He tilts his head, giving me a slow once-over that sends a shiver through me right down to my mismatched pajama bottoms. “Oh, you bet.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I quickly gesture to the bed, trying to brush his comment off. “So, um, which side do you usually sleep on?”
“Your bed, your rules,” he replies with an easy shrug.
“I sleep in the middle.”
He huffs out a deep, low chuckle. “Me too. Maybe I’ll meet you there.”
Always. So. Smooth.
I climb onto the right side of the bed, trying to keep my movements casual, though every nerve feels like it’s conspiring against me. I turn the light off, and then the mattress dips as Rafael settles on the left side, shifting just enough to remind me he’s right there—so close that his warmth radiates through the sheets.
Here we are. Not too weird, right?
I take a slow breath, staring up at the dark ceiling as I press my hands against my sides, willing my body to behave. But my skin is tooaware of the space between us, of the way I can hear his slow, steady breathing, which only seems to amplify my own.
I shift slightly, feigning comfort, but my heartbeat picks up, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force myself into relaxation.Just sleep.
“Was this your parents’ bedroom?”
I flinch, twisting to look in his direction. “Uh, no. This has always been mine. My parents’ room is now the guest bedroom. Or will be—there are only boxes in there.” I turn on my back. “It’d be weird to sleep in their bedroom, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t think so. I just keep picturing your dad giving me the stink eye.”
“For sleeping here?”
“For missing out on so much. And not being there for you when he and your mom passed.”
That’s ridiculous. It’s not like my dad ever entrusted him to me or anything. We’ve never been friends. “You know, Paige says I can’t hold a grudge.”
“Is that true?”
“It is. I get it from Dad.” I exhale. “So I highly doubt that he’d ever have been able to stay mad at you. Or anyone.”
“Hmm.” Though I can’t tell for sure, it sounds like he’s smiling. “Who was your first kiss with?”
I inhale sharply, then exhale. Is that what he meant when he said he missed out? “Uh, Jacob Gallagher.”
“Was it any good?”
“Not really. His mouth tasted like hot dog, and he lodged his tongue in my throat. It was kind of gross.”
He laughs, the cover moving with him.
“And you?”
“Lily Goodwin. She asked me if I’d ever kissed anyone, because she wanted me to show her how to, and I lied. It was great—for me, at least. She’d probably describe it similarly to how you just did.”
Lily Goodwin? I groan. “Damn it. I get my haircuts at her salon.”
“And?” He snickers. “You can’t possibly be jealous, can you?”
“No,” I say defensively. But I’ll definitely think about it every time I see her now.
“Yikes. I think I just cost her a client.”
“You’re seriously underestimating the loyalty of a woman to her hairdresser.”
