She smiles, but her cheeks are warming. I kind of like that. “W-w-w—” The word won’t come out, and I feel so fucking bad for her when her eyes close. I can almost see the word working around in her mouth. Suddenly her eyes open. “Why?” she says. “Wh-why w-would you d-do that?”

“Honestly?” I ask. I look into her dark eyes. They’re so brown they’re almost black.

“No, y-you should l-lie to me.” She puts her hands on her hips.

“I just got you here,” I say honestly. “I’ve been trying to spend time with you for weeks, and I had a lot of fun with you tonight. I like the way you fit against me when we sit on the couch, and how you laugh at the funny parts of the show I like, and you sometimes laugh at the serious parts. And I like kissing you.” I lift my hand and cup the side of her face. She doesn’t flinch away. She turns her face into my hand. I touch her bottom lip with the pad of my thumb. Her tongue tentatively touches it, and it shoots straight to the center of me. “I want you to stay.”

“D-do you h-have blankets for the c-couch?” she asks.

My heart leaps. She’s not leaving. “Hall closet,” I say. She walks out into the hall and retrieves a blanket and some sheets, and then she goes out into the living room. I go with her, because there’s no fucking way I’m letting her sleep on the couch.

I take the sheet from her and cover the sofa with it. Then I sit down and pat the space beside me. “Wh-what are you d-doing?” she asks.

“Going to sleep.” I fluff a pillow behind me and try to get comfortable.

“Go to b-bed,” she says. She takes my hand and tries to pull me to my feet.

“Nuh-uh,” I mutter. “Paul would kick my ass if I let you sleep on the couch.” Paul is my oldest brother, the one who raised us all, and he wouldn’t like it. There are some things a man just doesn’t do, and letting a girl sleep on the couch is one of them. It’s right up there with cheating and lying. “So…” I say slowly. “If you won’t sleep in my bed, then we both have to sleep out here.” I leave my statement hanging there in the air.

“You suck so bad,” she mutters. She didn’t even stutter. But I try not to let her know I noticed.

“I know,” I agree. “I suck. But I’m a gentleman who sucks.”

“D-do you p-promise to stay on your side of the b-bed?”

“Does that include errors in rolling over? And flinging arms? Am I going to be penalized for bending my knee?”

A grin teases up the corners of her lips. “You still suck.”

“I know.” I pat the couch. “So, what’s it going to be? Here or there?”

“Fine,” she bites out. She hands me my crutches and waits for me to stand up. Then she grabs the blanket and walks toward my bedroom.

In the back of my mind, I think there should be some ominous music playing. Maybe the theme song from Jeopardy. Or a doo-doo-doo-doo Twilight Zone kind of scary thing. Because I have to admit it—I’m a little afraid.

I turn the covers back and she flips the light off. I hear a rustle of her clothing. “Did you just take something off?” I ask the darkness.

“Sam,” she scolds.

I roll onto my side to face her. “What was it?” I whisper.

“Nothing,” she hisses back. But I can hear laughter in her voice and I love it.

“You took your shorts off, didn’t you?” I say quietly.

“Maybe.”

“You did.” I wait a beat. Just long enough for silence to settle around the room. “Do you know what that means?”

“It means you should shut up and go to sleep.” She giggles. God, that’s a pretty sound. She’s quiet for a second. “What does it mean?” she suddenly asks.

“It means your naked thighs are pressed against my sheets.” I groan. I’m turning myself on. Or she’s turning me on.

“Sam,” she warns. But she’s laughing, too. She’s so far away from me that I imagine she’s going to roll right off the bed.

“You’re awfully far away.”

“There’s a reason for that,” she whispers.

“What is it?” I whisper back.

“Because I have this awful feeling that you’re going to break my heart,” she says. No stutter, so she must have found something to tap on. But I kind of would prefer to think she didn’t.

“I don’t plan to hurt you.” God, she might as well have stabbed me in the gut.

“No one plans to hurt anyone else. It just happens. Even to good people. So I’m trying not to let myself like you.”

“You like me?”

“I like you a lot. Too much.”

“You like me,” I sing-song in a playful voice.

“Sam,” she says on a heavy breath.

“What?”

“Don’t hurt me, okay?”

I can hear the quiver in her voice and tension radiates off of her even from across the bed. It’s like a wire pulled taut.

I reach out a hand and feel for her stomach. When I find it, I lift the edge of her shirt and lay my palm on her hip. She squeals when I roll her over and pull her to me. “Sam!” she cries.

I adjust her until her bottom is cradled by my thighs. The scent of her hair tickles my nose, so I brush it out of my face, pushing it down between us. It’s silky smooth and she smells so damn good.