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“Pretty sure we have, more than once. Maybe you were just too drunk to remember. I carried you to bed twice when you stayed here, after a party. Couldn’t trust any of the guys not to climb in with you and make a play for something more, so you slept with me.” I stare at him in disbelief, trying to recall any time I have ever woken up in his bed and seem to remember hazy memories of doing so once or twice, but always alone. I just assumed he let me use his bed and slept elsewhere. It feels kind of nice, in a warm weird way, to know that I have actually slept with him. That he took care of me that way and shared a bed without even knowing I had. My heart expands with affection, appreciating him with a definite smile and losing all the last ounces of shyness.

Still my Arry after all.

“Always the gentleman.” I giggle, toying with his shoe with the toe of mine still, distracted by the motion, and happier that we are being more like us,