Sherlock narrows his eyes and lets out a low warning chirp before flicking his tail harder against the cushion.
Rafael looks up at me, defeated. “Plan B?”
“Would you like a spare blanket?”
He sits back on his heels. “You know, I used to climb in.”
“Climb in?”
“Yeah. Into my place. Through the bathroom window.”
I turn, locating the tiny bathroom window in the house next door. Not the porch or even a low-level window—the one barely big enough to fit Sherlock on the upper floor.
He’s not suggesting he do that now, is he?
I stand and reach for the jacket, but Sherlock immediately hisses, ears flat, and swipes at my hand with surprising speed. I jerk back, narrowly avoiding his claws as he growls and sprawls even more possessively over the leather like it’s his new throne.
“Okay. Wow. Apparently it’s his favorite jacket now.”
Rafael presses his lips together, trying not to laugh.
“Give him a few minutes. He’ll forget about it.”
“Sure.”
“Or you could… stay here,” I suggest, walking away from the cat. I can feel myself blush instantly, but the thought of sleeping in this big house alone with a serial killer out there is not exactlysoothing.
“You got an extra room, right?” He grins, eyes sweeping over me. “I firmly believe anyone over twenty-five shouldn’t sleep on a couch.”
My parents’, not exactly accessible, and my brother’s, but I’d never let anyone in there. It’s Ethan’s room—his bed, his desk. It’s waiting forhim.
“Uh, not really.” Thoughts running back to the book, I grimace. I can practically hear Paige’s singsongYou live in a romance book. “But we could… share the bed.” My heart picks up speed, but I keep my tone casual. “For sleeping only. Since, you know, we’re taking things slow.”
He doesn’t say a word, watching me with the face of someone who just found the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
“It’s just a bed.”
“No, it’s not that.” He smiles widely. “This is the first time you acknowledgewe’retaking things slow. That we’redoingsomething.”
Oh. Well, we are. I’m not surewhatwe’re doing, but something’s definitely happening between us. “So will you stay?”
“I shouldn’t. I don’t want you to think this was a ploy to—”
“I guess Iama little on edge,” I insist, looking out the window. “And I’d feel better if you stayed.”
He tilts his head. “Well, since you’re being so honest…” Teeth pinching his bottom lip, he holds his keys up.
“Seriously?” I squeak.
“I didn’t think you’d admit you were worried.” He laughs, stepping closer. “Can I stay over?”
I scowl. “You can have the couch.”
“I don’t think so. But I promise no cuddling of any kind will take place—not human-on-human cuddling, anyway. I’m a sound sleeper, and I don’t mind the light on, so you can read as late as you like.” He snaps his fingers. “We’ll use Sherlock as a wall. Huh? What do you think?”
This guy, I swear.
How annoying that I’d like the scent of his aftershave on my pillow.
