Page 7 of Butter My Biscuit

And he knows that’s the truth. I stand and stretch, then make my way down the hallway.

As I flick on the light in the bedroom, I yell, “Come on, bestie. Don’t be as stubborn as a mule. Your back is gonna hate you tomorrow if you choose that shitty couch!”

As I’m pulling down the comforter on both sides, Harrison stands in the doorway, all man and muscle with those joggers on his waist. “Pick your side and then follow the rules.”

“That’s real rich, coming from the number one rule breaker I know.”

2

HARRISON

Grace climbs under the blankets and pats the opposite side of the bed. “You know you can’t deny me.”

She gives me that confident look of hers, the one where she knows she’s right.

“Are you gonna play nice?” I cross my arms over my chest, not budging.

Her brown hair is splashed across the pillow as she sinks into the mattress, letting out a relieved sigh. Grace closes her eyes. “So comfortable. Would be better if my bestie were here. After he turned off the lights.”

This isn’t the first time Grace and I have ever shared a bed, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. When we were kids, we bunked together on trips until we were teenagers, when hormones were raging. As soon as Grace got boobs, our mothers refused. Probably for the best.

It’s not even a big deal now, but I like to poke at her about it because her last boyfriend lost his shit. I mean, I get it. I wouldn’t want my woman sharing a bed with a man like me either. But with me and Grace, it’s different. We arejustfriends who talk about farting, buttholes, and everything else. And because we’ve experienced every embarrassing thing together, we’re overly comfortable.

She knows me better than anyone. But it goes both ways.

I climb under the sheets and tug the blankets over my chest, then realize how cold it is in this house. I sit straight up and turn on the lamp next to the bed.

“Where are you going?” Grace opens her eyes.

“I’m turning on the heat.” I place my feet on the floor and stand.

“Good idea. I thought it was just me.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I make my way down the hallway and spot the thermostat on the wall. It’s not on. I flick on a light, and the inside temperature reads sixty degrees. I click a few buttons and then wait for the furnace to rumble. Nothing happens. So, I slide the temperature gauge to eighty. Still nothing.

I go to the bedroom. “It’s broken.”

“What?” Her voice goes up an octave.

“Yep. You’ll have to call the host tomorrow and let them know.”

She groans. “That sucks. I’m gonna be an ice cube tonight.”

“Let me see if I can find some extra blankets.”

I grab my phone and turn on my flashlight and search in every closet. There’s a quilt folded in the linen closet and a throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, so I swipe them both. It’s better than nothing.

I place them on top of the comforter, then crawl back between the sheets. Grace stretches and touches me with her cold-as-fuck toes.

“Holy shit, woman!” I jolt away from the icicles. “Your feet are frigid! Get those things off of me!”

“They’re going to fall off! Help me!” She stretches her feet out further and presses them against my thighs.

“Ow!” I try to wiggle away, but I’m also laughing my ass off. “This is another reason why I didn’t want to share a bed. You make me sweat. Plus, your fingers and toes are always like this!”

“You’re going to mistreat my poor tootsies like that? I’m finding a new bestie to share a bed with who doesn’t mind if I touch all over them. I don’t have cooties.” She playfully pouts.

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