Silas shook his head and started for the front of the building. He unlocked the door and led us up the stairs to his room.
It occurred to me then that there was only one bed. This was a major problem.
“May I use your restroom? I could really use a shower,” I said.
“Of course.” He grabbed a set of clothing from his bag and offered it to me.
“I couldn’t.”
“Just take the clothes.”
I crossed my arms, knowing I should accept and say thank you. For some reason, I couldn’t make myself do it. It felt like pity, him helping me. Fernsby women don’t need pity, we were powerful.
“They’re clean. It doesn’t mean anything, all right?”
My heart clenched at his uncharacteristic kindness. I took the clothes. “All right. Thanks.”
In the shower, I washed away the grime, the soreness, and the uncertainty. Staying here was the right move, just for the night.
If I licked you, it’d be because you wanted me to. You’d beg me for more.
No way we could share that bed. Not after the kiss. Not after he’d said those words to me.
Silas may not be my enemy, but he was a distraction. Even if I gave him the benefit of the doubt and believed he didn’t care about our wager or holding onto the senior librarian position, I was finally getting my anxiety under control. I couldn’t afford to consider anything that pulled my attention away from my goals.
I would not, could not, allow myself to be tempted.
Feeling more self-assured, I turned off the water, got dressed in my borrowed clothes, and stepped out of the bathroom with my head held high.
Silas was sitting in the bed, leaning against the headboard and writing in his journal, likely notes about our failed attempt to find Noah this evening.
Fernando rolled in wide circles in the center of the floor.
“All right, mister,” I said to him. “Shower.”
He stopped rolling, stuck his tongue out at me, and blew a raspberry.
“Suit yourself,” I said, “but if you remain filthy, you will not be allowed in the bed.”
He stuck out his lower lip and tilted his round body forward in a defeated sag. Then he hobbled slowly toward the bathroom.
When I heard the door click shut, Silas and I were alone. I was wearing his t-shirt and his shorts. He was in bed. We tottered on the edge of something momentous, and I was not at all prepared for it. I approached the situation, and him, like he was TNT and I was a match.
Without looking up from his book, he said, “I won’t bite.”
“Good,” I said, taking another hesitant step closer.
He closed the journal and turned his full attention to me.
I snatched the second pillow and looked for a spot on the floor where I could sleep. The rug was probably the most comfortable.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Sleeping on the floor, clearly. It’s not like we can sleep together.”
“Why not?”
Suddenly I had no idea why not. “It’s a bad idea.”