“If you can cook like this, why does your pantry contain nothing but snack foods and cobwebs?” he asks quietly.
I don’t look at him. My voice is equally quiet when I say, “Not much point, cooking some elaborate meal when there’s no one to share it with.”
There’s a sharp intake of air. A lengthy pause. Then, “Maybe—”
I don’t get to hear what he’s going to say because at that moment, the bathroom door swings open and Parker strides back into the room.
“Man, I’m beat,” he announces, flopping down on the couch. “Jet lag is killer.”
I turn to arch an eyebrow at him. “Imagine if you actually had a job to get to tomorrow, rather than freedom to just sleep the day away!”
He makes a disgusted face. “Why would I want to imagine that? That sounds terrible.”
I snort and finish washing the dishes, passing each one to Nate when it’s clean. He accepts them wordlessly, dries them with a dishtowel, and puts them back in the cabinet. For a few unspoken moments, we’re totally in sync.
Weird.
“I was going to catch a cab down to the harbor and sleep on my boat, but I’m not gonna make it. I’m crashing on your couch, man.” Parker stretches his long frame across the sofa cushions, eyes already closed. “You guys can fight to the death over the bed. Just keep it down, will ya?”
“Parker—”
“Shhh.” He turns onto his side, facing away from us. “Tell me tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Night, Sweet P.”
Approximately two seconds later, his breathing slows into the rhythmic patterns of sleep… leaving Nate and me staring at each other in horror, looking anywhere but at the bed we will now be sharing ten feet from my big brother — the same big brother who would probably have a heart attack if he ever suspected his best friend had his hands on his little sister’s boobs mere hours earlier.
Well. This isn’t awkward at all.
***
I toss.
He turns.
I huff.
He sighs.
Boo glares at both of us from the end of the bed.
Needless to say, none of us is getting any sleep. (Besides Parker, who is snoring away happily on the couch.)
I don’t think my eyes have stayed closed for more than five consecutive seconds in the forty-five minutes since climbing beneath the sheets. I changed for bed while Nate took Boo out for a quick walk. If he noticed I chose to sleep in one of his t-shirts again instead of the skimpy nighty Lila packed for me — in a painfully transparent move to help me get laid — he didn’t mention it.
I toss again and hear him grumble under his breath from the other side of the pillow barrier between us.
Something happens, when you lie next to someone in the darkness. Both awake, both afraid to look at each other or brush limbs beneath the blankets. The air grows thicker with every moment that passes. After an hour, the weight of our silence is so heavy, I can barely pull a breath into my lungs.
I’m about to slide onto the hard, cold floor and sleep there rather than endure another second of this, when I feel the mattress shift. My head turns in time to see Nate sit up, climb out of bed, and walk around to my side. I stare up at him in confusion, clutching the sheets to my chest like I’m five years old and he’s the monster in my bedroom closet, come to destroy me.
His mouth twitches and he holds out one hand.
“Come on.”
The words are so low, I almost miss them.
“What?”
He sighs deeply, grabs my hand, and pulls me out of bed. Boo glances up, seems to contemplate following us, then decides against it, cuddling deeper into the blankets.
So loyal, my demon-dog.
“Hey!” I hiss quietly at Nate’s back as he tugs me across the loft, past Parker’s sleeping form, toward the doorway. “Where are you taking me?”