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Dawes, ever the people pleaser, hesitates but says, “Okay.”

I jump in. “No. We want you and Christina with us.” I pull out a wad of cash, showing it to the employee. “Are you sure we can’t find him a room?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s peak season, and everything is sold out. I’ll be at the desk. Let me know what you decide.”

Dawes mumbles under his breath, “Great, Christina will be upset. Not what I need when we’re just finding our way again.”

I look to Corbin, Reed and Bryce, all former Stallion Hockey captains, “Any ideas?”

But Logan chimes in, “The way I see it, there’s only one option. John has a queen bed in his villa. Becca has two twins and since Madison isn’t coming, she has one available for John to sleep in.”

Nobody makes a peep, waiting on Corbin to say something. It’s a guy thing. A code. Corbin must be okay with me sharing a bungalow with Becca. It seems like hours go by, probably because I’m holding my breath.

Corbin’s eyes get all squinty. “I don’t think it’s a good idea… not at all.”

“Why? We don’t want Dawes miles away, so they feel like they’re missing out,” Reed explains. He takes Corbin aside while the rest of us watch. All we see is Corbin’s back and Reed’s head since he has a few inches on Corbin.

When they rejoin us, Corbin says, with a heavy dose of reluctance in his voice, “If Becca agrees, then it’s okay with me. But keep your hands to yourself.”

As I nod, he calls Becca over and explains the situation. Becca’s face stretches as her mouth hangs open. “Umm,” she glances at me, “Are you okay with this?”

Okay. I’m more than okay.

“Only if you’re fine with it.”

“Yeah, I’m good with it. You’re probably neater than Madison anyway.” She half-laughs, then her eyes drop to the floor, looking like an innocent schoolgirl.

I wink. “You traded up.” I love the smile she’s trying to hide.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Becca

After dinner, the guys fill one golf cart with Dawes and Christina’s luggage, while John loads his belongings onto another cart and brings them to my bungalow. My brother follows on a separate golf cart as they all pull up to the front.

Corbin, the ever helpful and watchful brother, helps John carry the suitcases across the stone path and inside the villa. As they pass me, I say, “This bed is mine. That one will be yours.”

John cracks jokes about “rooming with the enemy,” while Corbin not-so-subtly appraises every item John removes.

I roll my eyes then awkwardly stand by Oakley, fluffing my bed pillows as my pulse races with the excitement of the unknown. John grins easily, tossing a wink my way when Corbin isn’t looking, like this is all part of some private game between us.

Meanwhile, Corbin can’t resist shooting me a questioning look behind John’s back, as if to say, Are you sure about this? I shake my head, silently telling him it’s fine. When John walks outside to the cart, I say, “I’m a big girl. Don’t worry.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it,” Corbin says, his lips not moving like a ventriloquist.

“I know but trust me. I can handle Basilio.” I use Basiliobecause it doesn’t equate with attraction, but friendship like he’s just one of many of my brother’s friends.

“Okay, if you need anything, I’m a phone call away.” He leads Oakley out, but she trails slightly behind him, turns, and gives me a thumbs up. I smile but shake my head and wave her off.

I stand just inside the bedroom when John comes back inside with his golf bag. He leans against the wall, letting his gaze linger a bit too long. The room feels supercharged, a storm of something brewing.

It’s impossible not to consider if sharing a bedroom with John will be stimulating or awkward. Or, if I let myself admit that I’ve been secretly hoping something would force us together, all along.

“Where do you want me to put these?” He gestures to the clubs.

“How about the corner by your bed? Or there’s room in the closet.”

He slings the golf bag over his shoulder and walks around the bed, setting them down by his nightstand. Then he rummages through his duffel bag perched on the bed. While he’s in the middle of boasting about his “packing expertise” and how he watched a video, a shiny foil packet spills from a rolled shirt and lands on the floor. For a split second, neither of us can tear our eyes away from the square, deciding if it’s an indictment or an invitation.