The hotel room had two beds.

Or at least, it did before one of them collapsed beneath me, the weak frame giving out the second I sat down. A loud crack echoed through the room, followed by the thud of the mattress hitting the floor. I stared at the wreckage for a moment, exhaling slowly. Great.

Then came the inevitable reaction.

“Are you serious?”

I turned to look at her. She was gaping at the broken bed, her hands thrown up in exasperation, as if I had personally taken a sledgehammer to it.

“It was weak,” I said simply, running a hand down my face.

She let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, and you just had to test its structural integrity? What, were you checking if it was made of matchsticks?”

I sighed, already knowing where this was going. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll share.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, she blinked at me, as if I had just suggested we sleep outside in the hallway. “I’m sorry—what?”

I shrugged. “It’s just a bed.”

Her arms crossed over her chest, her entire stance radiating defiance. “It’s not just a bed. You’re huge, Aaron. You take up so much space, and I know you sleep like a starfish. This is a terrible idea.”

I bit back a smirk, watching the way she was already working herself up over something that was, realistically, unavoidable. “Guess we’ll have to get cozy, then.”

Her eye twitched.