Page 27 of Gin and Bear It

“Please, please do not mess with my organization systems,” she says, gesturing at her fridge. “Or any of my reminders, especially the medication ones. Okay?”

“Okay. I wouldn’t.” I put my hands up, almost defensively even though she was nice about it. “It looks…extensive.”

“It’s an ADHD thing. Which also means we need to talk about your tolerance for mess.” She turns away from me and grabs a pad of paper attached on a string to the fridge. “And chores.”

“Two of my bandmates were practically feral, so literally any system is better than what I’ve been working with on tours. I don’t mind a little mess, either,” I say. “Whatever you have, I’m glad to work with it. I don’t want to think of any new shit if whatever you have going on works.”

“Hm.” She pauses, surprised. “You lived all up under your bandmates? You didn’t have your own bus or whatever?”

I snort. “Eventually I had my own space on the bus. We kept it lean to keep more profits—our lead singer’s idea. But I think she got off on people’s misery.”

She blinks a few times. “That doesn’t sound glamorous.”

“Not a lot of it is.”

She gnaws on the end of her pen and rocks back on her heels, like she’s bursting to say something else. But she pauses and opens her fridge instead.

“Also, don’t eat my snacks. Not the ones in here. Not the ones in the pantry. If I open the pantry and find my special treats gone, I will crash out all over you.”

The way she gestures makes her tits wobble, which makes me think of different ways she could “crash out all over me.”

“Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?” I blink and refocus on her face.

“Give me those eyes. In my own home.” She gestures again at my face but crosses her arms over her breasts. “Also, I’m not wearing a bra around the house. The moment I walk through the door, it’s coming off.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. I’m a big tits guy, and hers look incredible in everything she wears. Having them behind a thin layer of fabric when I’m trying to relax…

A whole year. A whole year with just my hand in her little shower.

Fucking kill me.

“And clothes remain on unless you’re in the bathroom, of course,” she adds.

“Right.” I swallow. “Is that it? I need to make some calls.”

“Yeah, just read over the chore chart thing over here. It’s kind of loose because sometimes my brain just doesn’t want to.” She waves her hand toward the side of the fridge.

“Doesn’t want to what?”

“Just…doesn’t.” She scoops up Pip. “See ya.”

She goes down the hall to her cozy room and I go to the couch. Calling JD to set up my start date for my job at the company decimates any hint of a boner that I had. I need to rip off the bandage.

“Calling about the job?” JD answers on the second ring.

“Would I call you for any other reason?” I ask.

He doesn’t respond to that quip. When we were growing up, we fought like crazy over everything. Every little slight had to be one-upped or responded to. But he doesn’t take the bait I reflexively cast.

“It’s been a week since the will was read,” he says. “Have you given any thought to what you might want to do?”

“You’re giving me a choice?” I blurt.

JD once again pauses. This time I hear what sounds like a printer in the background.

“I’m not a dictator,” he finally says. “And presumably, you’ll be more effective if you have an interest in what you’re doing.”