“What do you mean by sudden?” I joke.
Alex smirks. “If I get a plant, will you spare me?”
“If you promise to actually get one. This is a waste of a balcony otherwise.”
“You’d have to pick it. I wouldn’t know the first thing about what has a chance of surviving in New York City alleys.”
I stick out my hand, and he shakes it. “Deal.”
My body unleashes an unattractive, involuntary yawn. I pull out my phone to text Miriam before I forget:Staying at Alex’s.
“Holy cow,” I say. “Is it really three in the morning?”
The question seems to startle him. He walks into his bedroom—which doesn’t have its own door and is honestly more of a nook nestled into one wall—and mumbles, “Here, let me…” He digs a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants out of a dresser drawer and tosses them to me. “Will that irritate your skin? I use scented detergent.”
I look down, feel the cotton beneath my finger pads. He gave me aHARVARDT-shirt. It puts me in a kind of unexplainable trance.
Harvard, Boston, snow in his black hair—
“It should be fine,” I mutter quietly, touched he remembered what I’d said earlier about the fragrance allergy. Confused why I’m suddenly mesmerized by thisHARVARDT-shirt. “Perfume and cologne are the real culprits,” I explain.
Alex digs out a blanket from his closet and tosses it on the bed. Then he moves the fluffy comforter over to one side.
“There you go,” he says. “The bathroom’s right there if you need it.” He points to a skinny door by a big empty space where a couchmight feasibly belong. “Clean towels are in the plastic drawers under the sink, but there’s no hot water, so don’t bother waiting on it.”
“Ever?”
“I can usually get it between six and tenA.M.”
I laugh, tripping over his coffee table. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep my clothes on.” Alex bites the inside of his cheek. “I just meant—um. I can wait to shower, and… stuff. Until I get home.”
“Okay.”
I curtsy like an idiot, clearlystillnot certain if I’m on the set ofDownton Abbey.“Thank you for your h-hospitality.”
Ugh. My childhood stutter always comes back when I’m tipsy and nervous.
I flee to the bathroom to change, wash my face, and finger-brush my teeth. Alex goes in after I exit. I snuggle under the cloudy layers of his comforter, sighing in contentment, feet wiggling happily as I breathe in the scent of his spare pillow.
The door opens. “You look cozy.”
I twist to find him in a T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, staring down at me with an unreadable expression. I’ve never seen this much of his arms exposed before. His muscles are gently sculpted, like a man who cares about his fitness but doesn’t care about it themost.Again, the outline of that tattoo is visible, but it’s too dark to decipher.
“I am,” I say. “Thanks for this.”
“Of course.”
His footsteps cross the room to the door, and then the apartment goes black. I hear the turn of a lock, then more footsteps back toward the bed. The mattress groans as Alex’s body sinks onto its other side.
He shuffles around, getting comfortable, and I stay absolutely still.
“Good night, Casey. Thanks for getting drunk with me.”
The heat from his body is radiating off him, lulling me into acalm, dreamy slumber. “Good night, Alex,” I say, and then yawn. “Thanks for kissing me.”
My eyes snap back open. GoodLord,why is my rational decision-making on vacation?
“You—You’re welcome,” Alex rumbles. I tilt my head toward the sound of his voice. His figure is starting to emerge beside me in the dark. “But also, I’m welcome. Wait.What?”
