Page 69 of Hate You More

“Look at the size of me to you.” But I’m not falling for that again. “Besides, I normally sleep in the middle. Like a starfish.”

“Fine,” I snap. “I’ll move the pillows.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” he says as he swaggers in the direction of the bathroom like he’s won something. A few minutes later and he’s back, staring unhappily at the repositioned pillows, which now offers him two-thirds of the bed.

“I said I’d move them. Not remove them.”

“Fine.” The bed dips under his weight, and then the room is plunged into absolute darkness.

He gives a soft sigh, and my stomach flips. It shouldn’t sound sexual but . . .

I haven’t had sex in months and months. The realization isn’t helpful, but neither was the sight of him in those shorts. I begin to count my breaths as a way to calm myself, while also listening for a change in his breathing. I get to thirty-five and give up.

I’ve never been more aware of sheets whispering.

“This is so weird,” I murmur.

“Yep.”

“On a scale of one to ten, this level of weird is about—”

“An eleven.”

“I’m glad it’s not just me.”

“Oh, you’re definitely weird.”

I lift my arm to land him a playful punch but then remember we aren’t friends.

“But then, they do say that all the best people are.”

I’m glad it’s dark, so he can’t see my ridiculous smile. “Well, they are an authority.”

He doesn’t answer, and the room falls quiet. Like we’re both pretending to sleep. I go back to counting. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty—

“You’re very stiff.” The words burst from my mouth.

“No. No, I am not.” His tone as flat as the palm I want to slap to my own head. “Maybe that’s why I’m finding this weird.”

“Respectfully, the ick! This is a no-oversharing zone.” My arms lift, and I slap them to the mattress. “I just meant you’re lying like so still, it’s like you’re in a coffin. Am I being haunted?”

“I’m being respectful.” He exhales a soft sound that’s almost a laugh. I find myself smiling at the sound.

The room falls quiet again. But my brain is loud. I agreed to this. Some form of this. I consented to living in proximity to this man. My husband. Husband number one. Maybe I’ll be like Elizabeth Taylor and have a string of them before I’m done. The thought makes me smile. Until my stomach flips because, as well as living under the same roof, I also agreed to kiss Troy in public.

It could be worse. My fate could be in the hands of my ex-roommate Cal. And it could be his bed I’m sharing. Eurgh.

Yep, it could always be worse.

I force my shoulders to relax and blow out a gust of breath into the darkness. “Do you think if we both pretend this is normal, our brains will eventually give up and let us rest?”

“It might be easier if you stop talking.”

“For you maybe,” I whisper, a little stung.

“Like you said, this is weird.”

“The weirdest. I also had wine, and my filter is gone.”