There’s a flash of something I can’t identify in his eyes, and I’m about to backtrack, but then he says, “Yeah. I’m good with that if you are. I don’t think either of our backs would do well with sleeping on the floor.”

I laugh. “Well, if I woke up and could barely walk tomorrow morning, that might help to sell this relationship.”

He makes a strangled, choking sound, and my face heats. What in the world possessed me to make a joke like that? We joke around all the time, but it’s always about innocent stuff, never about sex. Never about gay sex. With each other.

I kind of want to roll over and face plant myself into the comforter to hide. But then suddenly, Travis is laughing so hard he clutches his stomach. I slap a hand over his mouth, though now I’m laughing a little too. “Shhh. They’re right down the hall.”

“Sorry,” he says, getting a hold of himself. “I’m sorry.”

His voice is muffled, which makes me realize I’m still covering his mouth. Oops. Removing my hand, I tuck it safely under my thigh. But the ghost of his lips remains on my palm.

No.

Nope.

Not huh. Not happening.

I really don’t know how my brain got so scrambled, but it needs to unscramble fast, because Travis is my friend. There’s no way I should be imagining what his lips would feel like on the rest of my skin.

And yet...

“So we agree we can share?” His voice jolts me out of whatever nonsense was going on in my head, and he pats the bed beside his hip.

“Oh yeah, totally,” I say, hoping he can’t hear how nervous this idea makes me. Because there’s no reason to be nervous, right? “It’s big enough. It’s not like we’ll have to cuddle.”

He cocks his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. And seriously, what is wrong with my mouth tonight?

“Let’s pretend I didn’t say that. Or maybe anything I’ve said since we stepped into this room.”

“But it’s fun to see you flustered,” he says.

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. Is he flirting with me? We don’t flirt. We give each other shit. I smile at him, and he grouches at me. That’s our thing.

Or is this pretend flirting? Because we’re pretend boyfriends, so maybe he’s just staying in character. We really need to talk about this.

“Right,” I say. “So sleeping arrangements are settled, I guess. Good.”

He gestures at his jeans. “I didn’t exactly bring anything to change into. Do you have some sweats I can borrow?”