Page 106 of Cowboy Heat

But I sure enough haven’t met one yet. Until now.

Why am Ihereright now, though?

Standing in my pajamas with my fist raised high?

I don’t get the chance to find out. Instead, I see the door isn’t shut all the way. Curious and concerned, I push it open and look to the bed.

It’s empty. And Beau’s lying on the floor.

He’s awake and finds my gaze quick.

“I— I’m sorry to intrude,” my politeness demands.

Beau sits up. His blanket falls away to show he’s not wearing a shirt. It flusters me more. “You’re not intruding,” he says quick. “Is something wrong?”

I shake my head, but my body refuses to back away. “I can’t sleep.” No more words come out. Just the simple statement.

Beau returns the favor. “I can’t either.”

We share a moment. One that’s quiet. One that’s loud.

I break it. “Can I join you?”

I know I shouldn’t have said it.

I know I shouldn’t want it.

I know I shouldn’t feel it.

But I do.

I guess I’m not the only one.

“Yeah,” Beau says. “I’d like that.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR

Beau

I go to stand,but Kissy grabs a pillow off the bed and joins me on the floor.

She places it besides mine and settles on top of the exposed part of the unzipped sleeping bag next to me. On reflex, I shift the quilt I’ve been using as a top blanket to cover her.

It’s definitely needed.

She’s back to her pajama set from the night before. Her legs are very bare.

“I don’t think I’ve been on a pallet on the floor since June’s slumber party in eighth grade.” She looks annoyed as she shifts to get comfortable. “Ialsohad trouble sleeping then, but that had more to do with Becky Brunson snoring all dang night. Sounded like a foghorn warning sailors away.”

She finds a spot that must suit her.

My arms rest over the top of the quilt, so when the skin of her arms settle against my bare side, it’s a little startling. But more so when I feel her thigh pressing into my own. Wearing just my boxers on the floor beneath the covers feels like an oversight somehow.

Then again, I wasn’t expecting Kissy to be sidled up against me when I dressed down before bed.

“I takes me a while to get used to a place,” I tell her, trying to move my thoughts to one safe track. “I guess until then, I find comfort in discomfort? Though it might be the fact that this sleeping bag still feels good after all these years. In my last apartment, it took me three months to upgrade from it.”

My girlfriend at the time, Marissa, wasn’t a fan of it either. She called it childish.