Page 83 of Perfectly Grumpy

She grins as she stands. “What, you don’t sleep in your jersey?”

I make a face. “Very funny.”

“Oh, I would never make fun of you, Sheriff.” She places a hand over her heart innocently. “But seriously, just wear shorts.”

I accept her challenge. “What if I told you I don’t have any extras? Only boxers?”

Her eyes graze over the sliver of my chest through the cracked door. “Then I’d say the bathroom door has a perfectly good lock. Use it to put your shorts back on.”

“So you’re saying you’d be uncomfortable if I opened this door right now?” I ask, a hint of mischief in my voice as I start to push the door open just a crack wider.

She jumps up in protest. “Don’t you dare, Tate Foster!”

I laugh, letting the door open just enough to reveal I’m still wearing shorts. “Relax, Sunny. I’m decent.”

She hurls her pillow at me with a glare. “You are the worst, Sheriff. I thought you were going to?—”

“Going to what?” I ask innocently.

“Nothing,” she mutters, avoiding me as she brushes past. “Just put on whatever you have and go to sleep.”

“So what you’re saying is, I should postpone my career as an underwear model indefinitely?”

“What I’m saying,” she hisses, “is that if you pull something like that again, I’m texting Leo about how the logical Sheriff has finally lost his mind.”

She crawls into bed, flicking off the light, plunging us both into darkness without even agoodnight.

I settle into my sleeping bag on the rock-hard floor, squished between the end table and wall, trying not to think of Lauren in the same room as me.

After several long minutes of trying to get comfortable on the floor, Lauren shifts in bed, the metal frame squeaking when she rolls over.

“Tate?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitates. “I can’t sleep.”

I stare at the ceiling, the planks in the floor pressing into my back. “Well, that makes two of us.”

“Could you read something?”

“What?”

“Read to me,” she repeats. The bed squeaks, and I know she’s turned toward me in the darkness even though I can’t see her. “I saw you were reading a book on your iPad. And I wondered if you could read it out loud so I can fall sleep…”

“Wait a minute.” I sit up in my sleeping bag. “You think I read books that put people to sleep?”

“Well, aren’t they?”

“Oh, the one I’m reading now is so exciting, you might never sleep.” I smirk, picturing her reaction if she knew the truth—that the book I’m reading is actually the one I wrote. The fantasy novel I’ve been working on for years, the one I hope to publish soon.

“Try me,” Lauren says. “I bet I’ll be sawing logs within minutes.”

I turn on my iPad while trying to find a comfortable position crammed between the furniture. I shift against the wall, but the paneling digs into my back.

“What’s the holdup?” she asks.

“Well, it turns out these walls make terrible recliners.”

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