Goddammit, she’s about to cause a gallbladder attack. I clear my throat and focus intensely on the wreath hanging over the bed as I try to think of an intelligent response. “Starfish. Right. Limbs.”
Brilliant. Shakespeare over here.
“So uh, you take the middle then.”
A peppermint pillow smacks me square in the chest. “I’m joking, enforcer,” she says, sitting up. “Relax. You can have the side farthest from the creepy elf. I’m generous like that.”
We both glance toward the corner of the room, where the peppermint suite’s unofficial mascot sits perched like a holiday demon. A three-foot felt elf, with googly eyes, a smirk like it knows all your secrets, and the unsettling energy of something that’s definitely witnessed crimes—or was responsible for them.
I point. “Okay, no. Nope. That thing moved, Jaylynn. I swear to God, it moved.”
She just plants a hand on her hip like she fully expected this. “Yeah, he does that sometimes. I think it’s the festive energy.”
“Festive energy?” I repeat, staring it down. “That elf is possessed. We’re going to need an exorcist.”
She shrugs and pulls back the covers like we’re not sharing a room straight out of a twisted gingerbread-themed horror movie. “He only moves when provoked.”
“That is not comforting.” I unzip my duffel bag warily, half expecting the elf to blink. “So, uh… what’s the sleepwear situation here?”
She tugs at the hem of her flannel pajama top and climbs under the covers, nestling into a stack of peppermint pillows like this is completely normal behavior. “Practical and adorable. ‘Sleigh, Girl, Sleigh.’ I’m a whole Christmas vibe.”
I can’t stop myself. “Does it sparkle when the lights go out?”
She glares at me like I just insulted Santa—or decked him again. “Funny.”
I do a full scan of her body. Strictly for analysis and not because I’m wondering what’s under all that flannel. Okay, maybe a little because of that. “You won’t overheat in those?”
She narrows her eyes. “Why? What exactly are you planning to wear?”
“I’m a hot sleeper.” I pause. “I usually sleep… uh, nude.”
She recoils, her face twisting like she’d just eaten something offensive. “Are you serious?”
Wow. Okay. That reaction stings a little. It’s not like I’m some Quasimodo-looking troll. Sure, I’m not Mr. Yearbook Poster Boy like her ex, but I’ve got abs. Shoulders. A jawline. I’m not exactly unfortunate looking.
Simply not her type, man.
Good. She’s not mine either.
…Much.
“Yes, I’m serious. But for your comfort and safety, I have these.” I hold up a soft, well-worn T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “These work?”
“Works for me,” she says with a shrug, but I don’t miss the flicker of something behind her eyes.
God, these are going to cook me alive. “No promises if I strip them off in my sleep.”
She gives me the driest look known to man. “Charming.”
I glance around. “Is there a thermostat in here? Maybe I can cool it down a little so I don’t melt into a puddle.”
“You’re not Frosty the Snowman.” She wraps her arms around herself. “Besides, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why not?”
She points at the elf, then gestures vaguely to the other side of the room. “Because the last time I cranked the heat up, I woke up and he was sitting over there. Watching me.”
I pause. “Wait—you’re saying the elf moved because you adjusted the thermostat?”