Page 91 of Rival for Rent

Suddenly, he cracked an eyelid. “Are you watching me sleep?”

I flushed. “Pardon me for enjoying a moment where we’re not fighting for once.”

“Hmm. Us not fighting? That doesn’t sound right.”

I laughed. “If you want, I can yell at you for snoring.”

He lifted his head, eyes narrowing. “I don’t snore.”

“How would you know? By definition, people are asleep when they snore.”

“Because I spent years sleeping in tight quarters with other guys. They would have given me shit for snoring.”

“Maybe they were all too scared of your manly man masculinity and didn’t want to get punched.”

He snorted. “You seemed pretty into my manly man masculinity last night.”

“Fine. Then they were all too starstruck by your beauty and grace. They didn’t have the heart to tell you.”

Mason rolled onto his side and rubbed at his eyes. “I think I’m too sleepy for this conversation. I can’t tell if you’re trying to make fun of me or butter me up for something.”

“Why can’t it be both?” I grinned.

“Because I need to know if I actually snore or not. That’s a crucial part of a man’s identity. You can’t just leave me hanging.”

“Fine, fine.” I rolled my eyes. “You don’t snore. But you do steal the covers, and you can’t deny that.”

I gestured to the duvet, which Mason had somehow wrapped himself in like a burrito, then to myself—where only a tiny scrap of sheet remained, covering half my body.

“Leaving me out here to freeze all night,” I complained. “Aren’t you supposed to be saving my life? Not giving me hypothermia?”

“Mmm, so what you’re saying is, you need me to warm you up?” Mason wiggled his eyebrows. “Because I can think of several delicious ways to do that.”

We didn’t get out of bed for another forty-five minutes, and by the time I finally got into the shower, I had to run the water a little cooler than usual because I was so sweaty. When I got out, I shouted down the stairs to Mason in the kitchen.

“Hey, am I allowed to come downstairs in my underwear again, or do I still have to dress respectfully?”

“Underwear is more than fine by me,” he called back.

I grinned and headed downstairs, hair still damp. My grin widened when I saw Mason was wearing nothing but his boxers too. I walked over to the coffee pot and inhaled deeply.

“Something smells good,” I said, turning to smile at him. “Something looks good too.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he said, giving me a positively lascivious look. “You should’ve been dressing like this the whole time I was here.”

“I was trying to be respectful of my supposedly straight bodyguard’s comfort levels,” I said, taking the mug he offered and filling it with coffee. “I didn’t know I should’ve been making you suffer.”

As soon as the word was out, I clapped a hand to my mouth. “Shit. I didn’t mean like—you know.Suffersuffer. Please don’t take this as an invitation to go back down to your pit of self-loathing.”

“It’s okay. I know what you meant.”

I assessed him. “You don’t seem like you’re about to backslide, but I never can tell with you. How are you feeling today? Planning any more needless self-sacrifice?”

He smiled. A little sadly, but it was still a smile. “Not planning on it, no.”

I set my coffee down, walked over to him, and pulled him into a hug. “Good. Because that would be stupid. And you’re not stupid. Most of the time.”

Mason snorted but wrapped his good arm around me. “What a ringing endorsement.”

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