Page 38 of Cold Feet
"Not that bad?" I rolled over to glare at him. "My mother has created a sex nest, Cam. A fully-equipped love shack. There are massage oils on the nightstand."
He glanced over and his eyebrows shot up. "Flavored?"
"I will end you."
He laughed, dropping his duffel bag by the closet and surveying the room with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and admiration. "Your mom really committed to the bit. I respect that."
"She will have a venue picked out in 24 hours," I said, sitting up as I pressed my palms to my forehead. "Mark my words. Did you see the bridal magazines on the coffee table downstairs?Sosubtle."
"Yeah, well, some parents get excited about this stuff." There was something wistful in his tone that made me look up sharply. "It's nice that they care so much."
Right. Cam's parents had never been the enthusiastic, involved type. His mother, though he loved her, wasn't able to attend his games most of the time. His last step-dad had attended exactly one of his NHL games – and spent most of it on his phone.
"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I shouldn't complain. It's just... a lot."
"Hey." He sat beside me on the bed, the mattress groaning a bit under his weight. "I get it. There's pressure when they care this much. Different kind of pressure than when they don't, but still pressure."
I nodded, strangely comforted by his understanding. For all our differences, Cam had always been able to read situations, and people, with remarkable clarity. It was what made him so valuable on the ice.
"So," he said after a moment, "sleeping arrangements?"
Reality crashed back in. We were sharing a room. A very romantic, very intimate room with exactly one bed. In my childhood home. With my entire family within earshot.
"I can take the floor," he offered when I didn't immediately respond.
"Don't be ridiculous. That bed is big enough for four people. We're adults. We can share." I was aiming for nonchalant but feared I missed by a mile. "We just need, uh, boundaries."
"Boundaries," he repeated, looking amused. "Like what? A pillow wall down the middle?"
"If necessary."
"Would it help if I promised to keep my hands to myself?" He raised them in mock surrender. "Scout's honor."
"Were you ever actually a Scout?"
"No, but I look good in a uniform, I know how to start a fire, and I did once help an old lady cross the street. Isn’t that basically the whole gig?"
Despite everything, I found myself laughing. "Fine. We share the bed. But fully clothed."
"Fully clothed," he agreed, though his eyes held a mischievous glint that made my stomach flip. "Though I should warn you, I get hot when I sleep."
"That's not a boundary-respecting statement, Murphy."
"I just mean I might need to lose the shirt at some point."
"And I just mean I might need to smother you with a pillow."
He grinned, unbothered by my threat. "You know, for someone who's supposedly engaged to me, you seem awfully resistant to witnessing my bare torso. It's a good torso, Lana.Men’s Healthdid a whole feature on it. So didPop Sugar."
"Yes, I'm aware." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His eyebrows shot up. "Are you now? Been admiring myMen’s Healthspread, Decker?"
Heat crept into my cheeks. "It was research. For work."
"Uh-huh." He looked entirely too pleased with himself. "Verythoroughresearch, I'm sure."
"Shut up and unpack," I grumbled, standing to grab my suitcase. "I need to change before dinner."
