Page 30 of Honest Boys Don’t Play

I open the box in front of me and pull out my pajamas, leaving the hodge podge of sweatshirts and random pair of sneakers in the bottom.

“That one done?” Luke asks, putting down the fourth box.

“Yep.”

We work like that, only exchanging a few words here and there, until I’ve sorted through all my boxes and have a nice pile of clothes, books, and jewelry to put away.

Without a word, Luke scoops up part of my things and carries them to his room.

“These drawers are for you.” He opens the bottom two dresser drawers for me. “And here’s your closet space.” He opens the folding door and my stomach dips when I find there’s barely anything left inside. “Before you feel too bad, I didn’t have much in here to begin with and while I was sorting through things I decided to clean out and donate what was old.”

I hate that he reads me so easily. Am I really that much of an open book to him?

I carefully refold my pajamas and jeans and lay them in the drawers while I hang up my shirts, sweaters, and dresses.

While I do that, in the hall Luke pulls a ladder down from the ceiling and carries my boxes up. My stomach cramps with uneasiness but when I offer to hand him the boxes while he stands on the ladder, he just looks at me like I’ve lost my mind and continues on undeterred.

When everything is put away and Luke is finished with the boxes I stand awkwardly in the middle of his room, not quite sure what to do with myself.

He folds the ladder up and it hinges back up into the ceiling.

Hands on his hips, he glances over at me and I’m not sure what he sees there, but he says, “Don’t worry, B. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If anyone sleeps on the couch it should be me.” The idea of Luke contorting his six-foot-four frame onto a couch is comical. I’d kind of love to see him try. He opens his mouth to retort, but I lift a hand to silence him. “We’re both adults, and frankly considering my current state”—I gesture to my bump— “it would be a little silly to not just share the bed.”

True, the bed is small—I’m not sure it’s even a queen-size—and Luke is a behemoth, but we can make it work.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m positive.” Clapping my hands together, I say, “Now, is there anything in the refrigerator I can make us all for dinner or should I go to the grocery store?”

“Bertie,” he sighs my name in a way like I equally exhaust and amuse him.

“What?” I ask innocently.

“You don’t need to cook dinner.”

My shoulders crawl up to my ears. “I know that, but I want to. You guys are letting me crash here free of charge. The least I can do is cook.”

He stares me down and when he sees I’m not wavering on this, he sighs, and nods for me to follow. “All right, let’s see what we’ve got.”

CHAPTER 11

LUKE

Bertie can’t cook.

Not that I’m about to open my mouth up and tell her that.

“This is great,” I say, taking a second bite of the rubbery noodles and burnt sauce. I didn’t even know it was possible to burn spaghetti sauce.

“It is?” Her eyes light up at the praise.

She sets down her bowl and pulls out the chair across from me.

Fuck, I didn’t think about the fact that she’s going to be eating it too and there’s no way she won’t know how awful it is.

“Mhm.” I chew at the gummy noodles.