Page 54 of The Best Friend Power Play

"You can't sleep on the floor. Not with your hip." I twirl a strand of hair around my finger, mulling the situation over. "Look. We're both adults. We can sleep in the same bed."

He aims his brown eyes at me with such precision, it makes my core clench.

Silence rings in my ears.

"I guess," he says slowly. "I'll go ask for extra pillows so we can make a line."

"A line?"

"Yeah. Down the middle of the bed. Create a my side, your side situation."

"Are you really that afraid of sharing a bed with me?"

"I am not afraid of sharing a bed with you. I just want to be…respectful."

"You are respectful. You always have been. I feel safe with you."

He tilts his head to the side. "Good. Because you are. Safe, that is. I would never…" He holds my gaze for a while longer. "I guess I should go ask about those pillows."

He returns a few minutes later, armed with as many pillows as he can carry. He places them down the middle of the bed. He's acting a little tense, but it's also a little cute.

We've now had two moments, and he asked me to wear his shirt. To bed.

You know what?

I think I'm becoming a big fan of this whole marriage-of-convenience, only-one-bed trope thing. Maybe I'll get into reading romance novels. I'd love to see how they play out.

When he's done arranging the bed into two distinct and separate sides, he says, "I'm going to take a shower."

"Cool. I'll be waiting for you. In bed. Husband."

He huffs out a shaky laugh as he leaves. "This is so weird," he mutters under his breath.

While he's in the shower, I make myself comfortable on my side of the bed. I flatten the pillows between us so we can at least see each other…because we are not in middle school.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opens, releasing a plume of hot air. Culver is wearing his usual compression leggings and top.

"I don't know how you can sleep in those colors," I say, shielding my face with my hand, like I'm protecting myself from a beam of sunlight.

Most people would probably go for either black, white, or gray colors to sleep in.

Culver isn't most people.

He's managed to track down and buy every neon variation of compression wear ever made.

"I have my eyes closed so I don't see what I'm wearing," he says, chuckling as he drops some clothes into his suitcase and turns off the light in the corner of the room before padding over to the bed.

He slides into his side so delicately, the mattress barely moves. I lift my head off the pillow and see he's literally clinging to the edge of the bed.

"You're going to fall off if you sleep there," I say.

"I'm fine. I'm a very still sleeper. Barely move."

"Fine. Suit yourself." I turn off the bedside light. "Goodnight, Culver."

He does the same and the room goes black. "'Night, Hannah."

It takes me a moment to adjust to the darkness. A streetlamp shines through the cracks in the blinds, creating a dim yellow glow.

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