What Goes Around

6. Discomfort Inn

The lights flickered on again. They stayed immobile for a minute, just waiting to see if the electricity would hold.

"OK!" Booth said, taking his first good look around. TV, small round table, chair, phone, lamp...

"I've stayed in way worse conditions," she said. "I'll be fine. I'm just worried about you."

"Me?"

"You're a little... soft."

He snickered. "What?!"

"Yes. This is out of your comfort zone."

She was so right. This place gave him the creeps.

"I'm fine," he said.

"I bet you hate camping," she continued.

He did. With all his heart.

Brennan shivered. She had to warm up or else she would get sick. And she hated being sick more than anything.

"I'm gonna take a bath," she told him.

"Funny. I always picture you in the shower." He hadn't meant for it to sound so dirty. "Not that I think about... You know..." How could he rephrase that? "I thought you were more of a shower person." Yes, that sounded better. Right? God! Help me.

She smirked at his discomfort. "Could you grab my suitcase in the car?"

He peered out the window. The storm didn't look nearly over. He didn't want to, but one look at her, and he was running outside.

When he came back, she was putting her hair up in a bun, exposing her neck. He dropped the bags on the bed. He always had an emergency bag of his own ready in the trunk containing the basics.

She rummaged through her luggage and froze. There was no way. She looked at him. He was taking inventory of his stuff: 2 T-shirts, 1 pair of jeans, 1 sweatshirt...

"Could I... borrow one of your shirts?" she asked.

His head spun up, then down at her bag.

"Weren't you supposed to spend two days in Chicago?"

"Yes."

"And you forgot to pack sleepwear?"

Maybe she sleeps naked.

She pinched her lips together.

"I just thought you'd be more comfortable if I slept in one of your shirts."

In what universe would that make him more comfortable? A gorgeous woman in his shirt was enough to drive him over the edge in a few seconds. There was nothing sexier than a...

She pulled something out of her bag. Something pink... and a little see-through... something... She held it up and it unfolded. That was not sleepwear. That was sexwear. That was... He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to control his body.

Still gazing at the small piece of clothing she was showing off, he blindly took one of his T-shirts and threw it at her. She caught it, put back her négligé in the bag, zipped it shut and locked herself in the bathroom.

"Thanks!" she shouted through the door.

No problem.

It was his turn to come out of the bathroom. She was sitting on the chair by the window, brushing her hair. His shirt was too big for her, obviously, but it was still indecently short, barely covering her thighs. He tried not to stare, he really did.

Her cell phone rang. He went back to the bathroom to hang their wet clothes on the shower curtain rod and to give her some privacy.

The caller ID was unambiguous. It was Cal. She quickly glanced over at Booth. He wasn't looking, so she turned it off. When he came back and asked her who it was, she lied.