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I smirk. “Guilty as charged.”
“Also, it drives me bonkers the way you shove things into drawers and closets, without the slightest bit of organization. You’re cool with things looking neat and perfect, on the outside, when, underneath, they’re a hot mess!” She levels me with two pools of green fire. “In my opinion, that’s a metaphor. You look amazing and perfect, on the outside. You’ve worked hard to make it so—and kudos to you for that. But underneath that perfect body and ink, let’s face it, babe, you’re a hot fuckin’ mess!”
I press my lips together. Yet again, she’s not wrong.
“That would also be fine with me, since, as I’ve mentioned, I’m a creeper werewolf and not even close to perfect myself. As we both know, a freaking cereal commercial can easily make me sob. Also, I get frazzled easily and can’t keep a poker face to save my life. But see, I know all that about myself, whereas you don’t even realize what a hot mess you are—how guarded and closed-off you can be from your true emotions, whatever they may be.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Do you even know why you love acting so much?”
I cross my arms over my chest, matching her position. “Enlighten me.”
“It’s the only time you give yourself permission to express your honest emotions, without holding back, and without feeling embarrassed about them. Acting forces you to dig deep inside yourself, in a way you don’t normally allow yourself to do.”
Goosebumps. They’re suddenly erupting all over my arms and neck, raising every hair on my body. Holy shit. She’s amazing.
“I don’t know what turned you into this paragon of bottled-up masculinity,” she says, “but it’s insanely frustrating for anyone who loves you! Which I do.” She exhales. “I could go on and on, but there’s no point, when the bottom line is that I’m willing to look past your many, many flaws and accept them—and you—the real you—exactly as you are. Without trying to change you, other than organizing your fucking closets. Because that’s what love is, you stupid fucking dumbass. It’s accepting the bad with the good and loving all of it, because you know one doesn’t come without the other.”
My breathing hitches. This woman is melting my brain and causing my heart to race.
Her anger softens. She takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ve told you most of the reasons you infuriate me. Now let me tell you some of the reasons you make me adore you.” Amy smiles shyly. “You’ve got a heart of a gold, Colin Beretta, and so much more love to give than you even realize. One smile from you melts me, all the way down in my soul. Oh, man, you just do it for me. You’re passionate and talented. So talented, I’m in awe of you. You’re funny and thoughtful. Generous and kind. A good listener. You’re loyal. You’d throw yourself in front of a moving train for the people you love the most. And despite what I said about you being self-absorbed at times, you’re also shockingly humble and down to earth, considering how talented and gorgeous you are and everything you’ve accomplished.” The tenderness on her face flashes to anger again on a dime. “That’s why I constantly swoon for you, motherfucker! Not because I think you’re anywhere close to perfect!”
I’m short of breath. Oh my God. This was the best ass-whooping I’ve ever received in my life. And I thought my mother was an assassin? Holy fuck. Amy’s more beautiful to me now than ever.
“What?” Amy says. “Spit it out. Whatever it is, I can take it.”
I blow out my cheeks, not sure how to accurately express the cocktail of emotions flooding me. I’m feeling overwhelming love for this woman in this electrifying moment. Not to mention, white-hot lust. But also, anger. So much fucking anger, that she’s demanding I dance like a monkey for her. Most importantly, however, I can’t wrap my head around the love I’m feeling being the real deal, the kind that would make sense to tell our families about this quickly. I don’t want to fuck up and speak those words, prematurely, or wrongly, considering what’s at stake here.
“What are you thinking?” Amy demands.
“I’m thinking a lot.”
“Like what?”
“Mostly, I’m thinking I’m crazy about you and don’t want what we’ve been doing to end. But I’m also thinking you’ve been staying with me for less than a week and I’m not ready to say the words you want to hear, on command. It feels like an ultimatum to me. A test. And I fucking hate that kind of shit.”
Amy nods. “That’s fair. Unfortunately, the kind of shit I hate is feeling like I’m your dirty little secret.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I think it is. Sorry if it seems like an ultimatum to you, but I need you to call my brother and tell him we’re dating. It’s as simple as that. I don’t need the magic words from you, as long as you feel like you’re falling for me and could ultimately imagine yourself saying them. On the other hand, if you want me to stay here and keep doing what I’ve been doing because I’m fantastic at organizing your closets, making you dinner, and sucking your cock, then hire a housekeeper and find yourself a groupie and let me go.”
