“The floor isn’t safer.”
She pauses.
Then looks at me.
“For who?”
Smart girl.
Too smart.
“For you,” I say.
Her throat moves.
For a second, the jokes fade.
Then she lies down beside me anyway. Close, but not touching. Stubborn as hell. Blanket pulled to her chin. Eyes on the ceiling.
I stay where I am.
The room goes quiet around us. Cheap walls. Red light blinking through the curtains. A truck passing on the road. Her breathing too fast beside me.
“You always this bossy?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“That was not a trick question.”
“I know.”
She turns her head. “You always sleep by doors?”
“Yes.”
“That one feels like it has a story.”
“Most things do.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“No.”
She exhales. “Very mysterious. Very emotionally unavailable. Ten out of ten biker performance.”
I almost smile.
Almost.
Then she shivers.
Small. Quick. The kind she tries to hide.
Adrenaline crash. Fear burning off. Body catching up to what the mind survived.
“You cold?” I ask.
“No.”
