm not thinking clearly."
"No, you're not," he agrees, but there's no dismissal in his tone. "Neither of us is. Which is why we should sleep now and talk more tomorrow. When we've both had time to process."
It's the rational approach, of course. The controlled approach. Pure Jake Winters logic. And as much as I want to argue, to push for resolution tonight, I know he's right.
"Fine," I concede. "But you're taking the bed. I refuse to be responsible for your back pain tomorrow if you sleep on that floor."
"We can share," he says, surprising me. "Just to sleep," he adds quickly. "The bed is big enough, and we're both adults. As you pointed out earlier."
"Are you sure?"
"No," he says with unexpected honesty. "But I'm willing to try. For you."
The simple admission touches me more deeply than any grand gesture could have. "Okay," I say softly. "Thank you."
We prepare for bed in awkward silence, taking turns in the bathroom, carefully maintaining distance as we slide under the covers from opposite sides. Though it's impossible to ignore his presence beside me, the heat radiating from his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"Goodnight, Trish," he says into the darkness.
"Goodnight, Jake," I reply, turning onto my side, facing away from him to resist the temptation to reach out.