“Did you know it’s just as dangerous to drive while sleep-deprived as it is to drive drunk?”
“Madeline. I’m not sleep-deprived. I woke up at nine this morning; I’ve been awake for thirteen hours.” Now he’s got his arms crossed, hip leaning against my counter.
“It’s equivalent to a point-zero-eight blood-alcohol level, which will get you a DUI,” I say. “Iknowyou wouldn’t drive drunk.”
“Now you’re being unfair.”
“You mean I’m being right? It’ll be dark, and those roads are probably very twisty, and you’re sitting still and staring ahead.” We glare at each other. “Andimagineif you hit another car and hurt someone else.”
I am not above using guilt to get my way.
“Just call whoever you need to call and tell them…you’re not there yet,” I say, because I don’t have a good idea for how to finish that sentence.
“Oh, you mean lie.” Now he’s smirking.
“You could tell people part of the truth,” I argue, even though I can feel my face turning red. “We had dinner and chatted, and now it’s late and I made you stay over so you didn’t die. I’ve got an air mattress.”
We look at each other.
“Or lie,” I finally agree.
“No one’s expecting me back until Sunday. It’s fine,” he says. “Zorro and Barry look like they’re getting along—he won’t mind staying there until then.”
Barry—the Baroness von Whiskers—is Zorro’s sister and belongs to Javier’s friend Wyatt, who has been faithfully texting pictures of them napping together in sunbeams. He showed me some over dinner.
“You’re sleeping here, then? Great,” I say, and Javier rubs both hands over his face.
I take it as agreement.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JAVIER
Madeline,it turns out, has a whole guest setup that she rolls out for me. It’s not just the air mattress—which is a really nice one, actually—but a whole set of sheets specifically for the air mattress, two pillows, extra blankets, and a phone charger with three different plug options. She’s more prepared for the remote possibility of her stepbrother needing to stay over than I’ve ever been for anything.
No one acknowledges that she has a bed with enough room in it for a second person. I know for a fact that she has a bed, because I fucked her in it two years ago and then practically sprinted out the door. It’s not that I’m expecting her to offer or anything, but like—sleeping is more casual than fucking, right? Did I do something wrong that I don’t know about? It sure seemed like Madeline had a good time.
But no. It’s like a door slammed shut the second she put her clothes back on, and I’m obviously not going to argue about where I sleep. Not when she’s forcing her hospitality on me.
“I have the coffee maker set to turn on at eight, which is when I usually get back from my workout. If you want it before then, it’s this button,” she’s saying, as if I’ve never seen a coffee maker before. “I’ve got cereal, milk, eggs, toast. I think there’s anavocado in here if you’re an avocado toast fan. You just have to mash it up and slap it on there.”
“Thanks—I can probably figure it out.”
“Right. Sorry.” She makes a face that I think is supposed to be a smile. “Um, if there’s anything else, you know where to find me. I’ll just be. In there.”
There’s a tiny flash of whatanything elsecould mean—she’s got several toys I haven’t tried out yet—but it’s just my imagination because Madeline nods once and then walks quickly to her bedroom. She closes the door behind her.
It’s very, very clear where we stand.
I sleep like shit.I finally doze off around two, only to wake up with a start at least once an hour. I’ve got the awful, crawling sensation that I shouldn’t be here. I wish I hadn’t let Madeline talk me into staying, but I also know she could probably talk me into shaving my head and rolling around on pinecones. Every time I wake up, I pace around the living room for a few minutes, thinking that I should leave Madeline a note and drive away.
But the coffee maker comes on at eight, she said, and it’s the thought of Madeline sleepy and warm in the morning that makes me get back on that stupid air mattress and close my eyes again.
When the bedroomdoor opens and then closes, sometime around dawn, I’m finally asleep and dreaming that I lost important paperwork. I’m still half-panicked about it when I open my eyes and Madeline is tiptoeing out, a gym bag over her shoulder. She grimaces when I go up on one elbow.
“Sorry. Go back to sleep,” she whispers.
Don’t go,I want to say.
