After we ran out of things to distract ourselves with in his bedroom, we finally looked at each other.
He seemed tensed but he was trying to hide it, I saw it nevertheless, in the way he placed both hands in his pocket.
"You could've just asked me to move in, you know. Instead of… whatever this is."
"Where's the fun in that?" He smirked, but it wavered at the edges. "Besides, you'd have said no."
I glanced back at the closet, at the stupid sundresses and the perfect leather jacket. "Do I get a say in this?"
"Of course" He paused, softer. "Do you… want one?"
I looked around the bedroom before looking at him. "No. I don't want one"
It was the truth.
**
The first night in Jack's bedroom, I clung to the edge of the mattress like it was a life raft, my back to him and every nerve on fire.
The bed was stupidly large, but we'd carved out territories: his side littered with crumpled reports, mine a rigid no-man's-land of tucked sheets.
I didn't sleep. I couldn't.
