That stops him. He didn’t even think about it. He just assumed he’d camp out on the couch. After what’s been happening between them for the last few days, sharing a bed seems like a really bad idea, especially with how much his parents have been on his mind tonight, like a fresh bruise over an old scar.
And yet . . .
But, no, he should sleep on the couch and he should just say so and wish her a good night’s sleep. Why add an extra layer of temptation where they don’t need one, especially with someone else in the apartment?
Then again, that someone thinks they’re engaged. It would be weird for him not to sleep with Bianca, right?
“Your bed isn’t that big,” he says.
It’s a weak excuse.
“We managed to fit on the couch just fine not so long ago.”
“Which is why I’m saying I can sleep on it.”
“And blow our cover?”
“We could say we had a fight?” he suggests.
An even weaker excuse.
“I don’t want to lie to her.”
He raises his eyebrows in disbelief.
“I know it’s semantics, but I don’t want to lie any more than I already am.”
“That’s a hell of a distinction.”
“I don’t want her to think the fight was about her. She’s going through the roughest thing; she doesn’t need to worry aboutanything else on top of that. We can be adults about this, can’t we?”
“You’re right. Wecanbe adults about this, obviously. It’ll be fine.”
“Well, I was already fine, until you got weird about it.”
“I’m not being weird,” he insists, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m trying to be respectful.”
“Are you saying that you can’t be respectful while sleeping next to me?”
“I’m saying,” he clenches his jaw and his hands land on his hips as he gathers his thoughts, “I’m saying that things could get confusing if we don’t maintain some boundaries.”
“Confusing.”
“Yeah, confusing. We keep moving the line, boss, and yeah, maybe it’s a little bit confusing. What we can do . . . what we can’t . . . if we should be doing any of this at all . . .” He trails off, unsure how to phrase it, his eyebrows drawn together.
“If you don’t want this, you can just say so, it’s okay. I’m not going to be mad at you, or whatever.”
No. That’s not it. And he doesn’t want her to think it, even for a second. But how does he say that without confessing everything. Shit, this is fucking confusing.
“No,” he protests, “it’s just . . . I don’t want to . . .”
The more he hedges, the more her face falls.
“Jesus, maybeI’llsleep on the couch.”
“Bianca, I don’t mean . . .”
“What do you mean, please tell me, because I wasn’t confused until you tried to keep everything from becoming confusing.”
