“I didn’t put up a fight because you made a valid point,” I say. “You paid for this. I really can’t make demands.”

“You’re not making demands. I’m telling you to sleep in the bed.”

“Why?”

“We’ve established that I’m capable of being a decent human being,” he says. “Now please stop arguing with me. I’m exhausted and you’re giving me a headache.”

I don’t know why I’m arguing with him. It’s not like I want to sleep on a couch. He’s just confusing and annoying and I kinda, sorta want to strangle him.

But I don’t.

Because that would be rude.

Instead, I slip out of my pajama bottoms and pretend that Asher doesn’t look like the emoji with its eyes bugging out of its head.

I also pretend that he isn’t staring at the Christmas trees on my underwear.

“I don’t trust people who wear pants to bed,” I tell him as I climb in next to him. “And you must agree on some level because you’re not wearing any either.”

“You’re deranged.”

“You just invited this deranged person into your bed.”

“I regret it immensely.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Go back to the couch.”

“I think you just want to look at my butt again.”

I can practically hear him blushing.

9

I’m in a Christmas-themed spin class and I’m never going to be able to listen to Wham! again without thinking about dying. Joey is a terrible roommate. Forcing me to get my daily recommended exercise at five in the morning. Before the sun is even up. It’s cruel and unusual punishment.

I need pancakes.

And a shower.

I’m sweating in regions I didn’t know could sweat.

“Natasha is on location in Tulum, so you’ll have to come to pilates with me tomorrow. It’s at six.”

“I’m amazed you think I’m going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Just make sure you’re not sitting still too long today,” she tells me. “You’ll be fine.”

Fine? There is nothing fine about the way my lady parts feel.

“It’s supposed to snow tomorrow,” I tell her as we walk through the locker room. “Like a foot and a half! I can’t go to a pilates class in a foot and a half of snow! I can’t go anywhere in a foot and a half of snow.”

“You’re from Buffalo,” she says. “You basically lived in a foot and a half of snow.”

“The city has made me weak,” I say. “I can’t handle snow and I break out in hives when I can’t order a falafel at two in the morning.”

“Have you ever needed to order a falafel at two in the morning?”

“No, but I like having the option.”