She climbs under the covers and points at the empty side like she’s issuing an order to a soldier.“Get in bed.”
“I sleep naked,” I warn her, because I’m me and I can’t help trying to lighten the air before it crushes her.
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t pull a muscle.“You don’t.Yesterday Monty gave you a pair of shorts.Go get them.”
“They’re in the laundry hamper.”
Vesper exhales through her nose like I’m personally responsible for every inconvenience in her life.“Of course they are.”
Then she gets out of bed—still in her sweater, barefoot, hair in a messy bun that makes my chest hurt—and storms toward Monty’s door.
I follow at a distance because if I’m going to be scolded, I’d like a front-row seat.
She knocks.
Hard.
There’s a pause.Then movement.A curse that sounds like Monty.A door unlocking with the reluctance of a man dragged out of his fortress.
“What took you so long?”Vesper demands.
“I was getting dressed,” Monty says, voice rough with sleep and irritation.
“You only have on a pair of shorts,” she fires back.
“Yeah, and I was about to go to bed.”Then he adds, sharper, “Are you okay?Did he finally leave?”
“No,” she says, and I can hear the eye roll in her tone.“But he needs shorts to sleep.”
“He has a hotel room,” Monty snaps.
“Yeah,” Vesper says, as if she can’t believe she has to explain this, “but he wants to stay tonight.”
There’s a beat of silence, the charged kind, the one that tells me Monty is staring at the ceiling like he’s asking for patience.
Then he growls, loud enough for me to hear, “You’re a pain in my ass, Winthrop.”
I lean closer to the doorframe, because I’m incapable of not poking the bear.“I could be a pleasure too.”
“Don’t you fucking start,” Monty warns.
Vesper doesn’t miss a beat.“I don’t have time to referee tonight.So both of you stop whatever it is you’re doing.Now—shorts.”
More ruffling.A drawer opening.Something thrown.A muttered curse that sounds very close tofucking idiot.
Then the door shuts.
A minute later, Vesper returns with a pair of shorts in her hand like she’s bringing home a prize she hunted herself.
“Here,” she says, shoving them into my chest.“Go change.”
I take them, and I want to laugh, but I don’t.Because her eyes are too bright.
Because this isn’t bossy Vesper for fun.
This is Vesper trying to keep control of something—anything—before her emotions get the better of her.
I go to the bathroom and change quickly, stripping off my clothes.The shorts are soft.Familiar.Monty’s.The thought should feel wrong.
