Putting her mittened hand up to her mouth, she opened the door quietly and slipped inside. I followed her, half expecting to find Mr. Gibson in his favorite chair with his shotgun aimed between my eyes. Like most of the homes around there, the Gibsons’ place was an old farmhouse that they’d done a nice job of keeping up. It was more updated and modern than the Walkers’ home but just as inviting. Well, inviting for anyone who hadn’t been threatened with death if they ever showed their face around it again.

The guest room was on the main floor, across the hall from Josie’s parents’ bedroom. The old wood floors creaked with every step, and I hoped Josie was right about her dad sleeping heavily. I was just about to take off my boots and continue toward the guest room when Josie shook her head and tugged on my arm again. She wanted me to follow her up the stairs. Only two rooms were on the second floor. One was a bathroom. And another was Josie’s bedroom. The one time I’d been in her bedroom, I managed to sleep with my best friend’s girlfriend. If that was the kind of disaster I could expect from entering Josie’s room, I would not be making a return visit. No. Way.

Like the wood floors, the steps creaked, and I didn’t stop wincing until we reached the second floor. Josie looked as relieved as I was we’d escaped detection. Keeping her hand wrapped around my arm, she pulled me down the hall, past the bathroom, and stopped outside of her . . . I pulled my arm out of her grasp and shook my head. Hell, no. I wasn’t going back in that room. Not only because of the bad memories, but because of the good ones, too. That night had been a combination of extreme highs and lows.

Josie rolled her eyes, opened the door, and managed to grab my arm and pull me inside before I knew what was happening. She flipped on the light and closed the door before I could escape. “Afraid of a girl’s room? It’s not like you’ve never seen one before.”

That was true. I’d been in my and a dozen other men’s fair share of girl’s rooms. That wasn’t what had me all but breaking out in a cold sweat. I was in Josie Gibson’s bedroom. That wasn’t just another girl’s bedroom. “Yeah, um, why don’t I just take the guest room tonight?” I hitched my thumb over my shoulder as Josie peeled off the layers of winter wear.

“Sure. Be my guest. But just so you’ve been warned, expect my dad to crawl in beside you in a couple of hours because that’s normally when my mom kicks him out for snoring up a storm.” Josie kicked off her boots and waved me toward the door. “Happy spooning.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay. The barn it is.”

“Uh-huh. I thought I already made that clear. I didn’t go save you from your truck to let you sleep in the barn.”

I pinched my nose harder. “Then where do you want me to sleep?” I knew it was a dumb question, but I needed Josie to spell it out for me.

“Wherever you want, so long as it’s on this side of that door.”

I silently groaned and let out a string of curses. As miserable as my truck had been, it beat sleeping in Josie’s room by a mile. There was hell, and then there was Josie’s room. It was the last place in the world I wanted to be.

As rooms go, it wasn’t an offensive one. Her room had a lot of white, lots of windows that let in plenty of light, and it wasn’t overly girly. She still had that picture of Jesse, her, and me taken at the Fourth of July picnic the summer we were ten. Jesse had that stupid smile on his face, like usual. I had a scowly frown on mine, like usual. And Josie . . . well, she wasn’t looking at the camera—she was looking at me. It was the only photo, the only instance, where she’d noticed me when Jesse was close by. I loved that picture.

So the room itself wasn’t a problem. It was what had happened inside the room. Right there. On that bed. If I wasn’t so damn conflicted, I would have needed a cold shower to calm the memories flashing through my mind.

“If you want, you can take a shower. Dad and Mom will think it’s me, so you don’t have to worry about that. A hot shower might feel good.” A hint of a smile crawled into position as she opened a dresser drawer. “Popsicle man.”

“I’m so exhausted I’d probably fall asleep in the shower, so thank you, but I’m just going to pass out if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” After pulling a couple things from her drawer, she looked at me and twirled her finger. “Turn around, please.” My forehead lined. She grabbed the hem of her sweater. “I’m exhausted and would like to pass out, too. Being out half the night searching for a certain someone has a way of sapping a girl’s energy. But I don’t sleep in my clothes like some people. Me, I prefer pajamas.”

Oh, perfect. She was about to change with me a whole ten feet away. The situation just kept getting better and better. Yes, that was a whole heap of sarcasm right there. I swallowed and spun around. I cleared my throat and tried to clear my mind of what was happening behind me. “Some of us lost all their pajamas in a fire.”

“Oh . . . um . . . do you want to borrow something?” After the fury her voice had held earlier, hearing it soft and quiet was almost as alarming.

“No, thanks. I don’t think we’re the same size.”

When a pillow hit the back of my head, I turned around. Changing time must be over if her hands were free to throw a pillow at me. When I saw Josie, my mouth almost fell open. “I thought you said you were changing into pajamas.”

She glanced down and lifted her arms. “These are pajamas.”

“Really? Because from a male’s point of view, that’s lingerie. Pajamas are, you know, the flannel, frumpy things that cover lots of skin that old ladies wear.” Shit, I was trying so hard not to check her out, but it was impossible. A man could have held a knife to my throat and told me to stop looking at Josie or die, and I would have been a dead man two seconds later.

Josie gave me an amused look as she finished tossing the mountain of pillows off of her bed. “I’ll keep that in mind. When I’m an old woman. But right now, I like this kind of pajamas.”

Yeah, I liked them too.

Flipping her hair forward, she worked it into a ponytail before flicking off the light switch. “I thought you said you were exhausted. Are you planning on standing there all night?”

If I got to watch her in my new favorite women’s “pajamas,” then hell yes, I would stand there all night. The lights might have been off, but those windows and that moonlight didn’t exactly make it dark.

What in the hell was I thinking? I felt like I’d grown a second consciousness, and the two had declared war on each other. One part of me knew staying away from Josie was priority number one. The other part of me, the one I wished I could locate so I could radiate it the hell out, wanted to be as close to Josie as she’d let me get. Those two agendas didn’t align. In fact, they couldn’t have been any more at odds. If one didn’t roll over and die soon, the battle would split me right down the middle.

Threatening both of my subconsiousnesses with a lobotomy if they didn’t shut up, I made my way toward the bed Josie was already crawling into. It was a relief when she threw the covers on. I grabbed a pillow and threw it on the ground. I was just grabbing the blanket draped on the chair when I heard the bed springs groan.

“What are you doing?” She sat up in bed, watching me like I’d tripped a wire.

“Going to bed,” I answered with a shrug.

“And the reason you’re throwing pillows and blankets on the floor is. . .?” Josie and I were not on the same wavelength apparently.

“Because you’ve got the bed, which means I’ve got the floor.” It was her room, and even if she’d offered me the bed, I wouldn’t let her sleep on the floor. Truthfully, Josie’s hardwood floor looked pretty damn close to heaven. It was warm, I had a big fluffy pillow to rest my head on, and the blanket was the softest thing I’d ever felt.