He was a shifter—he would run hot and wouldn’t sleep well in clothing. I knew this—so far, I’d caught him sleeping both naked and in boxers, because that was more comfortable for him. I sighed. “It’s no problem.”

Down went the jeans.

I was wrong. It was a problem. I rubbed a hand over my eyes and tried not to think about how his boxer briefs left nothing to my imagination. “But for my sake, at least leave your underwear on.” Like his boxers were any help. They were the flimsiest of barriers. They were a one hundred percent cotton lie to myself.

“You have a strange look on your face.” He nudged me into a bed, like he was herding me.

“I’m not a sheep. Cut that out.”

He blushed. “Sorry. I didn’t realize—” He ran a hand over his face before propping both hands on his hips, which let me tell you, really showed off his chest.

I wasn’t going to make it. I would die right here, burned down to cinders. Tell my mom I loved her.

He squinted at me. “You got that look on your face again.”

The thing about shifters was that their senses were much sharper than ours. Which meant that at any moment, he could scent the room and get that I wanted to climb him like a sexy tree. Were trees sexy? Japanese maples were pretty freaking sexy. Shit, I was tired.

Best confront this now. You know, since I lacked both a tent and chainmail pajamas.

I patted the bed next to me.

“Oh no. Are we going to have a talk?” He sat, but he instantly started to fidget, like he was nervous. “These never go well. Last talk I had, my girlfriend dumped me.”

“Yeah, ouch. So this will be less painful, but what it lacks in hurt, it will make up for in awkwardness.” I turned so I could look at him. Might as well go for maximum awkwardness. “Here’s the thing. I know a lot of people would be thrilled to be in my position.”

One of his eyebrows winged up.

I crossed my arms. “Like, ‘Oh no, I have to share a bed with a mostly naked sexy man.’” I pitched my voice in a silly manner in the hopes that it would lighten the mood. I had no evidence that it worked. “Except it’s a little like someone placing your favorite cookie on a plate in front of you and saying, ‘Don’t touch it.’ Only plot twist—the cookie is poison. If you eat it, you die. But it smells delicious.” I frowned. What was I saying? I was babbling, that’s what. “Analogies get away from me. People aren’t food. Do you get what I’m saying?”

His face was completely blank and serious. “I’m a poison cookie?”

“Yes. No. That’s not—” I buried my face in my hands. “I’m screwing this up.” I breathed deep, which was a huge mistake because he smelled amazing, before dropping my hands, taking one of his. “You are an excellent cookie. Person. You are a person. But you are a tempting person. Only right now, that would not be okay.”