Page 56 of Just My Fake Husband

Stop, I tell myself. This is not smart. I jam my fists into my forehead, forcing myself to breathe through my nose. When she comes out of the bathroom, she kicks the dead mattress with her foot.

“Okay, we have to talk about this. This won’t do.”

“I’ll go get another one in the morning.”

“Well, what will you do in the meantime? You can’t just sit here all night. I know that couch isn’t doing you any favors.”

I shrug. “It won’t be for very long. I’m okay.”

She huffs out a breath. “No, you’re not. You’re coming to bed with me.”

Chapter 20

Gabriel

River is hastily fixing the bed, a tornado of efficiency. I can see her in the dark, thanks to the full moon through the bedroom skylights, and it’s mesmerizing. I’d like to thank her grandmother for giving her the bathrobe. I never thought this shade of eggplant could be appealing, but on her, it works.

I grab the end of the blanket she’s trying to position on the bed and smooth it out.

“There.” River blows a puff of air to move her blonde hair away from her face. “That should do it.” She pats the large blanket strategically placed down the middle of the bed to separate it into two equal halves. “This queen-sized bed is the only large thing in this house. Certainly two mature adults can share it without incident.”

“If by incident you mean accidental touching, I don’t know.” I’m teasing, even though I know flirting complicates everything.

She squints at me.

“I’m not going to touch you on purpose.” I pause. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to, okay?”

“Okay?” Her brows arch.

I just send her a look. I don’t want to say I’m attracted to her, that sleeping in the same bed will be torture.

She blinks and worries her lip. “I can go sleep on the couch . . .”

Is that a threat or an act of kindness? “No, no. This is perfect. We each have our own little area.” I lie down and stretch out. “See? Tons of room.” I roll over to my side and that’s when the bottom half of our barrier blanket gets swept up with me.

Her sigh has a playful undercurrent. “Come on. We just fixed it.”

We straighten it out again. She hands me one edge of the blanket, and I smooth it into a long column. We repeat our movements on the other side, then settle our pillows in. It’s a kind of dance. “What we really need is one of those wooden Amish bed barriers,” I say.

She holds out her palms. “I don’t even want to know if that’s a real thing.” She hesitates and then continues. “Just a sec, I . . . just have to . . .”

She turns around and as she slides the robe off her shoulders, I catch a glimpse of a short, loose T-shirt and what looks like striped boxers underneath that. I glue my eyes shut.

I wait for her to settle on her side, not touching, of course, before I peek. “You good?” I ask.

“All good.” Her voice is thin. Strained.

“Thanks, River.”

“It was your bed to begin with. Besides, no one should have to sleep on a hardwood floor without cushioning of any kind.”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you out there on the floor.”

Her laugh is nothing more than a breath of air. “Well now, neither of us have to be. Good night,” she says. “Again.”

“Good night,” I say, wondering how long I’m going to be awake.

It’ll be a miracle if I can sleep at all.

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