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I could fall asleep right here.

For the first time since we hit the dance floor, I’m pressed against Ryan in earnest, letting him catch my weight as we rock back and forth.

“You getting tired?” Ryan mutters near my ear.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, pulling my head up off his shoulder, “alcohol usually puts me to sleep.”

“I thought alcohol usually made you hit on guys in front of their ex-girlfriends.”

“Hey, we had a deal. No more mentioning that. Ever.”

“ After tonight. I had to get one more in before the night’s over,” he says with a little laugh. His chest heaves lightly against mine.

I try my best to shoot him an incredulous glare, but my eyes are too heavy with vodka tonics and sleepiness to pull it off.

“Do you want to go back to the room?” he asks.

“No, I can find some coffee and keep going if you want.”

“I think we’ve put on a pretty good show. Might as well quit while we’re ahead.”

Ryan walks me off the dance floor and we say a quick round of goodbyes.

By the time we reach the lobby, we drop each other’s hands.

He doesn’t reach out and touch the small of my back when I step onto the elevator ahead of him.

By the time we reach the room – our room – we’re more than a foot apart.

Maybe because I’m tipsy, or maybe because I’m almost too tired to stand on my own, but it feels strange to stop pretending so abruptly.

Inside the room, I stand by the bed and fish for the tiny zipper pull at the back of my dress. Before I can find it, Ryan is there behind me. His fingers brush the back of my neck as he moves my hair out of the way. He unzips my dress slowly, careful not to catch the zipper on the fabric.

He’s done this before. Lots of times, I’m betting.

The last bit of the zipper comes all the way down to the curve of my ass. Ryan’s fingers graze the lacy triangle of my thong while his breath dances along my neck. It sends a shiver up my spine.

It’s been a long time since a man touched me. Like, really touched me. Not just held my hand to fool his family into thinking that I’m his girlfriend.

My last relationship ended almost a year ago.

There hasn’t been anyone since, not even a one-night stand.

I like to think that I’m the relationship type, but I tend to cut them short at the first sign of trouble.

I don’t like to waste my time if it isn’t going to work with someone, and I don’t like to drag things out for the sake of spared feelings. It only hurts us both more in the end.

Instead of a relationship, I have a nice little collection of colorful toys in my nightstand. But it isn’t the same as a man’s touch.

When Ryan takes a step back, I feel a strange sense of longing at his absence.

If I did want to end my dry spell, Ryan wouldn’t be the worst option.

Everything about the man screams sex. But the fact remains that I’m not interested in one-night stands, and I’m definitely not interested in making things even weirder between Ryan and me.

Within the last few hours, we’ve finally found some footing.

A way to coexist together, maybe even a glimmer of friendship.

Sex would absolutely annihilate that, I’m sure of it.

I’m so lost in thought that it barely registers when Ryan clears his throat somewhere behind me. A draft of air wafts past the bare skin of my stomach, giving me goose bumps.

It also drags me away from my thoughts and to the realization that I’ve slipped off my dress right in front of Ryan. I’m standing there in a black lacy bra and matching thong. And nothing else.

At least I’m wearing nice underwear.

A quick glance in the mirror tells me I’ve gone full-tomato once again. More like a boiled tomato, actually. I feel like one, too. I’m a million degrees.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say as I bend over and snatch my dress up off the floor. Ryan gets a good view of my ass while I do this. “I was just-”

Just what? Pondering your sexual aptitude? Making a mental pro/con list about having casual sex with you?

Embarrassing myself again? Yep, that’s it.

Ryan is standing between the two beds. He keeps his eyes fixed on mine. His hands are at his tie, frozen at the half-loosened knot.

“Sorry, I just zoned out,” I finally manage to say.

“It’s okay,” he says, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“I think I have a special talent for embarrassing myself in front of you.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

Ryan’s eyes finally flick down, but they don’t linger. He clears his throat again. We both stand there for a second, seemingly frozen in place. The tension between us is so palpable that it forces me to reconsider my one-night stand rule for the second time tonight.

But this is Ryan – my coworker, my fake date, and my mortal enemy. Even the best orgasm in the world isn’t worth the trouble it would cause. And that’s assuming he wouldn’t shoot me down completely and then hold it over my head until the end of time.

I break eye contact with him, mutter another apology, and scamper off to the bathroom with my butt in clear view.

I’ll never live down the fact that Ryan Ehler has seen my ass in a tiny thong.

After splashing a few gallons of cold water on my face and brushing my teeth, I change into my pajamas. They’re the most modest pair I own – a gray waffle knit top and full-length plaid pants. I take a few deep breaths before walking back out into our shared hotel room.

Ryan is standing near the closet hanging up his suit. And he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. It stops me in my tracks and I’m still taking in all the hard muscles of his back when he turns and smiles at me.

“Now we’re even,” he says with a wink as he passes by me on the way to the bathroom.

I’m buried deep in the covers by the time he re-emerges a few minutes later. He’s still wearing nothing but his boxer shorts as he peels back the covers and slides into the other bed.

Ryan switches off his bedside lamp, leaving nothing but a glimmer of streetlight that creeps through the edges of the curtains. I keep adjusting to find a comfortable spot in the unfamiliar bed, but Ryan is perfectly still. In fact, I think he’s already asleep until he speaks.

“Thank you for coming here with me.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply.

“I had a good time tonight,” he says after a few seconds.

“Me too.”

Silence stretches out in the dark between us for what seems like forever. It’s easier to say things like this to each other in the dark. It would be easy to say all sorts of things into the darkness.

“Goodnight, Marlow.”

“Goodnight.”