For now though, I need to figure out where I’m going to sleep. The apartment suddenly feels smaller than ever with Noah’s massive frame taking up my entire bed. Even with Maeve and Martin here at the same time, we still had room to breathe.
I glance around at my limited options—a stool by the kitchen or the floor.
With a sigh, I grab a spare blanket from the cabinet above my bed, careful not to disturb Noah. I’ll make a pallet on the floor with an extra pillow and try to get some sleep before my 1:47 a.m. alarm. It’s not ideal, but nothing about this situation is.
As I spread the blanket on the narrow strip of floor beside the bed, I hear Noah shift with a low groan. I freeze, watching as he turns slightly with a face contorted in pain even in sleep. The bruises on his ribs must be excruciating.
Without overthinking, I reach for the bottle of ibuprofen in my first aid kit and fill a glass of water.
“Noah,” I say softly, touching his shoulder. “Noah, wake up for a second.”
His unfocused and confused eyes flutter open. For a moment, he just stares at me, like he’s trying to place if we belong to the same species.
“Pain meds,” I explain, holding up the bottle. “For your ribs.”
He blinks slowly, then nods, wincing as he tries to push himself up on his elbows. I slide my arm behind his shoulders to help, trying to ignore how warm his skin feels against mine or how intimate this gesture is.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. He takes the pills from my palm and swallows them with the water I push into his hand. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight,” I say, taking the glass back. “You need to rest.”
He nods again, already sinking back into the pillow, closing his heavy eyelids. “You should sleep too,” he mumbles, and the words slur slightly. “Not on the floor.”
I glance down at my pathetic blanket pallet. “I’m fine.”
“No.” His hand shoots out, catching my wrist with surprising strength for someone who was unconscious moments ago. “Bed’s big enough.”
I freeze as my pulse kicks up beneath his fingers. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Just sleep, Bea,” he says while his eyes close again. “Nothing else. I sure don’t have energy for anything else.”
I stand here for a long moment, weighing my options. The floor is hard, and my back already aches from the stress of the day and the fall on the trash cans. The bed is technically big enough for both of us, even with him splayed diagonally. And he’s injured, barely conscious—it’s not like anything inappropriate would happen.
“Fine,” I whisper, but he’s already asleep again.
I fix the blanket over his body and slip under the covers on the far side of the bed where there’s the most space left, keeping as much distance as possible between us. Even so, it doesn’t work very well with my bed being queen size, and Noah being king size.
I can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell his signature cedar scent mixed with soap from my shower. The mattress is dipping under his weight, creating a slight incline that threatens to roll me toward him.
I lie rigid on my side, facing away from him, hyperaware of every breath he takes, every small movement his large body makes. This is insane. I’m sharing a bed with Noah King. My boss. The man who makes my life hell on a daily basis, who I’ve been having increasingly confusing feelings about since I first met him in a future brother-in-law capacity, which got infinitely more confusing since the time I started working for him.
The man who just got beaten up becauseI’ve got feelings.
Sleep feels impossible, but exhaustion eventually wins. I drift in and out, jolting awake every time Noah shifts or makes a sound.
At 1:47 a.m. exactly, my phone alarm buzzes softly. I silence it quickly and turn to face Noah.
“Hey,” I whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. “Noah, wake up.”
His eyes open more easily this time, focusing on me with less confusion. “Time for the concussion check?” he asks. His voice still sounds rough but definitely more alert.
“Yeah.” I grab my phone’s flashlight and shine it in his eyes. “Follow the light.”
His pupils respond normally, contracting as the light hits them and tracking the movement when I move it left and right.
“What’s your full name?” I ask, pulling up to sit cross-legged beside him.
“Noah Ezekiel King.” He winces as he shifts slightly. “What’s the date?”
