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“Then they should have cared about it enough not to leave it here.” I snort. “Are you seriously making excuses right now? What if one of your buddies saw? No self-respecting woman would stay with a guy who hoards his exes’ stuff.”

“They aren’t my exes.” He runs a hand down the back of his neck, breaking eye contact. “I threw it in there because I can’t remember who any of it belongs to.”

Gross. “Then why keep it at all?”

He shrugs, eyes still locked on the hodgepodge below. “I don’t mean to keep it, I just don’t think about it. I can throw it all out right now if you want me to.”

“Don’t do that for me.” This doesn’t involve me. His past is not mine. His future isn’t either.

“I want to. They're just reminders of a life I don’t want anymore.” His green eyes lift to meet mine and my resolve breaks like glass in the hands of someone careless.

How can I so easily fall for what he’s saying?

Am I that much of a sucker for those thick lashes and soft eyes?

The answer is yes because when he yanks the drawer from the cabinet and casually dumps it into his trash can like it’s dinner scraps, I melt a little.

He doesn’t bother putting it back in place, just sets it on the marble counter.

“I want you to tell me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Lena. Fake or not, you deserve to be respected.” His jaw stiffens.

“After meeting Callum, I have a feeling that’s not something you got from him. ”

I let out a little laugh. “I guess I’m lucky he cheated on me and dumped me then.”

Decker doesn’t match my lightness, but instead lets the profanities fly. “It took everything in me not to punch him yesterday.”

I cross my arms, leaning into the counter beside him. “Yeah, no one could tell. You seemed super calm.”

Now he smiles. “I don’t like it when people disrespect you. And I hope he picked up on that.”

“Oh, I think he did.”

“Good.” He eyes me as he lifts his toothbrush, adds a little extra toothpaste, and starts brushing again.

I hover beside him and the empty drawer. “So, how do you think the hard launch went?”

“Jason said he thought it went well,” he says around his toothbrush. “What did your people say?”

I collapse a little. “My mom said my hair looked a little flat, and I haven’t read all of Antonia’s texts yet. Does it matter, though? Can’t change anything now anyway.”

He lowers himself over the sink and spits out his toothpaste, promptly following with mouthwash. We stand there in silence, and just as it stretches on a little too long, he spits his mouth rinse out too and turns to me. “If you could change anything about tonight, would you?”

I think for a short moment. “I mean, I guess maybe I’d step out of the way when Joss's face twisted like that.” I shudder at the memory.

Decker laughs. “Yeah but if you had, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“And?”

“And I like the way you look in my shirt. Way better than me.” My heart pounds out of my chest as he leans closer. “I need to be reminded every once in a while that I can’t always be the best-looking person in the room.”

“Gotta keep you humble.”

He gives me a lopsided smile.

Everything in me screams to lean in, to meet him halfway, to take advantage of his shameless flirting, but even after he’s dumped the drawer in front of me—voluntarily—I know this is part of who he is.

He’s a flirt. If I’m going to be stuck with him, I might as well make it fun.

I can’t fight the truth much longer. Decker is sexy.

The fact that he doesn’t get more notoriety from the female fan base blows my mind.

These women don’t know what they’re missing.

Finally, I tilt in too, letting my eyes feast as they roll from his green gaze, to his full lips, down to his cotton-covered torso. In one bold move, I place my hand on his chest. “Not everyone can look as good in a shirt as I do. Speaking of which, I think I prefer you without.”

As cheesy as it is, I lay it on thick, winking before I turn and exit the bathroom.

I walk to my side of the bed—the one I assume is mine because the bedside table is void of much at all—and I sit.

Decker emerges from the bathroom seconds later—shirtless—his eyes coasting over Joss to check that she’s still asleep before he sinks next to me on the edge of the bed.

My pulse climbs. What is he doing? I was joking.

Kind of. Where is he trying to take this?

His lips brush my ear as he says, “I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”

And that’s it.

He stands, taking a step away before I catch his arm and pull him back down. When we’re face to face again, he’s smirking.

“If she wakes up and sees we aren’t in the same bed, she’s going to think it’s weird,” I whisper.

“So? Who’s she going to tell?”

“No one. I just think we need to make this as easy on ourselves as possible. If you’re my boyfriend, I should sleep in your bed.”

Decker’s lips pull into a tight line as he salutes me and leans back, somersaulting to his side of the bed.

I press a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter.

He switches off his bedside lamp, then scoots to the middle so I can hear him.

“There’s a charging pad on that table by the way. For your phone.”

“I saw. Thanks.”

I wait for him to return to his side of the bed, but he doesn’t budge.

“Too bad you aren’t staying for breakfast. I make a pretty mean omelet,” he whispers.

“Is that so?”

“It is.” He yawns. “I’ll give you a rain check on it, though. For our next sleepover.”

I laugh. “There won’t be a next one.”

“What if I throw in some bacon on the side?”

“Why are you always trying to feed me?”

"Because it’s the one thing you let me do for you." He slides a hand under his pillow.

My heart skips as I tighten my grip on the comforter. Suddenly, I’m hyperaware of everything. The heady scent of his cologne trapped in the fabric of the sheets, how cute his tired voice is, how close he is to me.

He clears his throat. “So, rain check on omelets and bacon?”

I muster my typical snark, but even I can tell it lacks bite this time. “If I agree, will you let me sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Omelets and bacon it is.”

A silence spans between us before he finally speaks again. “Well, good night, Lennie-Pie.”

“Gross. Don’t call me that.” I reach out, giving his bare chest a push, but even in the darkness, he stops the strike. My hand is locked in his for a long moment before I finally pull it away, tucking it under the cool side of my pillow. “Good night, Decker.”

He doesn’t roll away, but instead stays exactly where he is, so close that his heat radiates under the blanket and warms me too. As his breathing settles, so does mine, and soon the exhaustion overwhelms me until I can’t fight it any longer. That seems to be the theme of the night.