“You sure know how to make girls feel special.” She forced herself to glance away from the way his shirt highlighted his muscles to focus on his eyes.
“You want me to make you feel special?” The intense way he stared at her gave every indication he was more than happy to follow through if she said yes. Oh, she wanted to say yes. Her subconscious screamed for her to say yes.
She wouldn’t say yes.
“No.” She tossed him a don’t-go-there look. “Let’s talk about rules. Starting with your usage of expletive nouns and adjectives.”
He scrunched his eyebrows. “What kind of nouns?”
“Cussing. It makes me uncomfortable.” She shifted a row of cans in the cupboard to make room for more.
He rested his shoulder against the wall. “You’re cute, you know that?”
Gah, it was like talking to a middle schooler. She pressed on. “Roommate ground rules. We need to go over them.”
His face went blank. “What kind of rules?”
“Showers and groceries and laundry?” And all of the other things that were driving her crazy about having a roommate.
The sexiest of grins crossed his face. “You want to shower together? I’m down with conserving water.”
This man was impossible. And distracting. And heck yes, she wanted to shower with him. But no, she wouldn’t.
“That’s not what I meant. I mean using up all the hot water. Eating all the groceries. Forgetting to swap your laundry from the washer to the dryer.”
“Fair enough. I’ll keep showers under five minutes. Throw in for groceries, and only do laundry when you’re not home. That work for you?”
“Throw in for groceries?” The way he kept staring at her raised her body temperature past comfortable levels.
“You cook. I don’t. I’ll toss in cash if you cook extra of whatever you’re fixing for yourself.”
She stood straighter. He could be reasonable. “There was a bunch of stuff in the sink and peanut butter on the towel. Can you put your junk away and not leave sticky stuff on the linens?”
He glanced to the now-empty sink and a sly smile tickled the corner of his mouth. “Where exactly would you like me to put my junk? And…uh…sticky stuff.”
Heat crept up her neck to her hairline. “You don’t have to be juvenile about it. If you could just load the dishwasher, that would be great. And paper towels for peanut butter. That’s all.”
“I can do that.” He studied her in that way of his that made her squirm.
“Appreciated.” She unloaded a box of pasta from her shopping bag and grabbed the littleB&Vlabels she’d made up earlier.
Brek grabbed a mesh bag of tomatoes from the sack and tossed them in a bowl. “What’s with the labels?”
“So we know what belongs to whom. Your stuff gets aB, mine gets aV. Things we share get both.” She’d made hisBlabels an appropriate black Hells Angels font, and herVlabels got a pink swirly curlicue.
“You’re dedicated to labeling. I’ll give you that. Couldn’t we just use the honor system?”
She shook her head. No. No, they couldn’t. Her method would keep everything in order and boundaries in place.
He reached over her for a sheet of labels.
Gosh, he smelled good. He didn’t wear cologne. The scent was 100 percent Brek. Someone should bottle it and sell it on the black market.
“Labels will make things easier for everyone.” She peeled off aB&Vto stick on the loaf of wheat bread.
“If you say so.” He didn’t look convinced.
Frankly, neither was she.
