I giggled though I still couldn’t relax. My mind was all over the place. “Sasha, how did you get here?”

“Jeep is outside.” He closed his eyes and patted the bed in search of something. When he found my hand, he laced his fingers through mine. “I think.”

“You think?” I asked, pulling my hand away. I didn’t want to continue this Twilight Zone experience.

“I might have driven. I was home, then I was climbing through your window.”

“Are you joking?” I bolted upright.

“I don’t know,” he said, opening his eyes in confusion. “I might be.”

I jumped out of bed and rushed into the living room. Pushing up on my tiptoes, I craned my neck to see out the tiny window in the front door. His Jeep wasn’t on the road. It wasn’t in the driveway either. At least he hadn’t driven. How the hell had he gotten here? And how was he getting home?

Somewhat relieved, I turned to return to my room and ran smack into Aleksandr.

And he was almost naked.

Evidently, the treacherous five-step journey from my bedroom to the living room was more than Aleksandr’s clothes could handle. His discarded T-shirt lay a few steps behind him and his jeans pooled around his feet. The hard planes of his chest and defined stomach muscles took my breath away. His tattoos, which I’d noticed during shirtless interviews with the media but never had the opportunity to see in depth, were amazing. Intricate Cyrillic script spanned the length of both his sides; bold, haunting, beautiful. Maybe I’d ask him about them on a day when we aren’t at each other’s throats, or in a situation like this, which I still couldn’t explain.

Pushing aside questions about his tattoos, I rubbed my face with my hands to regain a semblance of composure.

That’s when he decided to drop his boxer briefs.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I hissed, using one of my grandma’s favorite expressions.

I stood in front of him, mouth agape because I’d never seen a naked man in real life. Near-nude men filled the Pilots locker room while I translated, but strategically placed towels always covered any indecent parts. I’d seen photos of models wearing their pants so low you could see the V of their pelvic bones and the “happy trail,” but I’d never seen where the trail led. Sure, textbooks from health class had drawings of male parts and how they functioned, but a scientific drawing didn’t prepare me for seeing the real thing. It wasn’t that intimidating, but then, it wasn’t “ready for battle.”

Don’t look, Auden. Do not look.

“Sasha, my grandparents are upstairs,” I whispered. “You need to get dressed.”

“No. I need to take a piss,” he responded, scratching his head.

Hoping Aleksandr would understand the universal sign for shhhh, I put a finger to my lips. Then I took his hand and led him to the bathroom, stooping to scoop up his clothes on the way. I stood outside the door and let him complete his business. When he stumbled out, I placed my hands on his back and directed him toward my room. His muscles rippled under my palms as he walked.

Thankfully, Aleksandr had the decency to slip on the boxer briefs I stuffed into his hands before he climbed into my bed and passed out. Cold.

I scanned my room for the next best sleeping option: dresser, desk, or floor. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one on the floor.

I grabbed one of Aleksandr’s arms and tried to pull him out. When he didn’t budge, I remembered from reading the Pilots media guide that I was tugging on two hundred pounds of dead weight.

I took a step back from the bed, crossing my arms over my chest as I strategized. Then I snapped my fingers and climbed over him. I tried to push him out, but quickly realized I had the same problem as pulling. I thought about leaning against the wall for leverage and pushing him out with my feet. Not a good idea because of the noise his body hitting the floor would make.

I sighed in defeat and, because I had no other option, shimmied under the covers. I snuggled up to him, laying my head on his chest since his massive body took up my entire twin-sized bed. His steady heartbeat was my personal lullaby. The rhythm of my head rising and falling with his shallow breaths rocked me to sleep. Was it possible to feel the peace inside him transfer into me? I reached out and brushed my hand through the Mohawk I loved so much.

When I heard another creak from upstairs, I froze.

When I heard footsteps, I bolted upright.

I shook Aleksandr’s shoulder a few times. He was dead to the world. “Oh, come on!” I was worried because my grandparents had a tendency to check on me during the night. It was either still a habit from when I was a kid, or they wanted to know if I’d made it home from the bar.

I shook Aleksandr again, harder this time. No response. My heart raced as I contemplated what I should do next. Pull the covers over him and run to the closet? Climb on top of him to give the illusion of only one bump? Time was running out with each heavy footstep pounding the stairs.

I yanked the blanket over Aleksandr’s head and slung my arm and leg across his body, so it looked like I was hugging a big body pillow. I didn’t own a body pillow, but whatever grandparent looked in on me wouldn’t know that.

Sure enough, I heard a scrape against the shaggy red rug in front of my door. There was no light on in the hallway, so I had complete darkness going for me. I squeezed my eyes shut, which wouldn’t make me invisible but made me feel better. I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever stood there could hear my heart as it bumped hard against my chest, attempting to escape. I held my breath until the door shut again, then let it out slowly. I stayed motionless until I heard the toilet flush, the faucet turn on and off, and heavy steps plod up the stairs. I’m not sure if I moved until I heard the familiar creak indicating that someone had gotten back into bed.

This sucked. All the kids in high school who bragged about how exciting it was to sneak people into their rooms were big fat liars. Who could handle the pressure? It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t rebellious. It wasn’t even worth it. It’s not like I would do anything with Aleksandr in my bedroom while my grandparents were upstairs.

Although he was naked at one point. And we had been making out. Some people might consider that “doing something.”

I took the covers off Aleksandr’s head, hoping I hadn’t suffocated him. Nope. Still breathing. I took a deep breath and pushed my body against his, hugging his back. It felt awkward, and I wasn’t sure I could sleep that way, so I turned around, my back against his, and curled up. Then I felt bad.

What was my problem? He wouldn’t be mad if he woke up and I had my back to him. And why should I care if he did wake up angry? Let him be pissed. Screw him for knocking on my window at three in the morning, drunk.

I yanked my pillow out from under his head and flipped it to the cool side before I nestled into it.

Awesome.

After several attempts to elbow and ninja kick myself out of the gigantic garlic press trying to squeeze me through its tiny holes, I gave up, too weak to stop it from clamping down and mincing me. Suddenly, my whole body shook, and garlic juice sprayed over my neck.

My eyes flew open, and I realized it was muscular human arms squeezing the life out of me, not a personified garlic press (thank goodness). At some point while we slept, Aleksandr must have rolled over and put his arms around me. The vise grip might not have bothered me while I was asleep, but now I found it restricting—and annoying.

Who the hell dreams of being squeezed to death by a giant garlic press? I’d hate to hear what an interpretation of that said about my mental health.

“What the fuck?” Aleksandr said through a yawn.

“Nice language.” My voice must have brought him to the reality of where he was, because his eyes widened and he bolted upright.