Chapter One #3
He stood near the table with a folded dark T-shirt in his hands.
“You can sleep in this if you want,” he said. “It’s clean.”
The shirt would reach halfway down my thighs.
My nipples tightened beneath the thin fabric of my top.
I folded my arms before he could notice.
“That would be helpful.”
Jonah handed it to me and stepped back.
I returned to the bathroom, removed my jewelry, and placed every piece inside my handbag. The shirt smelled like laundry soap and clean cotton. It also belonged to a man whose shoulders were twice the width of mine.
I pulled it over my head and tried not to think about that.
The hem covered enough to preserve decency if I didn’t bend over, stretch, or exist too enthusiastically.
When I emerged, Jonah was changing the sheets.
The bedroom held a queen bed, one nightstand, a narrow dresser, and little else. There wasn’t enough open floor for a person his size to sleep without curling around the furniture.
“You only have one bed.”
“I only need one.”
“Where were you planning to sleep?”
“I can use the truck.”
“You worked all day.”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the practical option.”
“No, it’s the option where I arrive uninvited and remove you from your own bed.”
“I’m not putting you in the truck.”
“I didn’t suggest that.”
“The floor isn’t wide enough, and the chair doesn’t recline.”
I looked toward the main room. “What about a sleeping bag?”
“I have one in the truck.”
“On this floor?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Jonah, I’m not making you sleep on the floor.”
“You aren’t making me do anything.”
“Exactly. We can share the bed.”
He went still with one corner of the fitted sheet in his hand.
“That isn’t necessary.”
“Neither is your martyrdom.”
“I’m not being a martyr.”
“You offered to sleep folded into your truck.”
“I fit.”
“You’re six feet two.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You read the profile closely.”
“The profile involved my immediate future. I reviewed the available information.”
“Did it mention the one bed?”
“No.”
“That seems like an important omission.”
“It also omitted your complete denial of participation.”
Jonah pulled the sheet over the mattress. “You can take the bed.”
“I’m not accepting an unnecessary sacrifice from a man I don’t trust.”
“You trust me enough to sleep beside me?”
“I trust boundaries.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It was my answer.”
He finished making the bed and placed two pillows against the headboard.
I sat on the edge nearest the door. The mattress dipped beneath me.
“We need rules,” I said.
“I assumed we would.”
“I sleep on this side.”
“That’s fine.”
“You stay on your side.”
“I can do that.”
“There will be no touching.”
“Agreed.”
“There will be no accidental rolling.”
“I don’t usually roll by accident.”
My breath shortened.
“I’m establishing clear expectations.”
“You already said no touching.”
“This is also an emotional boundary.”
Jonah leaned against the dresser and folded his arms. “Is an emotional boundary different from the space between us?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
His crooked smile appeared fully this time.
The full curve softened the hard line of his mouth and warmed his eyes.
A pulse beat between my thighs, and I crossed one leg over the other.
Jonah’s attention flicked toward the movement. He pushed away from the dresser, creating more space between us.
The extra distance left my skin no cooler.
“I’ll use the bathroom,” he said. “You can get settled.”
He took clean clothes from the dresser and left.
I climbed beneath the sheet and placed one pillow along the center of the bed.
It was not a barrier. It was a visual aid.
Jonah returned wearing gray boxer briefs and a plain black T-shirt that stretched across his chest. His bare feet made almost no sound against the wooden floor.
He looked at the pillow.
“Is that the emotional boundary?”
“It’s the physical one.”
“What happens if I cross it?”
“You won’t.”
“You sound confident.”
“I’m choosing optimism.”
He switched off the lamp and got into bed from the other side.
The mattress shifted under his weight. Warmth gathered beneath the sheet, and the cabin sounds became suddenly louder: the fan near the window, insects outside, a soft creak in the wall.
Jonah lay on his back with both arms above the blanket.
I stayed on my side.
The pillow remained between us.
“This is manageable,” I said.
“Were you asking me?”
“I was reinforcing the thought.”
“Do you need me to agree?”
“No.”
“All right.”
I turned toward the wall.
Ten seconds passed.
“Do you snore?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“I live alone. No one reports back.”
“Do you talk in your sleep?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.”
A smile pulled at my mouth.
The bed shifted again when Jonah turned onto his side, facing away from me. He stayed well beyond the pillow, exactly where we had agreed.
I closed my eyes.
The scent of his clean shirt surrounded me. Heat from his body reached across the mattress. Every breath he took moved the sheet between us.
Jonah kept every boundary I gave him, and I lay awake wishing I’d made fewer.