“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” she says, like she’s offended on behalf of furniture comfort everywhere.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” She steps closer, hands on her hips in full teacher mode. “You’re the one protecting me. You need proper sleep.”
Little does she know that if I sleep in bed with her I won’t be getting any sleep at all. “I can sleep on a couch.”
“You can,” she agrees. “But youshouldn’t.”
I stare at her. “Stella.”
She points at me. “Jack.”
The way she says my name—sharp, insistent—does something low and hot in my gut.
I force my voice steady. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
“It is if I say it is,” she counters. “Also, have you seen your shoulders? You will snap that couch in half.”
I almost laugh. Almost.
Instead I walk down the hall and open the bedroom door.
One bed.
Of course.
Stella appears beside me and stops short. “Oh.”
I glance at her. “You sleep. I take the couch.”
She turns to me, eyes wide and stubborn. “No.”
I exhale slow. “Stella, we are not sharing a bed.”
She lifts her chin. “Why not?”
Because if I share a bed with you, I’ll spend the entire night fighting my own hands. Because you smell like sugar and warmth and I want to put my mouth on you until you forget your own name. Because I don’t trust myself.
I keep my face blank. “Because it’s not appropriate.”
She studies me, and I can see her trying to decide if she should push or retreat. Then she surprises me. Her voice softens. “Jack… I don’t want you out there alone. Not when someone’s been in my house. Not when you’re doing all of this because of me.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
She blinks slowly. “Stop downplaying it.”
I go still.
She gives me the smallest, most smug smile. “See? I’m learning.”
I should be annoyed. Instead, something warm twists in my chest. “You think I’m uncomfortable,” I say, “and you want to fix it.”
“I do,” she whispers. “That’s what I do.”
My gaze drops to her mouth. “And you don’t think sharing a bed with me will make things… complicated.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. “I think it already is.”
