When they break apart, Zoey looks at me inquisitively. “Are you house hunting without me? Getting a head start?”
“Nah. This place is nice.” I glance around the modern, open-concept first floor with gleaming white walls and cabinets and dark oak accents and floors. “But I want to stay closer to downtown, and I need a quick commute to Mission.”
“Okay,” she says. “So to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Pleasure. Man, do I want to show her pleasure. “I wanted to see you and make sure you’re doing fine.”
I glance around the house, not sure if we’re alone. Her pretty smile falters, and she glances over her shoulder. Clearly there are prospective buyers somewhere in the house. I take a step toward her. “How’d it go after I left? This morning?”
“He was locked in the master when I went back in the house, and then this morning he was gone when I woke up.” She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, which she must have straightened, because those waves I love are nonexistent today. “It’s better this way. I have no idea what to say to him anyway.”
I hear footsteps, and then an older woman walks into the kitchen where we’re standing. She praises Zoey on the house and insists she “has to have it” and her agent will be in touch. Then she walks over to the counter near the six-burner stove and sheepishly takes a donut before heading out the door. I eye the donuts. They’re from a low-end chain, nothing fancy, which is out of place. I’ve been to high-end open houses that offer sushi or gourmet cookies or even crudité platters.
She laughs at my reaction. “I know. Not fancy at all, but every time I bring the dollar donuts, they’re gone in a flash. Novelty, maybe, or guilty pleasure. Whatever the reason, I feel like it also makes the open house a little more memorable.”
Dixie walks over and reaches for one covered in pink icing and rainbow sprinkles. Zoey laughs as my sister takes a giant bite. I turn back to her and gently take her hand. I can’t help it. If I’m this close to her and I’m not touching her, my fingers start to tingle. She glances down at our hands and back at me, the sweetest hint of a smile on her lips. The lips that felt like heaven against mine. I can only imagine how incredible they’ll feel around my dick.
“What are you thinking?” she asks suddenly in a breathless whisper. “I swear your eyes just darkened a shade right in front of me.”
I let my tongue play against my bottom lip. Her eyes drop to it and she squeezes my hand. Dixie groans loudly. “Do they make condoms for eyeballs? Because you two need them.”
The front door opens and a tall, lanky guy dressed in golf clothes comes sauntering in. Zoey drops my hand and grabs an info sheet off the counter. She walks over and immediately starts charming him with the details of the house. A minute later the guy is off to wander around,but not before he gives her a long, appreciative glance from pumps to head. Zoey has already turned away from him, so she doesn’t see the leering glance, but I do, and it makes jealousy flame inside me.
Zoey takes in my appearance as she approaches, and I can tell she can see that my mood has shifted. “Is everything okay?”
“You do all of these alone?”
“Open houses? Mostly.”
“Is that safe?” I can’t help but question. “I mean, random strangers and you alone in an empty house. It worries me.”
For some reason the heat of jealousy is instantly replaced with the burn of embarrassment. I’m acting like a possessive boyfriend, and I’m not. I don’t even want to be. And if I was her boyfriend, the last thing I would be is possessive. I wasthe polar opposite of possessive in my last relationship. I can’t handle the way Zoey is looking at me with that sweet little smile, like she’s amused and somehow flattered by what feels like some kind of meltdown to me. So I look away, and the only other person to focus on is Dixie, who is silently devouring the rest of her donut, watching the scene with rapt attention the way she watches her Netflix shows on my eighty-inch television. Yeah, that’s not helping.
I decide to change the subject. “So I was wondering if you wanted to come to a game.”
“A hockey game?” Zoey questions. “The season started already?”
“It’s preseason,” I explain. “Not league sanctioned. A bunch of guys from the California professional teams get together and play a bunch of guys from the local college teams. It’s to promote the growth of hockey in California. Each year one of us picks a charity to donate the proceeds to, and this year is my choice.”
“What did you pick?”
“ALS.” I keep talking before she can ask me why. “It’s tomorrow night, and there’s a carnival in the parking lot afterward.”
“Yeah. I would love to go.” She says it easily, not a hint of hesitation and a bright smile on those perfect lips that she happens to have painted a delectable pink that reminds me of the color they were after our rough little make-out session last night. I swear to God my dick just quivered.
“Great. Oh, and I wanted to ask you what color you want me to paint the guest bedroom?” I ask, scratching at the back of my neck. “I was going to do that tonight.”
“You’re painting our room?” Dixie finally stops watching us and decides to speak. “But we picked that color! We love the teal.”
“It’s pretty,” Zoey admits and gives her a sympathetic smile. “But it doesn’t flow with the rest of the space, and it’s a specific taste. We need the whole place to look pleasantly neutral. A light gray with soft white trim would work.”
“I always thought it was ugly,” I pipe up, mostly just to annoy Dixie. Without even turning around, I can literally feel her trying to eviscerate me with her eyes. “And you should probably help me repaint it. Since you’re the reason I have to.”
“In your dreams, butthead” is Dixie’s automatic response.
“I’ll help,” Zoey says and meets my eye.
“Okay.” I wasn’t actually going to paint it myself, I was going to hire someone. I was just trying to take the piss out of my sister. But now that it means alone time with Zoey, I’m heading directly to the paint store after this. “Come by about seven?”
