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His response comes a few seconds later.

Ken: Guest room is upstairs on the left. My room is on the right.

Me: Look at you being all domestic.

Ken: Towels are in the bathroom. Should have everything else you need, too.

Me: Everything?

Ken: Shampoo. Toothbrush. Whatever.

I glance toward the stairs.

Me: Do you run a hotel?

Ken: Five stars. Very exclusive.

Me: Do I get room service?

Ken: Absolutely not.

Me: One-star review coming right up.

His response comes immediately.

Ken: Try to stay out of my bed.

I stare at the screen.

There’s no reason for those seven words to make my stomach tighten. Absolutely none. It’s Bishop. He probably typed them without thinking. My brain, unfortunately, has come up with several possible responses, none of which I should send to my brother’s best friend.

So I settle on:

Me: You wish, Ken.

The typing bubble appears.

Ken: Careful Becks.

Oh!

My thumb stills over the screen.

Me: Is that a threat?

A longer pause this time.

Ken: A warning.

Heat pools low in my belly before I can shut it down.

Nope. Absolutely not. I lock my phone without answering.

“Temporary. That’s all this is.” I say aloud.

Darcy meows from somewhere upstairs.

“Exactly.”