Page 358 of Ruthless Court
Naturally.
Athlete housing apparently decided men over six feet require furniture designed for minor royalty.
The mattress looks enormous.
Dark sheets.
Too many pillows.
A thick comforter folded across the bottom.
I stare.
“No.”
The bed does not respond.
“I’m not making this weird.”
Still nothing.
Excellent listener.
I take off Kane’s hoodie and fold it over the chair.
Then climb beneath the covers and immediately move toward the far side.
Not because I’m scared.
Strategic positioning.
I curl onto my side facing the wall and pull the blanket beneath my chin.
There.
Perfectly normal.
A door opens behind me.
Kane laughs.
I turn my head.
He’s standing in the doorway holding a toothbrush.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
His gaze travels over the enormous empty stretch of mattress between us.
“Hannah.”
“What?”
“You’re five-four.”
