Turner glances around at his bed covers. “In here?”
I stare at his massive bed; at him. At the television.
Back at him.
Shrug. “Sure?” What could possibly go wrong?
All the horrible things have already happened, haven’t they? The near nudity, the jerking off. Not a ton left that would scandalize the other at this point.
So yeah. I kick off my slippers and go to the other side of the bed, climbing up onto the tall mattress because this is totally normal, platonic roommate behavior.
Big dude.
Bigger bed.
His room is large too and has a sitting area tucked in by the window, complete with a leather armchair and a floor lamp. A few books are stacked haphazardly on the side table. One of them has a bookmark wedged in the middle. I make a mental note: he reads.
Figures.
He probably journals too. And volunteers at shelters. And returns his grocery cart like a good citizen. Blah.
The massive, man-sized TV hangs on the wall in front of the bed like a cinematic monument. It’s playing something with car chases and testosterone, which tracks. So masculine.
“Fun fact,” I begin. “I’ve never had a TV in my room before.” I pull a blanket over my legs and lean against the nearest pillow.
Turner glances at me, surprised. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I nod. “Growing up, my parents never allowed it. Then when I moved out I kind of had the ideology that bedrooms were for two things—sleeping and sex.”
The two words hang in the air.
Sleeping. Sex.
Sex.
I clear my throat, attention flickering to his arm, stretched casually across the back of the pillows, and then, god help me, to his thigh, the way his sweatpants cling just right when he shifts.
This is a mistake.
A huge mistake.
“Do you mind?” I gesture vaguely to the screen. “Maybe I should go…”
He looks at me fully now, face unreadable for a second before he nods once. “Nah. You’re already under the blanket. That’s basically a nonverbal contract.”
Right.
Of course.
“Well I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything—we now know I have horrible timing.” Ha ha.
“Nope. I was, you know, swiping on the dating apps,” Turner drops the bomb, adding it to the stillness in the air.
Of course he’d be on dating apps. The man is single, good-looking, and kind. Crazy successful.
A catch.
Still, I feel awkward knowing this information when I’m single, too and have seen his junk. “How is the single scene around here? If I’m going to live here, this is need-to-know information.”
