“What the hell, Daisy?” Landry demands angrily, making me flinch and hit my head on the inside of the dryer.
This time I’m the one growling as I rub my head. I grab the first clean clothing item I find, the Camellia High Football T-shirt I got from work, and I pull it down over my bra. Landry’s already turned so that his back is facing me by the time I stand.
“Sorry, I thought you were in the shower,” I tell him.
“I turned it on but realized I’d forgotten my clothes,” he mumbles.
“Then you only have yourself to blame for having to see me in my underwear this time,” I reply, shutting the dryer door with my hip. “And if you don’t want to see my panties again, I suggest you close your eyes while I walk past you.”
I glare at him, but he does as told and keeps his eyes shut tightly, presumably until I slam my bedroom door behind me. I rifle through my dresser until I root out a pair of old jean shorts. The cutoffs hit me mid-thigh, so I rarely wear them in public. But I’m too frustrated to look for anything else today, so I slip them on.
Landry knocks on my door a few minutes later, and I finish re-braiding my hair before I swing it open.
“Are you rea—” His voice cuts off abruptly as his gaze runs over me, his eyes trailing down my legs and back again. “What are you wearing?” he asks with a frown.
I shrug. “I couldn’t find a clean dress, and I had to change aftersomeonegot my other one all sweaty.”
“But you never wear shorts,” he mutters absently.
“Well, I’m wearing them now. Unless that’s a problem? Are you going to start telling me what to wear now that we’re married?” I cross my arms over my middle.
“No.” He looks down at his feet as he continues. “I already feel bad enough for saying you should wear a sweater to work every day, as if it’s your fault those boys can’t stop ogling you.”
I blink at him. I used to think I had plenty of patience, but this man is absolutely maddening.
“I don’t even know how to reply to that,” I blurt out.
“Wear whatever you want. I don’t care,” he grumbles before adding, “I mean, it’s not my place to say anything.”
“How flattering,” I retort sarcastically as I step out from my room.
He sighs and walks ahead to open the front door for me, then backs away and gestures for me to go first. I think I hear him mumbling something, so I stop and turn my head. “What now?”
His eyes flutter up to mine suspiciously, and he shakes his head. “Nothing.”
We’re both silent on the drive to the hospital, which feels strange after the comfortable stride I thought we’d fallen into over the past month or so. Once we’re in the NICU, Landry directs me to wash my hands thoroughly. He trades friendly greetings with the nurses, introducing me as his roommate before he leads me toward a pair of pink-adorned bassinets. I watch carefully as he wheels one of the carts over to a set of rocking chairs.
His mouth turns up into a proud smile as he inclines his head in an invitation, and I peer over the edge to find the two babies snuggled up together. He knew they’d be in the same bed, I realize, and it only makes the girls (and Landry) that much cuter.
“What’s your preference? Chunky and snuggly or a wide-eyed and wiggly?” he asks.
“Oh, let’s start with Princess Pen,” I reply, and his smile grows wider.
He reaches in to pick up the smaller of the two and hands her over to me. “Here you go, wide-eyed and wiggly.”
My heart expands to fill my chest when I look down into her tiny, blue eyes. Penelope squeaks and squirms in my arms as promised, staring up at me the whole time as if we were having a silent conversation. I glance over at Landry after a while, and my breath catches in my throat at the sight of him with a baby lying on his chest. He strokes Charlotte’s back and kisses the top of her head before leaning down to murmur into her little ear. Charley lets out a grunt and curls in, as if he’s been tickling her with his beard, and he chuckles, making her bounce over his chest.
Forget the shirtless car washing—thisis the kind of stuff that could tempt a woman to extend inappropriate offers to her platonic roommate. And all the hot-and-cold moods in the world couldn’t stop me from thinking he’s the sexiest man alive and fantasizing about what our fictional babies might look like.
That could also be my ovaries talking for me again.
“You good, Blondie?” he asks me after he catches me staring.
“Amazing,” I say dreamily, unable to care whether he sees through me at this point. “Thank you for bringing me with you. They’re beautiful, and I love them, even though they aren’t really my nieces.”
He shrugs. “Technically, they are. At least for now.”
“You’re right, they are.” I smirk at him. “Does that mean I get to hold both of them before we go?”
