“Good, because if I had to move it one more time, I was going to start charging labor.”
I step into him, wrapping my arms loosely around his shoulders. “Didn’t you know? I’m only with you for your DIY skills.”
One dark brow arches. “That so?”
“Absolutely. The emotional support is just a bonus.”
He slides his hands to my waist, pulling me closer, his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “That’s devastating. Here I was thinking it was my sparkling personality.”
“That too,” I say sweetly. “But mostly the ability to hang shelves.”
He hums like that’s a fair point and presses a quick kiss to my lips, the kind that lingers just long enough to make my stomach flip before he pulls back. “What’s next on the list, boss?”
I glance around the apartment, taking in the half-assembled bookshelf, the unopened box of kitchen stuff sitting on the floor, the throw blankets still draped in completely impractical places because I liked how they looked there.
“We could start the bookshelf.”
He follows my gaze and sighs. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked.”
“You offered.”
Griffin grunts. “That’s the last time I open my mouth around you.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
But instead of moving toward the bookshelf, he steps into me again, this time with intent.
“Actually,” he murmurs, sliding his hands to the backs of my thighs, “I think I have a better idea.”
Before I can question him, he lifts me clean off the ground.
“Griffin!” I yelp, arms wrapping instinctively around his shoulders.
There’s a spark in his eyes I recognize. It’s mischief laced with something hungrier.
“Careful,” I say, trying to sound stern even as I cling to him. “I just got emotionally attached to that picture frame. If we knock it off the wall, I’ll need six weeks of therapy.”
He grins. “Noted.”
But he’s already walking past the bookshelf, past the kitchen boxes, and straight down the hall.
My stomach flips. “Where are we going?”
“The bathroom.”
“Andwhyare we going to the—” I stop and squint at him. “Are you planning on washing my back?”
He kicks the bathroom door open and answers by turning on the shower with one hand, the spray already starting to steam.
Then he steps right in.
Fully clothed.
Withmestill in his arms.
“Griffin!” I screech as the water hits us, ice-cold at first before it kicks into warm. “What the—oh my God!”
He chuckles darkly. “Look at that,” he says, blinking water off his lashes. “You’re all wet.”
