Soap. Washcloth. Water.
Sexy.
Oh, man. I’m officially a lost cause.
Still, if Loren and I are going to move beyond friendship, she needs to feel totally comfortable. And she’s also got to be the one to take the lead. At her own pace. And only when her heart’s completely ready. So. Even if a guy can’t get rid of his mom on demand, a guycanhope.
It’s me.
I’m the guy.
Sleeping in an armchair tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Loren
“You are so not sleeping in that chair tonight.”
I come back from washing my face to find Bridger crammed between two armchairs pushed together. I felt bad enough that we ever spent any nights sharing a couch. There’s no way I’m letting him pretzel his body up like this for the next eight hours.
He lifts his head from the single pillow he borrowed from the generous assortment on the bed and says, “I’m fine.”
He’s got his phone plugged into an outlet in the corner, a half-empty water bottle on the floor, and one knitted throw that barely covers him from the waist down. He must’ve grabbed that from the foot of the bed. It’s the size of a table runner.
Meanwhile, I’ve got the Taj Mahal of sleep setups, including plush bedding, a half-dozen pillows, and a nightstand that sports a gorgeous reading lamp and full-service docking station.
“That’s not fine,” I argue, pulling the blanket off him. He’s changed into a T-shirt and form-fitting joggers, which only remind me exactly how muscular he is. “You’re way too … bulky.”
He props himself up. “Bulky?”
“I mean, just look at you.” I sweep a hand along his hunched frame, indicating his curled legs and chest. The cords in his forearms flex.
Have mercy.
“You want me to take the floor?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I frown. “The bed is massive enough for us to share. I trust you to be a gentleman.”
His gaze drops to my bare legs. “I’m glad one of us does.”
Something warm smolders in my abdomen, and I press a hand there. “We’re adults,” I say, more to myself than him. “We can behave ourselves. But I’ll build a pillow divider anyway, just so I don’t accidentally crawl onto you while I’m sleeping.”
His mouth goes lopsided. “You’re afraid you might sleep crawl?”
“It’s not unprecedented.” I wrinkle my nose. “Like that night in the study?”
“Good point.” He unfolds his body from the chair, eyes staying on mine as he comes to his full height above me.
My throat goes dry. “I drooled on you.”
“I remember.”
I spend the next few minutes crafting a moat down the center of the mattress. Except I’m not sure you can call it a moat if there’s no water. Still, there’s a decent amount of down feathers to keep us apart. Afterward, I slide into my side of the bed, burrowing under the sheets. Then I pat the pillow wall. “There. See? Perfect.”
Bridger takes in the length of my body, enshrouded bybedding, and he stretches out on the far edge of his side. Above the comforter.
I lift a brow. “No covers for you?”