I open the bathroom door and step into my childhood bedroom. When I look up and see Sailor, I stop dead in my tracks.
She's standing beside my bed—the double bed that seemed so spacious when I was sixteen but now looks absurdly small—folding her shirt. She's wearing nothing but a sports bra and black boxer shorts that sit low on her hips, and it only takes seconds before my brain short-circuits completely.
Fuck. She has a great body. Like a really, really great body.
Of course she has a great body; she's a personal trainer. But knowing that intellectually and seeing the evidence are two very different things. Her shoulders are broad and defined, her breasts perky, her abs carved. Her arms show the kind of lean muscle that comes from functional strength rather than just gym vanity.
I stare for a beat too long, my mouth going dry as my gaze travels from her shoulders down to where the waistband of her boxers rests against her hipbones. Don't look at her body, don't look, absolutely do NOT look— Oh for fuck's sake, Liv, what is wrong with you? You're a grown woman, not some horny teenager. Eyes up, eyes up, look at literally anything else. The horse posters. Yes, focus on the horses. Majestic creatures. Very wholesome. Or focus on the motivational posters plastered above the desk. "Believe in Yourself" one declares in swirling script over a sunset, which is rich considering I clearly can't trust myself to maintain basic eye contact. "You Can Do Anything You Set Your Mind To"—except stop ogling my fake girlfriend's abs.
Unwholesome thoughts race through me. Jesus Christ, I need to get a grip and stop mentally undressing her when she's already practically naked.
"Is that what you're sleeping in?" I mumble, forcing myself to look away and focusing intently on the riding ribbons pinned to my corkboard.
She shrugs, seemingly unbothered by her state of undress. "Sorry. I genuinely forgot to bring something to sleep in. I usually sleep naked at home and, well... I wasn't thinking."
My breath hitches at the word 'naked,' and suddenly I'm picturing her naked, which is probably because I haven't had sex in so long that my body is staging a revolt against my brain. Now I'm not just thinking about her naked, I'm thinking about her naked in this bed, and the temperature in the room seems to spike another ten degrees.
"Are you okay with that?" she continues, completely oblivious to the direction my thoughts have taken. "If you have something I can borrow, I can—" She fans herself. “Not that I need it per se, it’s pretty toasty in here.”
"No, it's okay," I say quickly, probably too quickly.
Then I look at the bed—really look at it. It looks about as spacious as a rowboat.
I hadn't thought about the logistics. All my planning and preparation, all my detailed files and instructions, and I never once considered the actual mechanics of sleeping in the same bed as her.
Her eyes drift down to my chest, and a slow grin spreads across her face. "Nice shirt, by the way. 'I like to be on top'?" she reads the slogan aloud, amusement seeping through her voice.
I look down at my shirt in horror, having completely forgotten what I grabbed from my old dresser. Underneath the slogan is a graphic of a bunk bed.
"It's not what you think," I stammer, crossing my arms over my chest. "They were selling them at a hostel during a college spring break trip, and I thought it was funny at the time. I completely forgot what it said and?—"
"Relax, Liv, I'm just teasing you." Her grin turns wicked. "Although if you feel like sharing, I'd definitely be interested in hearing more about your preferences." She winks, and I'm pretty sure my face just burst into flames.
I open my mouth to respond—though I have no idea what I would even say to that—but she's already heading toward the bathroom with her toothbrush.
The second she's gone, I dive under the covers, scooting as far to the right side of the bed as possible without actually falling off the edge. I pull the covers up to my chin and stare at the ceiling, listening to the sound of running water.
The bed frame creaks when I shift position. Great. Not only am I sharing a tiny bed with a woman I barely know, but we're going to announce every movement to my parents, whose bedroom is next door. They probably think we're getting it on right now.
Calm down, Liv. Just calm down.
The water shuts off, and I squeeze my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Maybe if I'm unconscious—or at least pretending to be—we can get through this night without any awkwardness.
The bathroom door opens, and I hear her bare feet on the hardwood floor. The bed dips as she climbs in, and I hold my breath. The mattress shifts and settles as she finds her position, and I can feel the warmth radiating from her body even though we're not touching.
"Jesus, it's warm in here," she mumbles, shifting restlessly beside me.
"Sorry about that," I whisper back, abandoning my pretense of sleep. "My parents forgot to have the aircon repaired. It's supposed to be cooler tomorrow."
There's more rustling as she moves around, and then I feel the covers being pushed back on her side. "It's fine. I'll just sleepon top of the covers." A soft chuckle escapes her. "I like to be on top too."
I let out a nervous laugh. "God, you're never going to let me live that shirt down, are you?"
"Probably not. It's too good."
I'm steaming like a dumpling under these quilts, and her comment about sleeping on top suddenly seems like the most reasonable suggestion I've heard all day. Practical wins out over modesty.
I push my side of the covers down too and sigh in relief. That's better. When I shift, the bed sounds like a rusty gate opening. We turn to look at each other, and then we both burst out laughing.
