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“Nice seeing you too,” I whisper under my breath, more than a little annoyed.
It’s a tipping point for me, this weird game he seems intent on playing. If he has a problem with me, he can just damn well say so.
I drop my clothes in my room and continue down the hall, checking in his office to find he’s not there. Not willing to give up just yet, I head to his room.
As a rule, I don’t make it a habit to go near his bedroom, for obvious reasons. Right now, though, my temper has erased any sense of propriety.
“Walt?” I ask, pounding my fist on his door. “Can I have a word?”
The door flings open immediately and he looms on the other side, somehow bigger than I remember. His running shoes are in his hand, along with his AirPods. He’s clearly on his way out, but I’m blocking his path.
“Whatever you need, we can discuss it when I get back.”
He tries to step past me, but I block him. Well, slightly. He’s a lot taller than me and he could easily move past. In fact, he sidesteps like he’s about to do just that until I fling my hands out and grab hold of the doorframe like a child playing a game, blocking him for good.
I think he’ll laugh. Hell, I’m about to. But he only looks down at me like I’m a bug he’d like to swat away.
Fifteen
Walt doesn’t laugh. Not even a hint of one.
“Oh c’mon, isn’t this a little ridiculous?” I point out, still not moving my hands from the doorframe.
“Indeed it is.”
He shuffles his weight to the left like he wants to pass that way, so like an NBA point guard, I’m forced to match him.
“The thing is…you’ve been quiet this week.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“Sure. Yes. But this week you’ve taken it to a whole new level. I get the feeling it’s because of me.”
“That’s pretty arrogant, don’t you think? You’re not the only source of stress in my life.”
I smirk a confident got-ya smirk that he immediately notices. “So I am a source of stress?”
“Barely. Would you please move?”
He reaches out to grab my biceps so he can forcibly move me out of his way, but I jerk my arm away before he can.
“Not so fast.”
“Elizabeth.”
“Yes, see—do you hear how you say my name? Like I exhaust you?”
“You do exhaust me.”
“Good. It wasn’t so hard to admit the truth, was it? Now elaborate. What is it about me that makes you so annoyed? If you let me know, I can change and make life easier for you.”
He rubs his head. Truthfully, I think he’s had the same headache since the day I moved in.
I let go of the doorframe and cross my arms, showing him with my body language that I have no plans to move until he starts to talk.
His gaze locks with mine, butterflies fill my stomach, and even still, his expression says, I can stand here all night if I need to. I’m not budging.
I wince. “Not going to tell me? Okay fine, then I’ll have to guess. Am I making too much noise when you’re home? I could be quiet as a church mouse if only you’d tell me to be.”
Nothing from him, no confirmation or denial.
All right…
“I could pick up the slack around here. Help make dinner or something? Or wait.” My eyes light up with an idea. “Are you moodier than normal because I finished off the last apple the other day? Because I swear I didn’t even think you would care. I thought you preferred oranges. At least I assume you do because you’re always eating the oranges before I can even get to them—”
My sentence cuts off when—in one swift movement—Walt steps forward, bends down, and presses his lips to mine.
He quite literally kisses me into silence.
It’s a hard, aggressive action that sends me stumbling backward in shock. My eyes are wide with wonder. My hand—as confused as the rest of me—flies up to cover my lips as if to find evidence of its own. Did that truly just happen?
I ask the question out loud, and to my utter horror, Walt looks as shocked and appalled by the kiss as I do.
“You kissed me!” I exclaim.
“You wouldn’t shut up!” he says, throwing his hands into the air.
“YOU KISSED ME!” I repeat again, as if shouting the words will make it somehow easier to believe.
Walt pivots and tugs his hands through his hair. He takes two steps away, sighs, and looks back at me with something akin to remorse. Though with him, I highly doubt it.
“I’d apologize, but I don’t think you’d accept.”
“No. Absolutely not. You just stole a kiss from me, and I want it back,” I say, gesturing with my hand.
That, of all things, makes him laugh—a good rich laugh that goes on for so long it’s like he’s been holding it in for weeks. His deep dimples mock me.
