Page 53 of Beyond the Stroke

“Never mind,” she says, moving toward the ladder and climbing up. My surprised tone clearly has her rethinking the offer.

I scramble to pick up the blankets off the floor and follow her up the ladder, my back and shoulders relaxing at the sight of the comfortable sanctuary that is Summer’s loft bed. I’d laid here for a while the first night, rubbing her back while she cried, but ultimately decided to give her space once she fell asleep. I know how comfortable the mattress is and don’t want to deny my body the opportunity to get a good night’s sleep.

“I want to. If you’re okay with it?” I ask, hopeful.

“Fine,” she says, pulling up the sheet to get settled.

Getting into the loft is the tricky part, I have to climb the ladder to get up but at the same time bend down so I don’t hit my head.

Once I’m up, I carefully crawl into the space beside her.

After I’m situated, my entire body relaxes into the mattress. Sweet relief.

It’s quiet between us. I’m thinking Summer has already fallen asleep, until she whispers, “This is weird.”

“What’s weird?” I ask, shifting my body so I can hear her better.

“Us. This. I’ve known you for like four days and now you’re my bunk buddy?”

Those are her words, but she doesn’t hesitate moving her pillow over to make more room for me. It’s a snug space, but the comfort of the mattress, and my proximity to Summer, who smells fantastic, is all I need.

“Are these Egyptian cotton?” I ask, loving the feel of the soft cotton sheets on my skin.

“Threadbare.”

“Is that a brand?” I tease.

“No.”

Summer shifts and in the tight space, her hand brushes against my chest.

“Oh my god. Are you naked?!” she shrieks.

“I’m not naked. I just took my shirt off.”

“That’s naked.”

“Not to me. I live most of my life shirtless.” I stretch my arms over my head before resting my hands over my chest. “I don’t mind if you’re shirtless.”

I can practically hear her roll her eyes. “Nice try.”

“What? There’s no harm in a friendly, shirtless sleepover. We are friends. You said so the other night.”

“I said I needed a friend. Not that you were that person.”

“Ouch.” I rub my chest, over my heart where feelings for Summer are quickly taking up residence.

She shakes her head. “Trust me. I’m saving you from a lot of emotional baggage that being my friend would involve.”

“Speaking of emotional baggage, shouldn’t friends know more about each other?” I ask.

“We’re not that type of friends. We’re more like acquaintances.”

I consider it for a moment. “How many types of friends are there?”

“Let’s see. Friends you call in an emergency.”

“I took you to the doctor,” I point out.

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