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He picks it up.

“Put that back.”

He tosses it onto the floor.

“Ryder!”

“I’m not sleeping with a wall of decorative bedding between us.”

“There was one pillow.”

“Slippery slope.”

I reach across him for it.

His hand closes around my waist and I freeze.

So does he.

My face is inches from his.

His palm spans my side beneath the loose shirt.

Warm.

Heavy.

His eyes drop to my mouth and my heartbeat goes wild.

Then he lets go. “Careful, librarian.”

I scramble back to my side. “I was getting my pillow.”

“Sure.”

“You threw it.”

“Still think this is my fault?”

“Yes.”

He laughs and reaches for the television remote. We find an old action movie neither of us cares about. For ten minutes, we don’t talk.

Then Ryder says, “Why’d he leave you?”

I look over.

His eyes stay on the television.

“Who?”

“The accountant.”

“You know his name.”

“I prefer accountant.”

I roll my eyes.