Page 18 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
“Is she winking at me?”
“Nah. She’s only got one eye. She came like that, so it’s not my fault.” The Buchanan tilts the rest of her drink back, smacks her lips, and climbs from the bed. “Dinner time. Let’s go before Tim starts whining.”
I follow, giving the slightly demonic-looking cat a wide berth. Another threatening yowl follows us up the stairs.
The rest of the evening is full of delicious food, loving bickering, a borderline violent bout of charades, and bottomless cocktails that take all the adults past midnight.
And, all throughout, my attention returns to Olive.
My eyes track her movements. My ears seek out her voice. When she laughs, I find myself smiling along with her.
When everyone heads to bed, I trail behind her. After finishing in the bathroom, I return to our room to discover Olive propped in her bed, lamp lit, book perched on her folded knees.
Attempting to keep my eyes to myself, I focus on the twin bed left to me. Only, there’s something sprawled across it. Or someone.
Jezebel has apparently decided she is above me on the bed hierarchy. When I reach a hand out to shoo her off, the entire room fills with her menacing growl.
Hands up, I turn to Olive. “Mind removing your cat?”
The woman uses her finger as a bookmark, then glances between the animal and me, grimacing all the while.
“Sorry.I’mnot even brave enough to mess with her once she’s claimed a sleeping spot.”
“Are you serious?”
“Well, there’s her claws. And fangs. And admirable commitment to lifelong vendettas. I like you, Theo. But I’m not sure you’re worth it.” Olive opens her book back up. “Maybe try the couch?”
I’m torn between annoyance and laughter. Be careful what you wish for and all that.
Problem is, when I climb the stairs again, pillow under my arm, I discover Mr. Buchanan passed out on the only couch long enough to accommodate me. His snores rattle the entire top floor.
“How is it that the guy on the top of the hierarchy is sleeping on the couch?” I demand of Olive when I walk back into our shared room.
Tossing her book aside, she chuckles. “Oh yeah. I forgot the bottom most tier. Snoring. Puts you below singles.”
“Guess I’m taking the floor then.” I eye the hardwood unenthusiastically.
A sigh draws my attention back to Olive. She scoots over, pulling back the covers.
“Come on, Mr. Bottom of the Rung. This bed is plenty big enough to share.” Her hand pats the mattress.
This is … not good.
Or is it exactly what I need?
Sleep next to Olive Buchanan. I’ll wake up in the morning beside a grouchy, sleep-mussed version of her.
And then my six-year-long crush will be gone.
Right?
“Quit hovering. I’m tired. And I don’t mind. I mean, it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve slept together, right?”
TUESDAY
Wakingup with a hard-on is normal. Having it pressed against something warm is not.
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I glance down and realize that while I stayed on my designated side of the bed, Olive shifted during the night. Not only that, my bed mate has slung a leg over my hips. A bare calf brushes my erection.
