Page 70 of The Proposal Pact
Grace:Not a chance!
Me:Oh, I guess I’ll eat all the baklava myself.
Grace:Ahhhh! Fine! But you better make the whole platter just for me! And even then, I can’t make any promises. This application process is tough.
I snicker, she’s so, so dramatic. It’ll be hard to keep this secret from Grace but I promised Callum I would and so I shall try.
I stop short when I come out of my bedroom, pulling my hair in a low, tiny ponytail. My hair barley holds together there, and the front pieces always come lose, but I cannot sleep with it unbound, no matter the length.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my brows pinching together as I watch Clover pull a sheet he found somewhere in my apartment while I was getting ready for bed over my beautiful, colorful, special, but wayyy too small couch.
“What does it look like? Making my bed,” he grumbles in what I’ve come to call his favorite grumpy tone, without looking up.
I blink a few times before processing what he’s saying. “You plan to sleep there?”
“Where else?”
“That couch is way too small for you.”
“Well, you’re the one who got rid of that perfectly fine couch that was here before.” He drops my decorative velvety pink pillow on top of the sheet.
“Well, excuse me, I hadn’t thought anyone would be sleeping over.”
Clover’s eyes finally meet mine as he straightens, planting his hands on his hips, but when he does a quick sweep over me, his jaw tightens and ticks.
I look down at myself, frowning at what upset him this time but there’s nothing new about me. I sleep in an oversized T-shirt, ones I stole from my brother. Unfortunately, he only wore three shades. White, black, and gray, so I plan to buy some colorful ones later. It just hasn’t been a priority as of late, but I see nothing wrong with the white T-shirt I’m wearing now.
He has one on! And he’s still wearing his dark navy slack from work, so I’m not the one with weird sleeping attire here. We haven’t left my apartment ever since we ran here from our “wedding” in fear of being questioned.
I still can’t believe it caused such an uproar. I mean, people get married all the time!
“Just go to bed, Sophie,” Clover grits out. “I’ll get an air mattress or something tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah? And how are you going to explain to Fifi why you need to purchase one from her store?”
Clover stops for a second. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Orrr, you can just come sleep in the bed?”
Those intense green eyes swing over to me for a second before traveling down my body once again and he says, “No.”
I throw my arms out with a huff. “Oh, whatever.”
I catch Clover’s eyes on me for a just a fleeting second before he shuts them real hard, tilts his head up, and murmurs something about orange panties. Frowning, I look down and realize I must’ve flashed him my underwear just now, but what else is new?
I thought he wasn’t interested anyway, so why does he keep reacting like that? I shake my head and get into bed with another huff, turning off my bedside lamp with a little too much force.
The lights go off in the living room a moment later and I hear the rustling of his sheet.
Whatever, if he wants to be uncomfortable, who am I to say no? I close my eyes, bring the covers to my chin, tucking my hands under head, and will the sleep to come over me. Only minutes pass…then an hour…and I still can’t fall asleep.
I’ve never been a particularly good sleeper, unless I’m drunk, and it always took me a while to fall asleep. I toss and turn, feeling cold or uncomfortable or my sheet gets tangled, and it annoys me. Or I feel something like sand on my bed, when logically, I know there’s no sand in here.
Ugh, damn it.
I didn’t find a single thing wrong when I took that nap on the couch earlier. In fact, I don’t remember when I’ve ever slept better. So, why can’t the same rule apply now? What’s so different about my bed?
The wheels in my head start spinning.
