Page 12 of Real Fake Husband

“I know, I told you I’m tired.”

“Stop trying to be cute. I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

“Fine. There’s a perfectly good couch in the living room,” he says, undoing the button of his jeans, and I have to force myself not to watch the movement. “I’ve been on two connecting flights and haven’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours.”

Quickly, I climb into bed before he can. “Perfect.Youcan sleep there.”

He gives me an incredulous look. “Seriously, Josie?”

“Do I sound serious?” I ask, arching a brow.

Callum grumbles and grabs one of the pillows. “You’re always serious. Little serious Nosy Josie with that sourpuss look on her face.”

Hearing my old nickname brings my anger back full force. “Enjoy the couch and get the lights on your way out.” I purposefully lie in the middle of the bed and, yes, I still have my robe on. “Good night.”

“Oh, fuck it,” he rumbles. “Fine. I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m not going to argue with you right now,” he adds, a tightness to his voice I know means he’s annoyed. “But don’t get used to it. This isn’t over.”

On his way out of the room, he shuts the lights off and slams the door behind him.

Part of me feels bad. A very tiny part, mind you. I don’t mean to be difficult, but, come on. We don’t see each other for years and he really thinks we’re going to share a bed? There’s nothing in the terms of this agreement that says we have to sleep together.

The bed is so soft, and by the time I take off my robe and pull the covers up, I’m already closing my eyes. It never takes me long to fall asleep, especially after such a grueling workday. Goodness, is this a memory foam mattress? It feels absolutely perfect.

I’m in that wonderful moment between sleeping and awake when I hear the door open and feel Callum’s hand on my shoulder. The light’s still off, yet I can see his silhouette in the dark.

“Huh…wh—?” I mumble.

“Move over.”

“Uh,no.”

“Josephine, the couch is too damn small for me. Just move over so I can lie down.”

I roll over and put the pillow over my head. “We went over this,” I argue, the pillow muffling my voice. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Yousleep on the couch then. You’ll fit.”

I’m so fucking tired, and I’m a thousand percent done with dealing with him. Pulling the pillow off, I sit up. “Fine. Whatever.”

I roll out of bed, grabbing my robe and pillow, and closing the door behind me. In the living room, there’s a thick blanket laid out on the cream-colored couch already, and I collapse onto it. And barely even bounce. The couch cushions arehard. Like, hardly ever been sat on before kind of hard. The pillows are thin. It’s annoying, but I’ve slept on worse. Bundling myself up in the blanket, I settle down and close my eyes.

But the blissful sleep I was slipping into before doesn’t come. I miss the memory foam. I miss the down comforter. The longer I lie there, the more I realize how bad this couch is. I’ve slept on my fair share of couches and floors. This is how I know there is no way I’ll be able to make it through the night. This couch is in a whole category of its own. It’s horrible. It takes nearly thirty minutes of tossing and turning before I concede.

Callum is right.

I lie there with a huff, thinking about my options, of which there’s only one. Would it be so bad to share a bed?

I’m so tired by this point, I don’t even care. Grumbling, I get up and shuffle back to the bedroom. Quietly, I turn the knob and peek in. It’s dark, but I can see that Callum isn’t taking up the whole bed as I had. He’s lying facing away from the doorway so I’m not sure if he’s still awake. The comforter is draped over his hips, and all I can see is the smooth expanse of his tattooed back.

Quietly, I tiptoe to the bed and slowly climb in. Now that I’m close, I realize the tattoo is a gorgeous pair of black wings on his shoulder blades.

I’m just settling down when I hear, “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

“That couch sucks.”

“Told you.”

“Youstay on your side, buddy. I mean it. Don’t test me. Especially if you want to keep all your appendages and extremities.”

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