Brilliant move, genius. Next time, just let the woman have her system.
I find one cufflink wedged in a sock. I get it pinched between my bratwurst fingers and spend the next forty-five secondsachieving absolutely nothing. These clasps were made by elves. The cufflink misses the buttonhole and—
The floor swallows it.
I stare.
I find it, pick it up, and start all over.
“Ground rules,” she announces.
She squares up, hands on her hips, and it shouldn’t be that hot… but it is.
“Should I sit down?”
“Room and weekend.” Her eyes narrow. “No touching my equipment without asking. No rerouting Blaze without telling me first. And no going rogue during live segments.”
I huff a laugh. “Blaze drove an ATV through the lobby, and fans started climbing furniture. I picked up a camera. That’s not rogue. That’s strategy.”
“You reacted.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think.”
“I don’t need to think when something’s working.”
Her nostrils flare. It’s adorable.
“That’s the problem.”
I pretend to listen as I go hunting for the second cufflink. I shake the bag once, gently this time, and hear a faint metallic tink.Found you.
I’m fighting the clasp when she steps closer.
“Plans exist,” she says sternly, “so nothing goes sideways.”
I pin her with a glare.
“And instincts exist for when your plan meets reality.”
She takes another step. Now we’re so close the air between us feels tight… warm… very, very inappropriate.
My hands want to move. Badly. To drag my thumb across her bottom lip and see if she inhales or bites. Instead, I hold eye contact.
Her eyes flick down to my mouth, then back up. So quick I almost miss it.
She swallows. “I need to change.”
She grabs the dress and disappears into the bathroom, slamming the door.
I stand there, dumbfounded.
Knock it off. You’re not touching this woman. Not now. Not ever.
I scowl at my reflection.
She would let you reorganize her entire apartment before she’d let you near that red lace bra.
