The Room with One Bed

The Uber drops us off at the hotel. Danielle, my co-worker from the office, and I check in, pick up our room keys, and head to our suite on the third floor.

As Danielle steps into the room, she freezes.

“One bed,” Ero Apostasia says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Great.”

Danielle forces a small laugh.

“I can take the floor if you want.”

I glance at her, surprised.

“No—uh, we’ll figure it out.”

Neither of us moves toward the bed.

“What if we... share? We can put pillows between us if that makes you more comfortable.”

“Share?” Danielle’s eyes widen slightly at the suggestion, her heart rate picking up. She hesitates for a moment, trying to keep her voice steady.

“I mean... if you’re okay with it, I guess we could make it work.”

She looks away briefly before meeting my gaze again.

“But just so we’re clear—this doesn’t change anything between us, right? It’s just... a practical solution.”

She hopes I can’t tell how flustered she feels beneath her calm exterior. The thought of sharing a bed, even with pillows as a barrier, sends a thrill through her that she tries hard to ignore. We are colleagues, friends even—but there’s no denying the undercurrent of attraction that has always simmered between us.

“We should probably set some ground rules,” she adds.

I roll my eyes, noticing her blush. She is cute, but we have such a good friendship at work; I’d hate to screw it up by trying anything funny.

“Absolutely, Danielle. I better not wake up to you groping me in the night.” I grin, and she giggles.

She stands tall at about 5'9", curvy yet fit, dressed in the clothes she wore on the plane. Her lavender active ensemble—a zip-up jacket over a white cami top and leggings—accentuates her long, muscular legs and perfectly shaped bottom. Danielle definitely does her squats.

“Seriously,” I continue, only half-serious, “any weird nocturnal activities you want to warn me about?”

“Snoring? Sleepwalking? Will I wake up to find myself tied to the bed?”

Danielle laughs, shaking her head at my playful teasing.

“Tied to the bed? Wow, you’ve got quite the imagination! But don’t worry, your virtue will be safe with me.”

She smirks back, enjoying our banter.

As she bends to pick up her suitcase, the hem of her jacket rides up slightly, revealing a glimpse of her toned midriff above the waistband of her leggings. Straightening up, she catches my eye, holding my gaze for a moment longer than necessary, a hint of something unspoken passing between us. Clearing her throat, she gestures toward the bed.

“Well, since we’re apparently roommates for the night, why don’t we get settled in? I’m going to change into my pajamas real quick.”

She reaches for the handle of her suitcase.

I brush my teeth in the sink outside the shower/toilet area while Danielle changes inside. I throw on an old University of Kansas t-shirt, a pair of silky boxer briefs, and gray sweatpants. Folding the comforter and blanket down, I lay on top of the sheets, flipping on the TV to an old episode of The Wire on HBO.

Danielle opens the bathroom door and steps out, smiling shyly. She looks absolutely adorable with her blond hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, bangs framing her face. She wears a white lace-trimmed cami top cropped just enough to show her bare, toned belly.

Her curves are firm with muscle, and without makeup, she appears all of 21 years old, despite being 27. I can’t believe she will be sleeping in the same bed tonight. I try not to make a big deal about adjusting my sweatpants, as something stirs down there. I don’t want things to be weird.

Danielle pauses in the doorway, suddenly self-conscious about her choice of sleepwear. The cami top and satin pajama pants are comfortable but maybe a bit too revealing for sharing a bed with me. She resists the urge to tug at the hem of her top, knowing it would only draw more attention to her exposed midriff.

Crossing the room, she perches on the edge of the mattress, careful to leave space between us.

“So, uh, what did I miss?” she asks, nodding toward the TV screen, trying to fill the charged silence with casual conversation.

Her eyes dart to my lap, catching the subtle adjustment of my sweatpants before quickly looking away. A faint blush colors her cheeks, and her mind races with thoughts best left unspoken. Being this close to me, seeing me relaxed, stirs up feelings she usually keeps tightly locked away.

“The Wire. Have you seen it? It’s only my favorite show ever. Do you want to watch? Or would you rather do something else?”

