“You have matches all week.”
One thick brow rises as he ponders his next move in our game of mental chess. “So do you.”
“I’m not playing in them. You are. It’s important that you get your sleep.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Ruby, but I’m telling you right now. You are not sleeping on the sofa.”
My spine straightens, and I fold my arms across my chest. “You are not the boss of me.”
I realize what I’ve done when his eyes drop to my boobs, and a slow grin pulls at his mouth. “Actually, Ruby, according to your employment contract ...”
I glare at him. “Miles?—”
“It literally says I am.” The smugness in his voice is unbearable. “It’s late,” he adds more gently. “We’ve got a long week ahead of us. Let’s just sleep.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”
“Great.” He pushes off the doorway and starts toward me. “Then get in bed.”
“No—”
“Yes.”
“No, Miles, you?—”
Before I can finish, he bends, hooks an arm beneath my knees and another around my back, and lifts me clean off the floor.
A startled shriek tears out of me. “Miles!”
His chest is warm from the shower, damp beneath my fingertips, and he smells unfairly good—soap and cedarwood and something that is just him. My stomach flips violently as he carries me across the room like I weigh nothing at all.
And then he drops me onto the bed. I bounce against the mattress. It’s not quite like my Silver Linings mattress, but it’s not far off. The sigh that comes out of me has me wanting to smack the satisfaction off his face.
But fuck me, it’s comfy.
Even if I wasn’t too tired, I don’t think I’d put up an argument. I’m looking at Miles standing at the foot of the bed, still wearing a towel that miraculously didn’t even shift when he carried me over here.
He’s so?—
Beautiful.
I turn away, preserving my own embarrassment as Miles digs around in his duffel, extracts his pajama pants, and pulls them on.
Since I moved into the cottage, and there’s only been a thin wall between us, I’ve wondered how Miles sleeps. Which side of the bed he’s on. What he wears. What position he sleeps in. Whether he dreams or snores.
I guess I’m about to find out.
Left is the answer to my first question.
He sleeps on the left side of the bed. The mattress dips as he climbs on. His bicep bulges as he tucks his arm under his head and twists onto his side to face me. When I turn too, we’re almost nose to nose, close enough that I can smell the mint on his breath. I inch back.
“Hello, Trouble.” He shakes his head, his eyes skirting down my body. Reaching for the comforter, he pulls it up and around both of us. “Nice T-shirt, by the way.”
“Sorry.” My lips twist in a grimace. “I didn’t bring anything with me to sleep in. I forgot we wouldn’t be sleeping separately.”
“Me too,” he replies. “Let’s call it a happy accident.”
I yawn. “As long as you don’t snore.”
