I rinse out my mouth and throw my yellow cardigan over my Pizza Slut shirt because I’m not about to wear a bra to bed but also I don’t think Nick and I are at a point where I want him to see my nipples through my shirt. I mean, not in a work situation, anyway. Not in any situation. I shoot myself a stern look in the mirror. Behave, Chloe.

Nick uses the bathroom after me, and I take a moment to settle myself into bed, my entire body covered by the fluffy white comforter. This is fine, I remind myself. It’s just Nick. It’s just sleep. It’s just . . . one bed.

Nick comes out of the bathroom and doesn’t meet my eyes as he grabs a pillow from the other side of the bed, then sits down in the desk chair.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I told you,” he says, his entire long body stretched out, closing his eyes as if he’s going to drift off to sleep right this second. “I’m sleeping in the chair.”

I groan and sit up. “Nick. You’re making this even worse than it already is, I swear. This bed is, like, one mile wide, okay? Just sleep here.”

He opens his eyes and looks at me.

“Please,” I say, and the thought crosses my mind that I’m begging Nick to sleep with me. Or sleep next to me. You know, in a purely platonic way.

“Does your shirt say Pizza Slut?” he asks, standing up and stretching, his shirt riding up to show more lower abdomen than I’m comfortable with. He has a lot of body hair, but I guess if loving a thick carpet of man fuzz is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

“Yes,” I say, sliding back under the comforter. “It’s a joke with Annie. Don’t worry about it.”

I reach one arm out from underneath the comforter and pat the bed beside me. “Come on, dude.”

Nick groans, lifts up the blankets, and starts to get in before I shout, “Whoa whoa whoa! Are you wearing street clothes in here?”

He stops, halfway into the bed. “I’m sorry. Did you say ‘street clothes’?”

I gesture to myself. “I’m wearing my comfies. My pajamas. Clothes that haven’t been out in the world, picking up germs and aromas and stress.”

“Clothes can be stressed?” Nick asks, a small smile playing across his face.

“Put on your pajamas.”

He pauses long enough for me to put two and two together and realize that I’m getting an incredibly uncomfortable four. “Wait. Do you . . .”

“I’m gonna stay in my jeans.”

“Do you sleep in the nude?”

Nick throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “I sleep in my boxers, okay? I didn’t think you were gonna be in my room. Boxers are a perfectly normal thing to sleep in, but don’t worry. I’m staying fully clothed.”

I shake my head. “Big bed, Nick. Just . . . get under the blankets and sleep whatever way you normally sleep. The idea of jeans in bed is so much more upsetting to me than the idea of your half-naked form.”