Two more knocks. Firmer this time.
I don’t move, except to shove another churro into my mouth and mentally hiss at the door.
A third round of knocks.
I groan, push to my feet, and yank the door open.
Gorgeous idiot Harrison stands there holding a pint of ice cream like a peace offering.
Ben & Jerry’s Karamel Sutra.
Perfect. Exactly what I need.
I snatch it out of his hands and shut the door in his face.
“You’re right,” he calls through the solid wood. “I was completely out of line.”
A pause. Longer.
“And a moron.”
“And a colossal ass,” I holler back.
I hear his quiet chuckle. “And a colossal ass. Can I please come in?”
I don’t answer.
I’m too busy sniffling and fighting with the plastic film on the ice cream lid like the Ark of the Covenant is sealed inside.
Ugh! Why are these things childproof?
The soft strum of fingers taps the door. “Come on, Pix,” he adds. “Don’t make me eat the whipped cream alone.”
I stop cold.
So now the butthead is holding out on me.
I crack the door open just in time to see him tip the enormous can, posturing like he’s about to spray it straight down his throat.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, swiping for it.
I almost have it. Almost.
He lifts it out of my grasp, holding it over my head like a total dingbat.
“Give me that,” I demand.
“Not until you let me in.”
I glare, and our standoff lasts all of two seconds.
This is ridiculous. I’m a pixie. He’s a giant.
I can’t win.
I roll my eyes, step aside, and gesture him through the door.
He steps into the room while I’m still losing a fight with the stupid plastic film on the Ben & Jerry’s.
