Page 28 of Just for the Plot

We shut down the bar because apparently the boys have a travel day tomorrow and they plan on sleeping on the plane.

Nolan came back at some point and brought us one more round of shots. Bennett and I both took one and that was about our threshold, because I like being drunk, but not unable-to-walk drunk.

Can’t remember the last time I felt this way, all wobbly and giggly, but then again, my best friend hasn’t lived near me for about two years now and my job consumes a lot of my time, so it makes sense that this is the first time in a long time that I’ve let myself have some fun outside of my home.

“I like the couch.”

“Do you?” he asks as he kicks his shoes off.

“Sure. I don’t mind it. Do you like sleeping on a couch?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Reminds me of when a couch was all Gabby and I had.”

My parents lost a lot when my dad had to start over, and there were times when food was scarce, but I never lived in poverty like Gabby and Bennett. And I forget about that sometimes, just how far they’ve come.

“That’s why I’m sleeping on it.”

He goes to the kitchen and grabs two glasses, filling them up with water for the both of us. “I know, but it makes me feel bad. Do you want my bed? You can have my bed. Take my bed.”

“I’m not taking your bed.”

“I can change the sheets again.” He walks up to me and hands me some water.

“No, you sleep in your bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He sips from his glass, his eyes staring at me over the rim. “You can always share the bed with me. You can have your side, and I can have my side.”

I must be very drunk because the thought of that actually makes me happy.

Thrilled.

Excited.

But sharing a bed with Bennett…yeah, that would be weird, right?

“Sharing the bed seems risky.”

“Why?” he asks, a drunk smirk on his face. “Scared of me?”

“Of you?” I scoff. “No.” I shake my head. “Not even the slightest.”

“Afraid I snore? Because I don’t. I’m an excellent sleeper.”

“How do you know?”

He tips his glass back to his mouth, drinks down the rest of his water, and then sets his glass down and heads toward his bedroom.

“I’ve been complimented on my sleeping habits,” he says.

I follow him to the threshold of his bedroom as I say, “And who has offered these compliments?”

He takes his hat off his head, showing off his unruly brown hair that he quickly runs his hand through, causing it to cutely stick up on all ends.

“Women,” he answers as he reaches behind his neck, grabs his shirt, and yanks it over his head, then drops it into a hamper before turning toward me.

Oh.

My.