defiance0
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- Feb 1, 2009
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One hotel room. One bed. Zero chance of keeping it professional.
Harry
When I agreed to chaperone the boys’ hockey team, I thought my biggest challenge would be pretending to understand the rules—not being stuck sharing a hotel room with Darius Hall. The P.E. teacher. The human whistle. The man who’s made my Mondays miserable for years.
But somewhere between the bus ride, the tense semifinal, and one very small bed, I start to realize the worst part of Darius Hall might be how much I like him.
Darius
I’ve spent years pretending Harry Peterson doesn’t get under my skin. Easier to tease him than admit I notice everything—his color-coded lesson plans, the cedar-and-coffee smell, that unguarded laugh.
Now we’re stuck sharing a hotel room, and I’m running out of excuses for the way I feel. One bed. One night. And suddenly I can’t decide what’s harder to handle: his endless commentary or how much I miss it when he stops talking.
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