“You’ve been through enough tonight,” he says, picking at the label on his beer. “You deserve the bed.”
I shrug. “There’s enough room for both of us.”
He puts his beer down carefully before turning to me. He studies my face. What does he see there? Cheeks flushed with embarrassment? The scrape on my cheek? The bandage he so tenderly applied? Or can he see what I was thinking about in the tub? Can he see just how good it felt to feel someone’s eyes on me? Does he see the loneliness that makes me want things I shouldn’t?
His eyes roam lower, over Jake’s T-shirt and down to where the hem skims my thighs. He put my clothes
in the wash. Does he know what I’m not wearing beneath this? Is he thinking about that right now too?
“Room for both of us,” he murmurs. “In the bed?”
I nod awkwardly, wishing I could rewind this conversation and try again.
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“It’s not like we’d do anything,” I say in a rush. “I just mean . . . it would be nice not to be alone.”
The way his lips part and his nostrils flare sends heat rushing through my veins to pool in my belly. “I want to be a good friend to you, El, but if I slept beside you, I don’t know if I could . . .” He grabs his beer off the coffee table and tips it to his lips. I watch his throat work as he swallows and drains it.
When he pulls it away, he sets it down, then stands and crosses the room to stand in front of me. He takes a lock of my hair and slowly wraps it around two fingers. “There are two kinds of guys. There’s the kind who’d crawl into bed with you and take advantage of the fact that you’re hurt and lonely right now. He’d use it as an excuse to cross lines you’re not ready to cross. And then there’s the kind who doesn’t want to cross those lines with you until the time is right but who knows you’re too damn tempting.”
I lift my gaze to meet his, and the heat in his eyes sends a hot rush through me. “Isn’t there a third type?” I ask. He just arches a brow. “The type who isn’t interested in anything?”
He grins. “With you? I’d have to see it to believe it.”
There it is again. That warmth from his attention. “Do you ever think about the night we met? About what we almost . . .” I bite my lip. I’ve made it through almost two and a half years without asking those questions—of Levi or of myself.
“I try not to.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
He tugs gently on my hair and tries to smile, but there’s far too much tension in the air for either of us to do that convincingly. “It means I don’t think I can have a share-a-bed kind of friendship with you, Ellie. Even if . . .” He releases the lock of hair and steps back. “Especially if you’re lonely.”
“Oh. I’m sorry . . . I . . .” I bite my bottom lip, feeling hot and foolish all at once. “I didn’t mean to ask you for something that makes you uncomfortable.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.” He folds his arms. “Hell, if anything, I should be apologizing to you. I’m your friend. I should be perfectly comfortable with sharing a bed with you. I’m pretty sure Ava wouldn’t have to turn you down for fear of groping you in your sleep.”
I can’t help it. I laugh, and then he does too, and all the tension between us fizzles away. “Well, good night then, Levi.”
He scans my face again, this time snagging on my lips and staying there. “Good night, Ellie.”
I pad toward the bedroom before I do something stupid—like beg him to kiss me. Given his little speech, it’s a safe bet he’d decline. But if he didn’t? It would feel amazing. Because this isn’t just anyone. It’s Levi. My friend. My rock. His kiss might just feel better than anything else right now. And we’d both regret it in the morning. He’s doing me a favor by sleeping out here.
“Ellie,” he calls behind me.
I stop and turn around. “Yeah?”
“What happens tomorrow? With Colton?”
My eyes burn with unexpected tears. I haven’t even told Levi about Noah, let alone my own secret pregnancy. I don’t think I have it in me to navigate those emotional land mines tonight. “I ask him to move out.”
He swallows hard and gives a sharp nod. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
I press my hand to my belly, and my breath catches in my throat. A few months ago, Ava was planning to have a baby and raise it on her own, and I thought she was crazy. I’m not like her. I watched my own mother struggle to get by after Dad left, and I’ve watched Brittany struggle to give Phoebe all she needs. I’m terrified of being a single mom. But I also know what it was like for Mom before Dad left, when she pretended his infidelity didn’t hurt. “If I let him stay, it would be for the wrong reasons.”
I stay in bed and listen to the comforting sounds drifting from the kitchen: running water, and the clattering dishes being pulled from the rack and returned to the cupboard.
It’s only six a.m. and normally I take advantage of the weekend and sleep in, but I’ve been up since five when the ding of my text message alert woke me. It was Colton, demanding to know where I was and why I wasn’t at home. I didn’t reply, but couldn’t go back to sleep either. Since this pregnancy has gifted me with a bladder the size of a pea, I used the bathroom before crawling back into bed.