As soon as it causes my nipples to harden, I pull it together enough to move from his touch.
“I have to go.”
I start to walk out of the kitchen, cringing as I think of my dishes.
I can do it. Plus, it beats running into his stupid hard body again.
I book it downstairs before I can change my mind.
I wait about a half hour, filling the time looking for open jobs before I assume the coast is clear. I grab a book and curl into my new favorite chair and let out a deep breath. This is what I needed; a moment to myself and—
“Oh good, you like the chair.”
My eyes spring open. Beck is rounding the corner from the stairs, a pleased smile on his face.
I thought he was leaving. Is he following me?
I feel the scowl on my face tighten. “What are you doing down here?”
He points behind me.
“My office is down here.”
Fudge. I knew that.
He nods and walks past me.
That’s it? No teasing or anything? Just a normal, calm conversation between two people.
Did he even notice the dirty dishes?
I peek over the back of the chair, but his door is closed now.
So what? We just both hang out in the house like roommates?
Quietly, I sneak up to the kitchen.
The sink is empty. He just did my dishes with no complaints.
I rush back to my spot in the chair and open my book, but I can’t focus.
Maybe this is a prank, or maybe I’m sleeping and this whole Beck thing is one big fat dream—but I know it’s not. I don’t know why this is so hard for me to process. Maybe I’m still a little dumbfounded as to how I got myself into this situation to begin with. The crazy thing is, married or not, my brother’s basement flooding would have landed me here anyway. I know it just as much as Beck does.
The dryer dings to let me know my clothes are ready to be folded. As I’m getting up, Beck comes out of his office.
“Is that you?” he asks.
“Yeah, I was doing laundry.”
“Clearly.” He chuckles. “I have some clothes in the wash, so let me know when you’re done with the dryer.” And he goes back to work. He’s overly nice today. It’s throwing me off.
I open the dryer but pause.
This is another opportunity I can’t waste.
But, oh god, this one is going to hurt worse, even if I know he’s waiting on me and it’ll be worth it.
I hate wrinkled clothes. I can feel myself already stressing out thinking of them being cold when I fold them later.
