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There's more muscle everywhere. Not pretty gym muscle either. He looks stronger. Hotter in a way that is deeply unfair considering I just spent five minutes in his bathroom mourning the former geographical location of my breasts.

“Are you going to just drip drool on my floor all night?”

My eyes snap to his. “I was… looking.”

“I noticed.”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

He grins.

And weirdly, that helps.

Just Simon. Annoying, smug Simon.

I walk toward the bed and climb in beside him.

Thankfully, he doesn't comment on what I'm wearing. He doesn't ask why I'm wearing enough clothing to survive a winter power outage. Doesn't tease me about the sweatpants. Doesn't ask why I changed in the bathroom with the door closed. He just puts his phone on the nightstand.

I pull the blankets over my legs.

And then we're sitting there, beside each other, in bed.

I stare straight ahead.

Simon stares straight ahead.

There's maybe eight inches between us, but it feels like eight miles.

I can hear the faint hum of Theo's white-noise machine down the hall.

I smooth my hands over the blanket. “So…”

“So,” Simon says.

I glance at him.

He glances at me. “This is weird.”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Good.”

His eyebrows lift. “Good?”

“I mean, good that you think it's weird too.”

“Oh, it's fucking weird.”

I laugh softly. “We used to be good at this.”

I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my body. Do I lie down? Do I cuddle him? Do we stay on our respective sides like we're at some bizarre adult sleepover?

Apparently Simon gets tired of waiting for me to figure it out.

I barely have time to look up before his hand cups my cheek, turn my face to hiss, and then he’s kissing me.

His mouth settles over mine, warm and familiar, and something inside me immediately unclenches.