A resigned look passes over his features. “Take my bed.”
“What?” My stomach flips. I bet his bed smells incredible. “No. It’s fine. The floor is great.”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Jordan.” He looks pained. “Go ahead. Take the bed.”
The part of me that hates accepting help thrashes. “No. You’re so old. You’ll wake up with a crick in your neck.”
He laughs. “Probably.”
“You need a good sleep tonight.” After tomorrow morning’s practice, we’re flying out to talk to Colworth at his university and flying home right after. It’ll be a long day. “We can sleep together,” I blurt out, and he freezes. “In the same bed. Sleeping, I mean. Not anything else.”
He goes very still, like he isn’t sure if he heard right.
“It’s fine.” Why do I feel so shaky and weird, like nervous andexcited, like I drank too much coffee? It’s two in the morning. “It’s fine,” I repeat. “I’ve shared a bed with Georgia before. It isn’t a big deal. You’ll be up in three hours anyway.”
He watches me with a wary expression. “You want to sleep in the same bed.”
He told me it was never going to happen. He doesn’t want me.
“Platonically.” I try to sound firm, so he doesn’t think I’m trying to make a move. “There’s nothing romantic between us. You’re my boss and you have a kid. You’re not my type at all.”
It’s true. He isn’t my type. Tate Ward is nothing like any of the guys I’ve dated.
“Players share rooms all the time on the road,” I add. “We work together. It’s the same.”
I can’t read his expression. He looks... worried? “They don’t share beds.”
“Look, I don’t want to put you out and make you sleep on the floor when you’ve done so much for me.”
Another truth. He’s got enough on his plate, he doesn’t need me making his life harder.
It looks like he’s about to argue, but instead, he just nods once. “Fine.”
I stare at the rumpled sheets. “Do you have a preferred side?”
“No.” He clears his throat. “I usually gravitate to the middle.” Our eyes meet. “Not tonight, obviously.” His eyes dart to his bedside table and he looks to be struggling with something before he strides over, opens the drawer, and pulls outtwopairs of my underwear.
“Wow.” I stare at them. The light pink ones and a green pair. “You have a collection.”
Is he blushing? It’s hard to tell in the moonlight. “Phoebe keeps bringing them to me,” he says like he’s both embarrassed and trying not to smile.
“Are you sure? Maybe you’ve trained her to retrieve them.”
He hangs his head, and yes, he’s totally smiling. “You think she’s smart enough for that?”
I narrow my eyes. He’s still holding my panties, which makes me feel weird. Warm and jumpy. They’re so pretty and delicate in his strong hands.
“Probably not,” I admit, taking them from him. “Thanks. Now I don’t have to go commando anymore.”
He freezes, staring at me. “You were going commando?”
I don’t know why I said that. No, obviously I wasn’t. I just had the urge to mess with him.
“Why?” My expression is innocent. “Is that not professional?”
His eyes close. “Jordan.”
“I told you,” I pull the duvet back and climb into bed. “You’re my boss. It’s totally your right to check.”
