Research: Romance

one bed

We decided to grab some food from a nearby gas station for dinner. There was a fast-food pizza restaurant inside, which wasn't too bad for being on the outskirts of town. We ate and chatted, mostly about inconsequential things, but also about the book and my career as well. He had an infinite number of questions regarding my writing process, which made me realize I barely even had one.

"So, basically you just... wing it?" He snorts, shoving another piece of pizza in his mouth.

Laughing, I sip from my soda, "Despite my efforts to live a structured life, If I was any kind of idiom, at my core, I would be, 'winging it.'"

This intrigues him, and he stares quizzically at me over his food, "Hmm, an impulsive side? Yet another thing I'll have to test."

You test it more often than you realize. I want to tell him, but I just roll my eyes instead.

When we get back to the room, Robin and I are deadly silent. I try to tell myself that it's because we're tired, but I know it isn't. The energy shifts completely, suggesting everything that's unspoken between us. As we entered, I secured the lock behind us, and Robin went to his bag in the chair. Leaning against the door, I take a moment to dispute the apprehension and shyness creeping along my thoughts.

Of all the situations we had been in, I couldn't see why this one felt the most alarming. I mean, I punched an actor, attended a public cuddling session, deceived two complete strangers, and almost kissed Robin back-to-back these last weeks. Falling asleep beside each other was the easiest thing we had done besides couples therapy.

And yet... It was because we would be beside each other all night that made it difficult to control. There were no interruptions here: no gurus to break the ice, no cousins to interrupt the moment, and no actors to jump out at us when things got a little too intense. Just me and him.

Don't chicken out. If Isabella can do it, you can do it!  Do you want this book to be great or not?

Robin pulled some clothes and toiletries out of his bag, "I'm going to shower, do you need the bathroom?" He said this but was already walking toward the back.

"No, I'm good." I cleared my throat, moving off the door and in any direction that seemed natural. Stopping at my bag, I play with the zipper before pretending to rummage for something.

The bathroom door clicked shut and after a few minutes the water turned on.

Sitting down on the bed, I blew out a long breath. Then I brushed my hair away from my face and stared at the wall in absolute determination. I could do this. We're friends, business partners, and all of this has been discussed and decided on in detail... there is nothing to be afraid of.

Taking out my phone, I shot a text to Desi letting her know we made it back to the room. It takes a second before she sends me a thumbs up and heart emoji.

Then she replies: Can't wait to hear all about it ;) Snuggle up buttercup.

Rolling my eyes I smile and type back. Excuse me, a lady doesn't trope and tell.

Another instant reply: I'll tell Henry you drank one of his disgusting smoothies.

Touche. I type back: I'll give you the detailed report tomorrow. <3

Then I notice there are multiple text messages from my mom about Thanksgiving and what she needs me to bring. She also reminds me to buy something nice to wear for the occasion. I sent her a quick response before dropping my phone off to the side. Falling on the covers, my limbs go limp, and I groan, "What even is my life?"