I crossed to the bed, dropped my backpack on the floor beside it, and pulled off my shoes and socks. The mattress dipped as I climbed in, and the sheets smelled like whatever soap he used—and him.
Everything in this space smelled like him.
I rolled onto my side, facing away so I couldn’t see him, and squeezed my eyes shut.
Don’t think about how good he smells.
Don’t think about the fact that Kayden Branson is ten feet away, cramped on a bench seat, and stubborn as hell.
Don’t think about the fact that, tomorrow, everything could go sideways.
Or that I still didn’t know if I believed him.
A sharp inhale cut through the silence.
I opened my eyes, rolled over, and could just make out his shape in the moonlight. He was lying on his uninjured arm and obviously trying to find a position that didn’t annoy his wound. Even in the dimness, I could see the rigid tension in his shoulders.
He winced again.
Damn it.
“Kayden.”
“Yeah.” He moved again and released a hiss of pain through his teeth.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, shifting again, and the wood beneath him creaked.
“You’re not fine. You’re wounded and crammed into a space half your size.”
“I’ll manage.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block him out, but the scent of him on the sheets seemed to get more potent, drawing my attention to his groans even more.
I snapped my eyes open and stared at the rough timber beams above me. This was stupid. He was in pain because my fucking boss had shot him. And now, he was uncomfortable because I didn’t trust him to take me with him tomorrow.
Frustration bubbled through me. Damn it. “You said I could trust you, right?”
He sucked air through his teeth. “That’s right.”
I swallowed hard. “Then get in your own bed. But … just ... stay on your side.”
Silence filled the loft, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse or stay on that bench out of some misguided sense of chivalry or punishment.
Then the bench groaned as he sat up. “You sure?”
“Just get in here before I change my mind.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The floorboards creaked as he crossed the room. “Man, that badge has made you bossy.”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The mattress dipped as he climbed in, and I had to bite back a laugh when he settled so close to the edge it was a wonder he didn’t fall off. The sheet shifted, the air warmed, and suddenly, the bed felt a whole lot smaller than it had thirty seconds ago.
I kept my gaze fixed on the ceiling beams.