“I’m not kicking you out of your own bedroom.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re six-two.”
“Six-three, actually.”
“Oh, well, that makes it even worse. That couch is maybe six feet long.”
“I’ve slept in worse places.” I’d slept in trucks, on floors, and in places where a leather couch would’ve been a luxury. But I didn’t need to bring any of that into this.
“During the military?” she asked.
“Sometimes.”
She didn’t ask more, and I appreciated that.
“What if we flip for it?”
“No.”
“Arm wrestle?”
I looked at her.
She grinned. “I’d lose, but I respect the democratic process.”
“You’re taking the bed.”
“You really do think saying things enough times makes them law.” She stepped closer. “You’re used to everybody doing what you tell them. I’m starting to see the problem.”
“What problem?”
“You.”
Being called a problem should have annoyed me. Instead, I wanted to kiss her.
She was close enough that I could see where her hair had dried in soft waves after the ice, and where the sweatshirt had slipped off one shoulder. Close enough to remember exactly how her waist had felt under my hand.
Her smile faded. She felt it too. I’d spent years learning how to hold still when every instinct told me to move. I used it now.
If I reached for her, she’d let me. I was almost sure of it. That was exactly why I stepped back.
“I’ll get you a clean towel.”
Her expression tightened before she covered it. “Right. Thanks.”
In the hallway, I took longer than necessary grabbing a towel from the linen closet. She was stranded. She’d come for her inventory, and the weather had trapped her. I wasn’t going to turn that into something else because I liked how she looked in my clothes.
I set the towel on the dresser. “Bathroom’s across the hall. Extra toothbrushes under the sink.”
“You have extra toothbrushes?”
“I buy them in packs.”
“So you’re secretly prepared for company.”
The smug smile she gave me made me want to stop being responsible and grab hold of her waist. I went with the safest answer instead. “I’m prepared for dental hygiene.”