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“Then take me home.”
“No.” I stand with my feet apart and cross my arms over my chest. “I just got you here. I barely got to see you Wednesday night, and it was a long damn time before that. I’m not taking you home.”
Her shoulders drop as she steps toward me. My arms fall to my sides, and she places her hands flat against my chest, staring up at me. “I want to do this for you, Brooks. I don’t want to go home yet. I want to be here, but I also want to make your life easier.”
“You make it better.” The confession slips past my tongue before I can stop it, but I don’t regret it.
“Please? The two of us together can knock it out in no time. You’re clean for a bachelor,” she teases.
“That’s not why I invited you here.”
She leaves one hand on my chest and moves the other to rest against my cheek. “I know that. That’s why I want to help you. Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t jump in to help me if the roles were reversed?”
“Of course I would.”
She stands on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss under my chin. “Then let me. Please?”
Let me tell you something about Palmer Setty and those big green eyes of hers. When she’s standing so close, her hands on your body, and she turns the power of those beautiful eyes on you and follows with a please, you can’t say no.
Ican’t say no.
“Fine,” I concede.
“Thank you.” I’m rewarded with a kiss on my lips. I wrap my arms around her waist, holding her close, kissing her the way I’ve been dying to since the moment she hopped into my truck.
“Brooks,” she mumbles against my lips.
“Hmm.” I don’t stop kissing her.
“If we start this now, we’re never going to start cleaning, and I really do need a shower before this goes any further.” She pulls back and wrinkles her nose.
“I’ll take you any way that I can get you.” I’m telling her the truth. She thinks she’s a mess. I think she’s beautiful.
“Go cook us some dinner, or warm us up some dinner or whatever. Give me the dusting supplies and the vacuum.”
“I hate this.”
“Get over it, big guy.” She pats my chest and takes a step back.
“Cleaning supplies and the vacuum are in the hall closet.”
“Got it,” she calls over her shoulder, already heading toward the closet. I hear her rustling around, and then music fills the house. I have an open-floor plan, so I can see her as she props her phone up on the TV stand and gets to work dusting my living room and dining room area. I don’t have a lot as far as decorations, so it’s not like it’s a time-consuming job, but I still hate that she’s doing it. I wanted to spend time with her, not guilt her into cleaning my house.
Shaking out of my thoughts, I move to the fridge and grab the bowl of spaghetti, add it to a pan, and set the burner on low to warm it up. Turning on the oven to preheat, I get to work setting the box of garlic breadsticks out on a cookie sheet to bake.
Fifteen minutes later, I have place settings at the island, with two big plates of spaghetti. “Babe!” I call out to her. She lifts her head and smiles at me. “Time to eat.”
“Perfect timing. I just finished dusting.”
“Thank you.” I stand next to the island and steal a kiss from her once she gets close before pulling her chair out for her.
“This looks great.”
“Mom made sure we all knew how to cook. She said we would be good husbands one day. She still claims to this day that her future daughters-in-law are going to love her for all the training she gave us.”
“I love your mom.”
“I think it’s safe to say that you and I both got lucky in the parent department.”
