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Things We Never Got Over(102)

Author:Lucy Score

She glanced down at her outfit. Her feet were bare, but she was still wearing that denim skirt and shirt from her shift.

“I don’t have any pajamas.”

“I take it that means you don’t sleep naked?” Just like making the bed, wearing pajamas was a waste in my opinion.

She stared at me.

“Of course you don’t sleep naked.”

“There could be a fire in the middle of the night,” she insisted, crossing her arms.

“I don’t have any turn-out gear for you to sleep in.”

“Har har.”

“Fine.” I left her in the bathroom and headed to my dresser, where I found a clean t-shirt. “Here,” I said, returning to her.

She looked down at it, then up at me again. I liked the way she looked. Sleepy and a little less than perfect as if the shift and the late night had worn down her armor.

“Thanks,” she said, staring at it and then me again until I got the hint.

“You do realize I’ve already seen you naked, right?”

“That’s different. Go away.”

Shaking my head, I left the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

Two minutes later, Naomi stood in the doorway in my t-shirt. She was tall, but the shirt still covered her to mid-thigh. Her face was scrubbed clean, and she’d pulled part of her hair up and back in a small knot on top of her head.

The girl next door was about to crawl into my bed. I knew it was a mistake. But it was one I wanted to make. Just this once.

We traded places, with Naomi slipping into my bedroom and me commandeering the bathroom to remove my contacts from my bleary eyes.

Running on fumes, I snapped off the bathroom light and crossed to my side of the bed. She was on her back, arms tucked under her head, staring up at the ceiling. I killed the bedside light and stripped in the dark, throwing my clothes in the direction of the dirty laundry pile.

I dragged back the blankets and finally fell into bed with a sigh. I waited a beat, staring up at the darkness. This didn’t have to mean anything. This didn’t have to be another string, another knot.

“You good?” I asked.

“My pillow smells weird,” she said, sounding disgruntled.

“You’re sleeping on Waylon’s side.” I pulled the pillow out from under her head, then threw mine at her.

“Hey!”

“Better?”

I heard her sniff the pillow. “Better,” she agreed.

“Night, Naomi.”

“Good night, Knox.”

I woke to a thud, a yelp, and a curse.

“Naomi?” I rasped, unglueing my eyelids. She came into a soft focus at the foot of the bed, where she was performing some kind of gymnastics to get her skirt back on.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I need to shower before I go to Liza’s for breakfast.

“There’s a shower here,” I pointed out, rising on an elbow to watch her drag her shirt on inside out.

“But I need fresh clothes and mascara. A hair dryer. Go back to sleep, Knox. There’s no need for us both to be walking zombies.”

Blearily I glared at the time on my phone. 7:05 a.m. Four hours didn’t really count as spending the night with a woman, I decided.

The appeal of being a bachelor was the fact that my days were dictated by me. I didn’t have to work around anyone else’s plans or not do what I wanted to do just so they could do what they wanted.

But it seemed unfair even to me that Naomi should have to spend the day running on fumes while I slept in. Besides, breakfast did sound good.

My feet hit the floor with a thump.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to right her top. It was now right side out, but backwards.

“No reason for you to walk home, shower, and walk back to Liza’s. Not when there’s a perfectly good shower here.”

“I can’t go to breakfast in my uniform,” she said in exasperation. “Doing the walk of shame to family breakfast is not happening.”

“Fine. Give me a list.”

She looked as if I had just spoken to her in Swahili. “A list of what?”

“What do you need to get through breakfast without shame. You shower. I’ll get your stuff.”

She stared at me. “You’re working awfully hard for just a hook-up.”

I couldn’t say why, but that statement pissed me off. Standing up, I picked a pair of jeans off the floor. “Gimmie a list.” I dragged on the jeans.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. “Has anyone told you you’re a grump in the mornings?”