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“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Travis says, trying to get up but stumbling a little.
I wrap a hand around his thick bicep. “Nope. Not happening.”
His gaze darkens. “I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch. Getting drunk was my screwup. You might as well sleep in here anyway. The pillows already smell like you. They always do.”
“They do?” I ask, surprised. “I’ve only been in here a couple of times. But I did hide under your covers once for hide-and-seek.”
“It’s been driving me insane,” he says with a groan. He reaches for the Pedialyte and takes a swig, following it up with the Tylenol I set out for him. The satin sheet pools at his waist, showing off his chest and arms.
I swallow against my suddenly dry throat, then take the Pedialyte from him and take a big gulp, very aware that his lips were pressed there before mine. Maybe it’s the closest I’ll get to kissing him again—a depressing thought if ever I’ve had one.
I set the bottle down. “If it’s driving you insane, why do you want more of my scent all over your bed?”
“Sometimes a man wants to be driven insane,” he says thickly. “I can’t sleep anyway. Stay with me, Hannah. I won’t touch you. I’ll just dream about it.”
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