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“The stopcock?” I laughed. “What the hell is that?”
Twisting the knob on a valve, Joey reached up and flushed the toilet and then hovered over the bowl, watching the water circle. Seemingly satisfied with that, Joey stood up and walked over to the shower and switched it on. This time, when the motor roared to life, it was accompanied by a steady spray of water coming from the jets. “Ta-da.”
“Yay!!” I clapped in delight. “My hero.”
“Easy to please you, Molloy.”
“That’s impressive, Joe.”
He snorted. “I turned the water back on.”
“I wouldn’t have known how to do that.”
He shrugged and moved for the sink, turning on the tap to wash his hands. “Well, enjoy your shower.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I plan to. Thanks again, Joe.”
“Anytime.”
Switching the tap off, he looked around for a towel, and when he couldn’t find one, he walked over to where I was standing and dried his hands on the bottom of my towel.
“Hey,” I growled, slapping at his hands. “Rude.”
“Nice towel,” he shot back with a cheeky wink before moving for the door. “I’ll be seeing ya, Molloy.”
“Hold up.” My heart pounded loudly in my chest as I followed him to the door, slipping around him to press my back to the wood.And keep him for a little bit longer.“Are you going to your match now?”
He didn’t look happy when he said, “That’s the plan.”
“Do you even want to play?”
My question seemed to throw him because his furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why would you even ask that?”
“Because you never look happy on the pitch,” I replied, readjusting my hold on my towel. Looking up at his face, I offered him a sad smile. “You never look happy anywhere.”
“And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” he was quick to counter, immediately on the defense, as his walls shot up around him. “Watching everything I do like a fucking stalker.”
“Lower the gun, Joe.” Knowing every one of his tricks, I kept my tone even when I said, “I’m not the enemy.”
Joey glowered at me for a long moment before the hostility in his eyes eventually gave way to resignation. “I know.” Blinking, he released a harsh breath and shook his head. “I know, Molloy.”
“I know you do,” I replied, reaching up to rub the prickly fucker’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”
Heat blazed in his dark eyes when he snapped, “I’m not sorry.”
Yes, he was.
“I know.” Reaching up, I ruffled his blond hair and grinned. “I still forgive you.”
Unable to conceal his discomfort, or his agitated state in general, he ran a hand through his hair and gestured to where I was standing. “Can you move aside so I can leave? I’m going to be late for the match.”
“I’ll move aside,” I told him. “If you promise to wait for me.”
He frowned. “Wait for you?”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “I’m coming with you.”
“Coming with me?” Another frown. “Where?”
