In the bathroom, I also splash my face with cold water. Why am I feeling so nervous? It’s ridiculous. And okay, I’m about to share a bed with a relative stranger, but there’s no romance involved, no expectations… So please, Nikki, stop being such a wuss and go sleep with the guy.

Diego is already under the covers when I get back to the bedroom, and the first thought that crosses my mind is: Has he kept the sweatpants?

Easy to find out…

I circle to the left side of the bed and slide under the sheets next to him, casting a furtive glance at his legs—the sweatpants stayed.

“Is the cat sleeping in bed, too?” Diego asks.

“Yeah, Mr. Darcy always sleeps with me when I’m home. You don’t want him?”

He squirms a little in the bed. “It’s just that he’s right on my feet. I don’t think I can sleep with him there.”

I bend forward and gently move Mr. Darcy to the foot corner on my side of the bed. He regards me in outrage, incredulous that I would dare disturb him. But then he starts kneading the comforter and settles down without further protest.

“Better?” I ask Diego.

“Yep, thank you… So, I guess it’s goodnight.”

I kill the lights. “Night.”

I feel Diego shifting under the covers, probably to sleep on his side, but I keep rigidly supine and immobile, careful not to touch him even with a toe, and also attentive not to disturb Mr. Darcy. I’m never going to fall asleep this way, too many variables. I stare into the dark for a long time. But then Diego’s breathing becomes low and regular, and Mr. Darcy starts purring, and both sounds kind of lull me into sleep because I feel my lids getting heavier and heavier and…

***

What time is it? Where am I? What’s this thing between my legs? And what’s pushing me from behind?

With horror, I realize that it’s morning, and I’m at my parents’ house. That the thing between my legs is Diego’s right thigh, and, if I had to guess, I’d say the weight pushing at my back is Mr. Darcy.

The new position is all the cat’s fault. During the night, Mr. Darcy decided to expand into my area of the bed, prompting me to leave his feline majesty all the space he required and to shift toward Diego. But what prompted me to wrap myself around Diego like a baby koala remains a mystery.

I look up at him and find two crinkly green eyes staring back at me. “Morning,” he says.

I make an effort to ignore how good it feels to have my body pressed against Diego’s, and instantly thrash away from him, retreating to my side of the bed and sending Mr. Darcy tumbling down to the floor. I’m so embarrassed I don’t even care about the indignant, “Meow,” and the kitty evil eye the cat throws me.

“So sorry,” I babble. “I don’t know what happened. Usually I’m not a hugger.”