Page 112 of Rough Around the Hedges

More to the point, I didn’t want to care.

“If you promise to actually let me sleep, then I suppose you can stay,” I replied softly, running my hands along his arms. “And if you ever tell anyone I gave into your cute, clingy act…”

“You’ll punch me.”

“Good, good.” I spun in his arms. “But I have no pyjamas.”

“Neither do I,” he replied, grinning. “Don’t tell me you’re shy.”

I rolled my eyes and removed myself from his hold. “Don’t be daft. I need to tell my parents I won’t be home tonight.”

“That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear a grown woman say.”

I grabbed my phone, sitting on the edge of the bed, and poked my tongue out at him. “I’m sorry some of us still live with our parents. Not all of us can inherit a dukedom and vast estate from our grandparents.”

“Technically,” he said, pulling off the towel. “I also live with my mother.”

Huh. He did, didn’t he?

“Does she know you won’t be home tonight?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“She doesn’t care.” He snorted as he pulled on his boxers. “Besides, I just told her to stay out of my private life, so if I told her I wasn’t going back to the main house, she’d probably ask me what the hell I’m telling her for.”

That sounded exactly like something Eleanor would say to him.

“Here.” He tossed me his t-shirt, and I stared at it. “You want something to wear while you sleep, right?”

“I…” The fabric was soft to the touch, and I held it close. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His lips twitched into a tiny smile, and I quickly pulled it over my head. It had a distinct tropical scent, a bit like mangoes and pineapple, and I paused to sniff it.

“I’m slightly jealous that you’re sniffing the t-shirt and not me.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said. “What fabric softener do you use?”

Oliver cocked his head to the side, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I like the scent of it, obviously.”

“Yes, obviously.” He paused. “I don’t know. Do I look like I do laundry?”

Of course, he didn’t do laundry. Such a menial task was far too below his noble station.

“I’ll find out,” he said after throwing himself on the bed. “Do you have a preference?”

“Hm? For what?”

“A side of the bed.”

I snorted, sitting down and unlocking my phone. “Yes, I’ll take the middle.”

He groaned, tugging on the covers. “You’re a starfisher? I should have known.”

I merely grinned as I shot a message to my mother telling her I wouldn’t be home, then quickly flipped to Isa’s chat.

ME: If my mother asks, I’m at your place tonight.

Her response was immediate.

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