Page 51 of I Can't Help It

I drag my feet toward the bathroom and stare helplessly at the closed door. “I meant what I told you. I swear that I meant it. And I’m not trying to make you crazy, but I don’t want to be dishonest with you either.”

She doesn’t offer any kind of response. It sounds like she’s brushing her teeth.

“Ava? Let’s just—”

Her spitting cuts me short, followed by the sink faucet turning on.

Impeccable timing.

I decide to keep quiet as I wait for her to finish in the bathroom.

Five minutes.

Five, long, agonizing minutes go by before that stupid sliding door opens. Her date outfit has been replaced with an oversized, long-sleeved top that’s a light peachy-orange color and a pair of floral-printed pajama shorts. A pair of floral-printed pajama shorts that are barely visible underneath her top.

Frick.

Only Ava could look cozy and sexy at the same time.

Knowing that I’m staring at her torturous legs for way too long, I focus my gaze on her face.

“You wear glasses?” I blurt out like an idiot. “I didn’t know that.”

I should’ve begged Officer Garcia to arrest me when I had the chance. Small-town jail has to be better than this…

Glasses are a good look for her though. I like them.

I like them a lot.

Do I tell her that?

Heck no.

I don’t tell her, because behind those black-rimmed frames, is a dark glare. A dark glare that’s solely for me, which I hate.

“I’m going to use a couple of the pillows from the bed,” she informs me, her arm brushing against mine as she walks past me. “Hopefully, that’s okay with you.”

Does she really think I’m letting her sleep on the couch?

“Ava.” I watch in disbelief as she grabs two pillows and tosses them onto the couch. “I already said that I’d take the couch.”

“You’ve said a lot of things,” she retorts, tugging her suitcase off the couch. “But you don’t get to decide where I sleep. So, I’ll be sleeping on the couch like I said.”

“But—”

“Good night, Luke.” Her voice is still clipped as she claims the couch and stretches her legs out, even though there’s hardly enough room to do so. “Sleep well.”

Okay, that’s it.

We’re not doing this.

“Dang it, Ava!” I snap, throwing a hand up. “How the heck am I supposed to sleep well knowing that you hate my guts while you’re crammed on this freaking couch!”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I don’t hate your guts. Am I frustrated with you? Yes. But I don’t hate your guts.” She traces a finger across the throw blanket that’s on her lap. “As for our sleeping arrangements, I came up with a solution, but I didn’t say anything about it because I knew you wouldn’t approve. Especially now.”

I instantly realize the solution she’s insinuating.

We share the bed.

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