Page 55 of The Pairing

“Kit Fairfield, you dog.” I rip out the page and hold it out, showing him all my teeth when I grin. “You gonna use it? Ask him on a hot date tomorrow?”

Kit folds the page up and zips it into his shaving kit without looking at it.

“I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

“Well, what’s the score?”

He sits at the foot of the bed, right on the edge. He’s never been so cautious with a bed of mine before. Even when we were friends, he’d pour himself across the whole thing. I want to push him onto his back for the sake of consistency. Instead, I sit down next to him.

“One for each of us from Paris,” he says. “Florian, that makes two for you. And Juliette for you in Saint-Jean-de-Luz.”

I let him think it’s true. “And Paloma for you.”

“Mm. And with last night. . .God, was that only last night?”

“I know.”

“That makes four for you, three for me. So I guess, if I want to catch up, I could message him.”

I stand up and pull a pillow off the bed.

“Sure, I mean, why not?”

“Yeah, why not.” He sounds distracted, watching me open the tiny closet to dig out an extra blanket. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping on the floor.”

Kit’s eyes go wide in horror. “No, you’re not.”

“Come on, Kit. The bed is barely a twin.”

“It’s your room, Theo, let me take the floor.”

“One of us spent the entire camping trip in Joshua Tree bitching about how hard the ground was, and it wasn’t me.You just let me know if you find a pea under there, okay?”I drop the blanket at my feet.

“Theo Flowerday,” Kit says, serious as the grave, “if you lie down on that disgusting carpet, I’m going back to my room.”

His sincere face is on. I sigh.

“Okay, fine. But I don’t want you sleeping down there either. So, what?”

We look at the bed. Again, there is an unthinkable solution, and there’s me, and there’s Kit, and I still don’t have it in me to do what I ought.

“Should we. . .?” I say. Not a question. If I don’t ask out loud, I’m not responsible for whatever happens next.

Kit says, “We’re friends.” Not an answer either.

“Yeah, okay,” I say. “But. ..”

“But what?”

“Remember how, if I get too sweaty in my sleep, I’m really cranky the next day?”

“Yes, vividly.”

“So,” I say, “I was gonna sleep in my underwear tonight.”

Kit nods several times in rapid succession. “Yeah, that’s—of course that’s fine. We’re friends. It’s your room, you should be comfortable.”

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