My pulse quickens.

“Do you…” I swallow nervously. Lick the wine from my lips. “Want to pretend for the weekend that I’m not just your friend?”

The longest, most silent hesitation I have ever had the misfortune to hear.

“Yes.”

Oh god.

“Do you…” I gulp, going for my wine glass. “Do you want to pretend for the weekend that I’m not your roommate?”

Ashley stares. Stares and stares, studying my face, eyes boring into me.

He nods slowly.

Deliberately.

I lean back, feeling buzzed.

Feeling…exuberant.

I’ve been living with this person for three weeks and I already have him figured out, already know what makes him tick. What drives him and motivates him and disgusts him.

Dishonesty. Lack of enthusiasm.

Laziness.

Ashley loves ambition and has it in spades.

He’s passionate and driven and aims to graduate on time, go back to Britain, and start working his ass off.

The only code I have not cracked is his personal life: if he wants to date, does he want to fall in love, does he want to have kids and his own family someday.

We haven’t discussed it.

“Now it’s my turn to ask you questions,” he tells me, chugging down the remaining inches of his Guinness, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, foam in the corner of his beautifully scarred mouth.

His lips are gorgeous, or maybe I’m tipsier than I thought.

Either way, they’re speaking to me and I have to focus and pay attention.

“Questions about what?”

He’s suppressing a sigh. “What you’re thinking about right now.”

“Fair enough.”

The server appears and takes our empty glasses. “Would you like me to bring you more of the same?”

We both nod and wait until she’s gone before speaking again.

“Go on.”

My roommate tilts his head. “If I hadn’t been able to come with you on this trip, would you have wanted to come?”

Whoa.

Whoa, whoa, WHOA.

He just threw down the gauntlet, didn’t he? Put it all out there for me to give him the truth and nothing but the truth with that one sentence, which doesn’t seem very telling but is.

One word—one yes or no—is going to sum it up for him better than anything else he could have thought of to ask.

I wait until the server sets our drinks down, watching her walk away before giving him a wide set of eyes.

It’s a wonder they haven’t bugged out of my skull as I sit here, trying to figure out how to respond.

No: I wanted it to be you and only you because I’ve been harboring a secret crush on you since the night I moved in.

Yes: I would have easily invited someone else along, one of my female friends, without a second thought.

He waits.

I stall.

Whatever I say next is going to change the course of this dinner, this night, this weekend, and our lives when we get back home. I’m about to make it better, or worse, or more awkward than it’s already been, and I have no actual way of knowing which of the three it’ll be until I open my mouth and say the word.

Yes.

Or no.

“No,” I murmur breathily. Because I don’t think I would’ve come on this trip without him; he is the person I had in mind when I was daydreaming about this vacation, and he’s the only person I would’ve wanted with me. Period.

Ashley doesn’t say a word, just reaches for his glass again and takes a healthy sip, watching me from above the rim. I can feel his gaze like I could feel his hand on the small of my back when we were walking through the restaurant to our table, the intense gaze filling my body with tingles the way a body should react when you’re insanely attracted to someone but too afraid to say something.

Nervous energy.

Electric energy.

Flirty, alive energy.

We are in the city that never sleeps, the city of sin, having a reckoning we should have had before I moved into his house and down the hall. If I had been honest with myself before this moment, maybe things would be different and he would be here as my date and not just as a friend.

But I have a feeling that’s all about to change.

His entire posture has changed.

Part of me wants him to reach over and take my hand; it might have been strategically placed on the table, palm resting flat, gold bracelet circling my wrist and winking at us both.

“Alright,” he says at long last.

What does he mean by that?

For the rest of dinner, we cast furtive glances at each other, almost shyly tiptoeing around the sudden shift I caused.

No. Alright.

When the server comes to clear our last remaining dinner plates, I no longer feel like dessert even though it would be included with the meal.

“Do you want to take something to go and we can eat it later in the hotel room?” Ashley asks smartly, savvier than I am at travel, having done it a thousand more times than I have.

“Great idea, yes.” I adjust the napkin on my lap, folding it before finally setting it on the table next to my discarded dessert spoon.

“Cheesecake might sound good in a few hours.”

He orders one slice to go, and another of chocolate cake, both of which appear soon after in pretty gold boxes, placed inside a black bag with utensils and napkins.

Fancy.

It feels decadent.

Too decadent, but something I could get used to if it happened more often. The dessert, I mean—not the way Ashley is watching me from his spot at the table.

When we stand at the end of our meal once the server has brought us our takeaway cheesecake and chocolate cake, Ashley crosses to my side of the table and does that thing where he leads me to the lobby, hand at the small of my back. And who would have guessed that of all the things in the whole wide world I would love the feel of so, so much, it would be a man’s hand in that spot.

It’s all I can do not to shiver.

Once we reach the street, we stand there taking in the lights and the loud sounds of traffic.

Ashley leans over to talk in my ear. “Want to explore?”

Do I? Not really. It was a travel day, and we’re going to spend tomorrow by the pool and walking around (I’m sure) plus trying our hand at a few tables in the casino—then another dinner plus a show?

“I think we should maybe head back, since it’s already ten and we have a long day tomorrow…” I hope he doesn’t think I’m a wet rag for wanting to get a good night’s sleep—in a city that never rests.

“Perfect.”

He has our dessert bag in one hand and grabs my hand with the other, following the neon sign of our hotel, lit high above in the Vegas night. It’s a beacon and we don’t need directions to get back, though we still have to dodge and weave our way through people on the sidewalks, then again past the fountain.

I make a mental note to get a photo tomorrow when the lighting is better.

Unlike earlier when we were headed toward the restaurant for our dinner reservations, Ashley does not keep holding my hand after we make our way through the bustling crowd. He releases it once there are less people and we’re in the turnaround at the hotel.

I’m filled with disappointment and confusion, which seems to be the new theme with me.

We ride the elevator to one of the highest floors, and I haven’t lost the buzz from my one and a half glasses of wine during dinner, smiling like a fool as the elevator car makes its way up.