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“Do you snore?”

“I don’t know, do you?”

“No, or I don’t think so.” She sounds unsure and so fucking cute.

“I’ll come get you.”

“No, I’ll drive.” She hangs up, and I stare at my phone, then drop it to my gut. There is no way that she’s coming over, right?

Just in case, I sit up and get out of bed. After flipping on the lamp, I grab my sleep pants and put them on, then put on a tee while Storm watches from his bed on the floor. I’m sure he’s wondering what’s going on and if we’re going somewhere.

Walking to the living room, I don’t bother with the lights. I just open the front door. It’s late, the street’s quiet, everyone most likely asleep or at least in for the night. When I see headlights reflect on the trees that line the block, I step out onto the porch, and a moment later Genevieve turns into my driveway. As she parks next to my truck, I meet her gaze through her windshield and watch her give me a nervous smile as I walk toward her car.

Yeah, she’s cute.

“I didn’t know if you’d actually come,” I tell her, opening her door.

“Should I leave?”

“Fuck no.” I grip the top of her door like I might have the ability to stop her from leaving if she tries.

“I brought my pillow.”

“Pass it over.” I take it from her, then take the bag she also grabs from the passenger seat. Once she’s out of the car, I rest my hand against her lower back and lead her up to the front door, where Storm is watching with his tail going a hundred miles a minute.

“I didn’t bring any bones this time, big guy,” she tells him, patting his head as we walk past, and I chuckle at the disappointed sound he makes.

“This way.” I lead her down the hall to my room. I don’t even offer her the pullout in the second bedroom, where I also keep my gym equipment, or the sofa in the living room. Like I said, we’re already being stupid. Why change shit up now? I watch her look around when we walk into my room. There’s not much in it: a chair in the corner, a single dresser, and nightstands on either side of my king-size bed.

“What side do you sleep on?” she asks softly, taking off her coat while Storm wanders over to his bed.

“Closest to the door.” I toss her pillow to the middle of the bed, then set her bag on the chair.

“So you’re closer to the bathroom?”

“No, so I’m closer if someone were to come in.”

“Oh.” She kicks off her shoes, then walks around the bed with her eyes still wandering around the room. “Is your room always so clean?”

“For the most part.” I watch her pull back the comforter and climb up onto the bed.

“Do you make your bed every morning?”

“Don’t you?”

“Absolutely not, and I’m pretty sure it says somewhere that only serial killers make their beds every day.”

“You love making shit up.” I reach my hands over my head and strip off my shirt, swearing I hear her sharp intake of breath.

“If the whole sheriff gig doesn’t pan out, you could make a killing working as a stripper.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I can’t help but laugh. I walk to the bed, pull back the comforter and sheet, and slide in across from her, then turn out the light.

“I haven’t slept in a bed with a guy since my ex,” she whispers into the dark after a long moment, and I roll to my side and reach my hand across the bed for her hand.

“I haven’t had a woman spend the night since my ex-wife was the one doing the sleeping over.”

“You haven’t had anyone sleep over?” she asks in a tone filled with doubt.