The Journalist and Her Actor

Chapter 24

ONE ROOM. 

I was staying in a room with Luke Walker. 

ONE HOTEL ROOM.

With a super hot movie star... and not just any movie star, LUKE WALKER.

A SINGLE ROOM— well a single suite. 

But still. LUKE WALKER. ONE HOTEL ROOM.

My brain couldn't process the information without wanting to laugh at the very not funny situation. My face burned at the idea of staying in the same location as Luke Walker. Especially considering I didn't have a change of clothes and we had a tentative agreement of friendship after the most heated kissing conversation I ever had. 

This is a terrible idea. 

Luke lent me his phone to text Carter since my phone had fought the ocean and lost miserably. But instead of being utterly devastated by the loss of technology, I decided to take it as a weird blessing. My parents couldn't bother me and I had Carter's number memorized. 

"Hey, this is Em, texting you on Luke's phone. Long story. How are you? Everything going okay?"

Carter texted back a moment later. "WOAH! LUKE'S PHONE?!? Sounds like a story! A kind you should never tell your brother. Keep the gross details to yourself you bragging weirdo. I'm alive and fine.

I held in a groan. "Don't be weird Carter! This isn't my phone! He will be able to see this! P.S. Glad you are alive."

"You are the one being weird! Don't kiss and tell. P.P.S. Glad you are alive too. I'll use this as evidence if Luke kills you. BYE. P.P.P.S. HI LUKE! STOP READING OUR TEXTS!

I rolled my eyes, my heart warming at my goober of a brother. I wish it was as easy to embarrass him as it was to embarrass me. 

Placing Luke's phone down on the coffee table, I walked into Luke's hotel bedroom, standing in the doorway, trying to act casual as he placed several towels and toiletries on the bed. "The bathroom is yours to use. I don't really have any extra clothes that fit. But..." he gestured to a robe hanging on the door. "There's that. And I put a few things in the bathroom that might work." 

"Thanks, Buddy."

Luke wrinkled his nose at the name and I looked away, cringing at my attempt to make things less awkward. I had apparently become a mastermind at laying a blanket of awkward over everything.

Then he walked past me, out of the room with a silent nod, leaving me alone. 

Luke's bathroom was too large, the tiled floors too cold, the mirrors revealed too much, and when you are a bundle of feelings, you don't need extra things to worry about. So after showering at Sonic the Hedgehog speed, I ran my fingers through my hair like a makeshift hairbrush and scrambled around for the clothes Luke left out for me, itching to be fully clothed again.

I pulled on a large grey t shirt that went down to my mid thigh and a collar that kept sliding off my shoulders, showcasing the obvious difference in our builds and heights. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I rolled up the pant legs several times so I wouldn't trip on them and then made my way out of the bathroom, feeling like a pixie being swallowed in a giant's clothes— if the giant's clothes smelled like citrus, orange blossoms and musky woods, basically a day of sun, fingers brushing through garden hedges.

Luke sat in the living room, eyes on his movie script, the pages worn, covered in notes and deeply highlighted. His head was tilted to the side, loose hair strands brushing against his brow, hand on his chin, deeply focused as he went through the pages.