Page 86 of Betting on You

I mean, he even had that pectoral-cleavage ridge thing.

Was Charlie shredded?

Gahhhh—what is wrong with me?

I nodded dumbly, struggling to remember what he’d just said as I attempted to return to normal after the brain detour through Charlie’s physique.

He interrupted my thoughts with, “Give me a sec to put new sheets on the pullout, and then you can move in.”

“Did you,” I said, grinning at his ultra-helpful persona, “dosomething to the sheets?”

“No.” He scowled, looking offended.

“Then I think I can handle sleeping on the sheets you laid upon for under an hour.”

He raised his eyes from the pullout to me. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

He walked over to the stack of sheets and blankets, then glanced at the floor. A look crossed his face, just a flash of what I’d seen in the gas station bathroom, and I said, “Charlie, just take the bed. I’m good sleeping anywhere.”

He scowled—again—at that. “Fuck, Bay, please don’t be nice to me like I’m—”

“What if we make a bed out of couch cushions?” I spoke over him on purpose, because his having some issue with germs didn’tmatter to me. It didn’t matter, and I didn’t want him to think I’d even noticed. “That way you’re not on the floor, even though you’re sleeping on the floor. Get it?”

“Bailey.” He swallowed and said, “Stop.”

“Charlie.” I crossed my arms and said, “If you want me to pretend I don’t know, I totally will, because I don’t want to make you feel weird. But you’re my friend. If it were Nekesa instead of you, I’d just help her find a way to be comfortable.”

“Coworker,” he corrected, making a noise like he begrudgingly agreed while his smirk reappeared. “And you mentioned couch pillows…?”

I went over and started grabbing the discarded sofa cushions off the floor. “Let’s just make a little mattress with these.”

I dropped them onto an open area of floor at the other end of the living room, and Charlie grabbed the cushions from the two big chairs by the fireplace and added them to my pile. He picked up and unfolded what looked to be a king-sized fitted sheet.

“Y’know, you’re a pretty decent coworker,” Charlie said, giving me a look that felt important. Meaningful. It felt like he was acknowledging that our friendship was more than work, even though he was saying the literal opposite.

“I know,” I said, and after I helped him make the floor bed, I climbed onto the pullout. “Do you care if I turn on the TV? I’m kind of wide awake now.”

“Nah,” he said, and then he hit a light switch that plunged the room into darkness, aside from the glow of the television. I could hear him settling onto his cushions.

“Is that comfortable at all?” I asked, stopping on an old episode ofNew Girl.

“Not too bad,” he said, his voice quiet in the darkness.

“Nick Miller is the GOAT,” I said.

“Winston,” he corrected, “is the total underrated GOAT.”

We watched for a while, quietly commenting and laughing at the show, and I was almost asleep when Charlie said, “For the record, I’m not a full-scale germophobe.”

I stared into the darkness. “For the record, I wouldn’t give a shit if you were.”

“I just, like, I just get skeeved about public restrooms and the thought of sleeping on a stranger’s floor. I’d happily eat a meatball off the counter or lick your finger; that wouldn’t bother me at all.”

“You did not just say that.” I laughed, snuggling a little deeper under the covers and wondering why it didn’t feel awkward, having this impromptu sleepover with Charlie. I was sleepy and comfortable, absolutely relaxed; the opposite of awkward.

“Seriously, though. I don’t even own hand sanitizer or wipes,” he said, sounding like he desperately wanted to convince me.

---