She hits my arm lightly. Then smiles.
And just like that, we’re knee-deep in it. We put on music, some random playlist that fills the space.
Maddy strips off her ruined apron, grabs more towels and starts on the floor while I attack the sink. Dishes clink. Water runs. The chaos slowly starts to look manageable. I wash some pots and pans while she’s on her knees beside the counter, sleeves pushed up, hair still a mess.
“You missed a spot,” she says, standing up and leaning her hip against the counter, smirking at me.
I scuff. “I did not.”
She just raises an eyebrow.
I swipe a handful of bubbles from the pan I’m scrubbing and flick them straight in her direction. A few drops land square on her shirt.
“Hey!” she laughs, swiping at the spot.
“Oops,” I say, not even pretending to feel bad.
She opens the tap, runs her hand under it and flicks water into my face.
“Madelyn Hazel Gracelyn,” I say, voice low with mock warning, “you did not just do that.”
She grins. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Oh, she has made a big mistake.
I grab the sponge—still loaded with suds—and fling a perfect arc of bubbles right at her shoulder.
“Oh, it’s on,” she says, lunging for the sink again.
The next thirty seconds dissolve into absolute chaos.
She grabs the other sponge and retaliates immediately, sending water splashing everywhere—across the counter, thefloor, and directly at me. I duck behind the kitchen island for cover, barely avoiding the worst of it, before popping back out again and flicking a handful of soapy water toward her.
We’re both laughing loudly. Real ones. The kind that steals the air right out of your lungs and makes your stomach hurt. I love it when she laughs like that.
“Truce!” she shouts between giggles, throwing her hands up. “You’re going to ruin my hair!”
I ignore her and lunge anyway. She yelps and tries to dodge, but her feet slip slightly on the wet tile—and my arms catch her quickly, steadying her before she can actually fall. One hand lands firmly at her waist while the other braces behind her back, pulling her upright again.
And suddenly she’s very close. And the tension in the room rises. My grip tightens instinctively as I draw her a little closer to keep her from slipping again. Her palms land against my chest, and the contact sends something sharp and electric straight through me.
And just like that, everything stops. The laughter fades from the room, leaving only the quiet hum of music somewhere in the background.
Friendsby Chase Atlantic is softly drumming through the room.
Seriously? I thought that only happened in movies. It’s definitely not helping.
Her breathing is quick and mine isn’t fucking better.
Suddenly all I can really see is the blonde girl standing right in front of me. Her big, green eyes lift to mine. I swear I can see her pupils dilate. Her eyes are wide in a way that makes my knees feel unsteady and my brain forgets how to fucking function.
My gaze drops to her lips before I can stop it. They’re lightly parted, pink from laughing, still glossy. And I’ve never wanted to kiss the shit out of someone more in my life.
Neither of us are saying anything. We just stand there, staring at each other, heat burning between us. My eyes drift down again to her mouth. And the longer I look, the stronger the pull becomes. My grip tightens just slightly at her waist—and the smallest sound slips from her throat.
Dear God.
The sound hits me straight in the chest, settling somewhere deep under my ribs.
