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whether or not they’d been nervous about sleeping next to her. Was that why they’d moved to the outskirts of the bed and put their backs to her?
    They needn’t have. She’d slept like the dead for the first time in a long time. No interrupted little snatches and no nightmares, either. Plus—and here was the real bonus—when she got close to Jamie, he smelled like cinnamon .
    Or at least, the jersey he was still wearing did. He’d worn an apron while cooking the curry—a stupid one, naturally, with a hairy chest on the front—but the smell had still gotten itself all over him and, dear Lord, it was divine. It was in his hair too, and she knew it was because when he snored and she felt sure he was asleep, she dared to shift on the bed and put her face up close to the nape of his neck.
    Ah, heaven. She was lying on a bed with a man who liked cooking. What was better than that?
    Apart from turning and discovering that the man on the other side of her smelled like the trees outside. She’d caught a whiff of it the night before when he’d actually, honest to God, carried her, but it was stronger and sharper and delicious close to his hair. Which she was sniffing, embarrassingly.
    Of course she only turned to do his hair because she’d done Jamie’s, and doing both of them felt much more like normal behavior than sticking to just one. But even so, even so.
    Had she just thought the words doing both of them ? Boy, that was mortifying and weird. And even more so when Blake came within a second of catching her sniffing his hair, while she tried to cool down her suddenly heated cheeks with surreptitious hand movements.
    After all, explaining why she was suddenly embarrassed involved a whole mess of Freudian slips and awkward phrasing and just stuff that she didn’t really think about. She hadn’t thought about stuff like that since the whole “people eating other people” thing had begun.
    It just wasn’t…it was weird. Everything had passed briefly into weird. Fuck— why had she sniffed their hair?
    “Bad dream?” he asked. He was rubbing his eyes and kind of stretching, so she’d thought herself safe. But clearly the pair of them had a sixth sense when it came to her odd moments of weird discomfort.
    “More like an uncomfortable dream.”
    He put a hand on her back suddenly and stuff got worse. They were very careful about touching her, usually, but…well. Things had definitely gotten a little laxer, last night. She hadn’t flinched when he’d touched her and, in turn, he’d relaxed about it.
    But then, that was what friends did. They touched each other, casually. They ran their blind hands over each other’s backs. It was cool. It was cool.
    “You wanna come for a run, shake it off?”
    She paused then and thought about the basketball. They had a little court behind the cabin and she’d seen them playing a couple of times through the window in the back door. Blake was good—he could bounce the ball between his legs and dunk with very little effort at all, whereas Jamie…yeah. Jamie didn’t play by any distinguishable rules she could make out. She’d seen him dribble the ball off the court and into the woods a couple of times, with Blake hollering after him that doing so wasn’t how you played.
    Before he’d glanced back at her, framed in that small window. And he’d glanced back as though he knew she’d been watching the whole time. He knew, and Jamie knew, and they argued in a silly macho way and tried to outdo each other. Then Jamie would do something ridiculous just out of her sightline…
    Like they were just waiting. Just waiting for her to come outside and watch or play with them.
    Was that what Blake was doing, now? Trying to get her to casually come outside? It seemed like it, because he didn’t look at her when he said the words. And the words themselves were cool and almost nothing.
    Plus he added, “I’ve seen you doing reps up and down the stairs. It’s really much easier when