Page 45 of Taking Sides

I fight a giggle that threatens to escape. “Now might be a good time to show you the bathroom.”

“Yes, please.” He wears a sheepish expression as I stand and take his hand, then pull him to his feet.

I lead him down the hall and flip on the light. He glances around and a smile lifts both corners of his mouth. “Wow. The picture didn’t do it justice.”

“Sloane did a great job.” I admire it again myself.

“Sloane?”

“A friend from school. She did most of the work. I’m helpless with wallpaper.”

“You have other talents.” His cheeks are tinged in red as he leans forward and brushes his lips over mine.

My body tingles all over. I force myself to step back and give him some privacy.

When he comes out of the bathroom, he looks more composed but still embarrassed.

“Want something to drink?” I ask from where I stand in the kitchen.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Thanks.”

He comes to stand on the opposite side of the counter. He briefly glances around like he’s seeing the place for the first time. In this room there are five different paint colors.

“Another one of your projects?” he asks.

“Yeah. I can’t decide which I like best. What do you think?”

He brings one hand up and rubs the back of his neck. “The yellow, maybe?”

“Really?”

He shrugs and lets his arm drop. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. My apartment has white walls throughout because neither D-Low nor I cared enough to change them.”

I let out a small laugh. “Fair enough.”

I look at the paint swatches again. “Yellow, huh?”

“It’s fitting for you.”

“Why’s that?”

“You wear it a lot,” he says. “The dress on our first date, your water bottle . . .” He tips his head toward it next to the sink. “And your hockey stick was wrapped with yellow tape.”

“It’s my favorite color,” I say, studying him. The man is quiet but observant, apparently. “What’s yours?”

“Black.”

“Black?” I don’t think anyone has ever answered with black before. Not that I make a habit of asking people’s favorite colors.

His lips curl up and he points his gaze toward the floor. “Hockey pucks are black.”

A laugh breaks free. “I should have known.”

He lets his smile pull higher, and we stand there grinning at each other for a beat.

“My brother’s favorite color is silver . . .” As soon as I mention him, I know it’s a mistake, but Conrad already knows Victor is my brother so there’s no point in pretending. “Because of the Stanley Cup.”

He tries to keep smiling, but it’s obvious I broke the unspoken no-mentioning-Victor rule.