I scoff quietly, shaking my head. “You can’t wear that.”
Her brows lift. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t wear that,” I repeat.
She crosses her arms, toothbrush still in hand. “And who died and made you king?”
She’s joking. I know her different tones.
I’m not.
“I’m king because I said so,” I reply evenly. “And you can’t wear that. Not tonight.”
She smiles, sweet and innocent, but it’s loaded with ammo, just like that tone she gets sometimes. “Well, if you’re king, that makes me queen. And this is what I wear to bed. It’s what Ialwayswear to bed.” She tilts her head to the side. “And you know that.”
I bring my hand to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Christ, babe. I don’t have the energy for this right now. Can you please just change into something else?”
She exhales, exasperated. “I just don’t understand?—”
I snap. “Because your shirt’s see-through, Jordan. I can see yournipples, for Christ’s sake.” I step closer, my voice dropping. “And it’s making me want to suck one into my mouth and do things I’m trying hard not to do. So if that’s what you want, go ahead. Wear it to bed.”
For a second, I think she’s considering it. That she’s actually going to change. Her brows pull together, lips pouty in a way that makes me want to scrape my teeth against them.
Then the pout hardens into a scowl.
“Let me get this straight,” she starts, annoyed as hell. “You want me to change because you’re—what, horny and turned on?”
Her tone is almost mocking, and it sends heat rushing through my veins.
“So what if I am?” I ask, forcing my tone to be chill.
“Too fucking bad, because this is what I’m wearing.” She makes for the door. “Jesus. Don’t be so immature,” she adds. “They’re just tits. You’ve seen a thousand of them.”
I turn. “They’reyourtits,” I say slowly, my voice edged with warning.
She crosses the room to her side of the bed, and our eyes lock. “I don’t see why that makes a difference.”
I laugh, low and deep. “Fine.” I fold my arms, then grab the hem of my shirt and yank it over my head. “You remember what I like to sleep in, too, right?”
I shove my pants down, step out of them, and toss them toward her. She bats them away, mad as hell.
“I’m not in my birthday suit quite yet,” I say, my voice smooth, taunting. I hook my thumbs into the sides of my boxer briefs. “Should I keep going?”
Her gaze flicks down, mouth parting.
Then she lifts her chin, like she doesn’t give two shits. “I don’t really care what you do. I’m going to bed.”
She yanks the covers back and climbs in with an irritated little huff, like I’m the one being dramatic. Like she didn’t just spend the last two minutes poking a starving animal with a stick.
She turns away from me and flips the light on the headboard off—cool, calm, and completely unaffected.
I stare into the dark, jawset tight.
Then chuckle under my breath.
She’s going to fucking kill me
I fillthe tea kettle with fresh water and turn the burner on high, then place a griddle over the second burner and set it to low.