Danielle shakes her head, settling back against the pillows.

“I haven’t seen it, but I’m always up for watching something new. Especially with you.”

Her smile is soft, her tone warm with genuine affection.

As the opening credits begin to play, Danielle finds herself hyper-aware of every shift and breath from my side of the bed. The weight of the blankets feels intimate, almost electric against her skin. She focuses intently on the television, determined not to let her imagination run wild despite the tantalizing proximity of my body.

Every so often, she risks a glance in my direction, admiring the strong lines of my profile illuminated by the flickering light of the screen. In moments like these, it’s all too easy for her to forget we’re just coworkers and imagine something more. No. She mentally shakes off those dangerous thoughts.

We relax into an episode from season three of The Wire, where Bunny Colvin gets fed up with the police department after one of his detectives gets shot in a ridiculous buy bust of ****. He decides to essentially legalize **** in his district to reduce the **** that comes with the **** game. It’s real, raw, and funny at the same time, and we both crack up when the kid the police are trying to move to the Free Zone says he doesn’t want to go to Hamsterdam.

Danielle laughs, the sound rich and melodic in the quiet of the hotel room. It feels good to share this moment with me, to connect over something beyond the confines of work. As the scene plays out, she relaxes incrementally, the earlier tension slowly easing from her shoulders.

When the laughter dies down, a comfortable silence settles between us, broken only by the dialogue from the TV. I steal a glance at Danielle, admiring the way the soft light plays across her features. She really is beautiful, in a way that makes my pulse quicken.

Realizing I’m staring, she quickly looks away, focusing back on the screen. But the awareness of her beside me remains, a constant undercurrent of electricity that I can’t quite shake.

The episode ends, and John Oliver comes on—he sucks, so I shut off the television. I roll to face Danielle, propping my head up with one arm.

“Ssssooooo, what did you think? And if you say you don’t like it, we can no longer be friends... and I will sleep on the floor. Are you hooked? Isn’t The Wire the greatest show ever made?”

Danielle mirrors my position, turning to face me with a smile.

“It was really good! I loved the social commentary and how it portrayed the complexities of the **** trade. Plus, the characters were so well-developed and interesting.”

She reaches out to playfully punch my shoulder. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to sleep on the floor. Our friendship is safe.” Her tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent of sincerity. Our bond means a lot to her.

The conversation lulls, and Danielle gets lost in my dark eyes, drawn in by the intensity of my gaze. Her own eyes flick down to my lips for the briefest of moments before darting away. She swallows hard, **** to break the spell.

“So...” I say, trying to fill the silence.

“Are you ready to go to sleep? It’s only 9 PM. We don’t really have to be at the conference until 10 AM tomorrow, so we don’t have to get up that early...”

I pause, realizing this sounds weird.

“Danielle, we can go to sleep if you want, or we can do something else...”

“Dang it, not like that. We can just, you know, talk.”

I’m blushing now, so embarrassed.

Danielle’s eyes soften at my flustered explanation, finding his awkwardness endearing.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not freaked out or anything.” She offers him a reassuring smile.

“We can just hang out for a bit longer if you want. Maybe catch another episode?”

She shifts slightly, drawing her knees up to her chest and hugging them loosely. The movement causes her cami top to ride up even further, exposing the smooth expanse of her lower back.

“Or we could talk more about the show, or whatever else is on your mind. I’m happy to listen.”

Danielle studies Ero’s face, noticing the way his blush creeps down his neck. It’s a rare sight, seeing him so off-balance. Normally, he carries himself with such confidence and ease.

I nod, swallow, and turn on another show. It’s one of those lighthearted crime dramas—Hawaii Five-0 or CSI, or something like that. I can’t remember. There’s a scene where the detectives interview a dominatrix, a woman who is into spanking men who pay her for it.

During her interview, she explains that she provides a therapy service, and the detectives proceed to argue about the ethics of her therapy.

When the show ends, I turn off the television for real this time. The air fills with tension, like clouds heavy with rain that hasn’t fallen yet.

“So, Danielle…”

To be continued in chapter 2...