Page 56 of Cautious Love

“What is the big —oh, shit,” she says, looking down at my laundry that is now all some hue of pink because of the bright pink sock lying within the clothes. It must have been left behind becauseshe didn’t check.

“Yes, oh, shit is right, now my shirt, you know the uniform I wear to be a sheriff is tinged pink, yes, very serious.”

“Well, I’m sure pink looks amazing on you…” she says in a snappy voice.

“Why don’t you double check the dryer when you’re done?” I ask her.

“Who does that?” she asks.

“Me! I do! Sothisdoesn’t happen!” I yell, gesturing to the laundry basket.

She huffs and crosses her arms. “You don’t have to be so …mad.You’re so particular about everything. I can’t keep up with it all,” she says flippantly.

I close my eyes, taking a long, deep breath. “It’s not just this. You barely clean up after yourself. You don’t put things back where you found them. You keep reorganizing my kitchen, and you play music at all hours of the night,” I say, gesturing to her room. “I feel like I’m cleaning up after you all the time, and it’s so loud I can barely think, let alone read a book!”

“It’s too quiet in here, and who reads books anymore?” she says, lifting her chin.

“Me! I like reading, and I like it quiet!” I snap.

She makes a frustrated noise and puts her hands on her hips, eyeing me as if this is the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“Maybe it’s time you shake things up. Change isn’t bad,” she says, and the corner of her mouth is tipped up, and I can’t stop looking at those pouty pink lips.

I swear this woman is begging to fight with me. She just wants to get a rise out of me, and she hasn’t won … until now.

“You’re trying to make me crazy, aren't you?” I ask her.

Her brow tips up. “Is that what I’m trying to do?”

“Well, you’re doing something because … because you’re driving me crazy and…” I cut myself off. I don’t want to say something I don’t mean, and her expression isn’t amused anymore.

“You irritate me too, you know,” she rasps.

The air changes, and the tension I’ve felt between us is like a blanket, and it’s too warm, and it smells like her, tinged with sugar, and capped with whiskey.

“How could I possibly irritate you more than you bother me?” I ask her.

“For starters, walking around in those little shorts, showing off those ridiculous thighs, and…” she trails off, and I look down at my shorts. I usually wear them to the gym, but it was warm today, and I didn’t want to wear sweatpants, and I prefer the seven-inch inseam. It doesn’t get in my way with squats.

“You’re annoyed … by my shorts?” I ask her.

She licks her lips before snagging her bottom one, and I become oddly aware of my heartbeat and the blood thrumming in my ears.

“I could say the same.” I toss back.

“You could,” she whispers.

My body acts before I do and takes a step toward her.

She lifts her chin, and her chest moves rapidly up and down.

What am I doing?

“And you’re always so decisive it’s irritating,” she says, her eyes searching mine.

“Most people would say that’s a good thing.”

“It’s okay to change your mind,” she snaps back.