Page 32 of Honest Boys Don’t Play

I like that she says we. I like it a little too much considering there’s no label on what we are.

“There are labor classes.” I remember from one of my numerous Google searches. “To help you with birth.”

Her lips purse questionably. “Maybe.”

“Why maybe?” I ask, curious.

She grabs another slice. “I don’t know … I guess labor sounds scary enough without taking a class to learn about it. I’ll think about it, though.”

We finish our dinner and while Bertie showers I straighten things up in the main part of the house and clean the dirty dishes. I learned at a young age to help around the house. My mom wanted me to be able to handle these things, especially since she was working most of the time. Some kids might’ve resented that, but I had always liked helping around the house.

The bathroom door opens and steam billows out behind Bertie. Her blond hair hangs down in a long, wet sheet. She’s changed into a pair of gray shorts and an oversized yellow crewneck.

“Is something wrong?” She looks down at herself. It’s then that I realize I’ve been staring.

“N-No,” I stutter. “Nothing wrong at all.”

The thought hits me then that we’re going to be sharing a bed tonight and many more nights to come.

God, I’m so fucking screwed. Being this close to her is going to be the worst kind of torture.

“I’m going to go lay down if that’s okay with you. I’m pretty tired after today.”

“Yeah, of course that’s fine.”

I follow her into my room, swiping a pair of sleep pants. Normally I’d just sleep in my underwear but I’m trying to be respectful.

Bertie settles herself on my bed, crisscrossing her legs as she looks at the stack of books on my nightstand. All the ones on parenting.

“I won’t be long. I’m pretty tired too.”

She gives a tiny nod to signal that she’s heard me

The bathroom is still humid from Bertie’s shower when I lock myself inside. Her floral scented soap lingers in the air, and I have to bite back a groan. I never realized a scent could be such a turn on. When it comes to Bertie, though, I think everything is a turn on for me.

Reaching inside, I turn the shower on. Yanking off my clothes, I toss them in the hamper. It’s almost full so I make a mental note that I need to do the laundry in the morning.

Shoving the curtain aside, I can’t help but smile when I find Bertie’s various bottles sat beside mine. I know she doesn’t want to be in the way, but I like seeing her stuff around.

I finish up my shower, shave, and brush my teeth before I go across the hall to join Bertie in my bed. I almost freeze in the doorway when I find her there, hair splayed out over the pillows and scrolling on her phone.

“Hey.” She smiles softly and sets her phone on my nightstand. “Have a good shower?”

“Yep.” She gives me a funny look, probably because the word was so clipped, but I’m currently trying to will my dick not to get hard but it’s damn near impossible when she looks so pretty in my bed.

I ease the door shut behind me.

“It doesn’t really matter to me which side I sleep on, but I have been peeing a lot so I was thinking it might be better for you to take the side against the wall.”

“That works for me.”

She eases out of the bed before I can protest so that I can slide in against the wall. My bed is too small for both of us, but we’ll make it work. It won’t be that long until we move to Nashville.

Bertie settles back beside me, stifling a yawn as she does. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to sleep here?”

Am I absolutely tortured by her proximity? Yes. Am I telling her that? Absolutely not.

“Completely fine.”