Then, he leans forward, lips so close to my ear, I reflexively shiver.
“We’re at a sleep clinic, not a sleep ‘with’ clinic, Hutchinson,” he whispers. Then, he pulls back and looks me directly in the eye, destroying my confidence in a three-word rejection: “Read the room.”
Wow. Okay. I thought he’d been nice back then. Clearly, I was wrong.
Before I can conjure up a comeback, a woman in a lab coat comes out to the corridor. I sit up straight.
“Thank you all for your patience. At this point, we’re only looking for couples to make up the remainder of the study,” she says.
A quiet groan echoes throughout the room as people start getting up to leave. I look over to Xander, who hasn’t moved. He’s looking directly at me, as if trying to send a telepathic message. I’m not picking up on it.
Then, he gives me a blink-and-you-miss-it nod just as the woman in the lab coat comes up to us and says, “Are you two together?”
I’m about to shake my head and boldly announce, “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt,” when Xander says, “Yes.”
It’s my turn to stare at him. He stares back, and I suddenly get it. Heneedsthis.
And then I remember. I need this, too. I mean, Ireallyfucking need this. Maybe for a different reason from whatever is going on with Xander, but it’s a big one and if it means playing fake boyfriend/girlfriend for a month while we sleep together but actually don’t sleep together, I can suck it up. I think. Even if he was just a royal asshat a minute ago.
“We are,” I say, cementing my fate.
“Great. Please follow me, then,” she says.
And just like that, we’re in.
She turns on her heel and heads for the door beyond the waiting room. Xander does one of those “after you” hand gestures. I grab my bag and start to follow.
“Thank you,” he says. I barely hear the whispered words over the whoosh of the door as we head to who knows where in this lab.
What? Now you’renice? As if.
The woman in the white lab coat introduces herself as Dr. Waitley. She’s the director of the sleep study, and she’ll be processing our admission into the sleep clinic today.
Okay, so this is happening. There’s no job interview where they ask you to tell them about a time where something went wrong and required “teamwork” to fix, which is good since I’d have to tell her about when the copper sulfate went missing during the fall semester and how we all “banded together” to “save the day” when really it was Emily and me who’d “borrowed” the stock to make green fire for ourWicked-themed Halloween party. So at least that crisis is averted.
Now I just need to deal with the Xander-shaped one.
The man of the hour and I take a seat opposite Dr. Waitley. Her office is small and crammed with reams of research papers. It reminds me of my desk at school—just replace the papers with tests to grade. Most teachers grumble about grading papers, but I love seeing my students showcase their newly minted knowledge. The dull pang behind my ribcage surfaces, reminding me that I’m no longer a teacher. Currently, my status is ex-chemistry teacher turned fake girlfriend who’sthiscloseto begging to get paid to sleep. I catch the heavy sigh in my chest and remember that my landlord is going to resort to calling me soon.Let’s do this.
I look over at Xander. He hasn’t said a word since we sat down. His face is taut, as if he was carved in marble by Michelangelo himself, like some Renaissance man-hero. Holy shit, he’s uncomfortable. Like deeply uncomfortable. About the lying? Has he never lied in his life? I’m not saying I’m a constant liar, but I mean, that’s the genetic makeup of the guys I hook up with and their subsequent Bone It profile. Lying about your relationship status. Lying about your height. Lying about what you can bench press. I promise no girl in the entire world gives a flying fuck about what a guy can bench press.
And is that a green tinge to his skin? Is he going to be sick? I want to smirk at him, I really do. But I can’t risk it. This admission process needs to go off without a hitch. I mentally bank this image of him to use should I need to bring him down a few notches.
“Thank you, Dr. Waitley. We’re so grateful to be here,” I say, reaching over and grabbing Xander’s hand. Another memory materializes at the touch.Hands that trail down my sternum, tracing lazy circles around my stomach as we lie on top of a pile of tangled sheets.Nope. Stop.
It’s time to play the sweet, dedicated, and worried girlfriend who is absolutely not here to get paid but instead, of course, is here out of the goodness of her heart because her boyfriend suffers from terrible insomnia.
“Isn’t that right, sweetie?” I say to Xander. I’m suddenly determined to not only get paid but to also win an Oscar for my role as “model girlfriend.”
He stares at me for a moment, expressionless. Indifferent almost. Okay, well, I guess we could attempt to pass ourselves off as one of those couples who’ve been together forever and secretly hate each other. It’ll be a dark drama, but I can work with it.
There’s a beat before the corners of his mouth twitch and he intertwines his fingers with mine, clasping his other hand over the top and turning to Dr. Waitley. I wasn’t expecting that. I look down at his hands and beg my brain to not bring up another memory.
“We are,” he says, that little twitch in the corner of his mouth releasing into a smile that’s so sweet it’s sickening. “Really, really happy to be here.”
The formalities out of the way—and the awkwardness only just beginning—Dr. Waitley proceeds to tell us that the study will run for thirty consecutive nights. We’ll sleep, in the same bed, at the clinic in one of their special sleep labs so we can be closely monitored. We’re informed that the goal of the study is to have a natural night of sleep that is as uncomplicated and comfortable as possible.
Well, shit, looks like we’ve already failed because there is nothing natural, uncomplicated, or comfortable about this.
