Page 14 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
She gives me a flat, unamused look. “I gave you that key so you’d water my plants while I was on vacation.”
“I know.” I stuck another bite in my mouth and tried to concentrate on chewing it.
“You didn’t do it. They all died.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” I say with my mouth full. I point the fork in her direction. “You probably should have taken your key back right then.”
She rolls her eyes. “I should have. Maybe I will. Didn’t you eat dinner?”
“Leo and I ordered pizza but it sucks.”
“So you just came over here to raid my fridge?” She taps her foot on the kitchen floor. Her toenails are painted bright red, which reminds me of the time I lost a bet—I can’t even remember what it was about—and she made me paint them for her. I did a terrible job and complained the whole time even though her feet are small and kind of adorable. It wasn’t really much of a punishment, to tell you the truth. In fact, standing here trying not to ogle her body in a towel might be worse torture. That twitch is now a full-blown erection.
“Yes, sorry. Were you planning to eat this for dinner? I left you the lemon chicken thing.”
“How nice of you.”
I shrug. “I’m a nice guy. How was the gym?”
“Fine.” She turns around and walks out of the kitchen. “I have to get dressed.”
“Why? It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked.”
She stops halfway to her bedroom door and looks at me over one shoulder, her mouth open in outrage. “What? You have not.”
“Have too. That time we got drunk and jumped off the dock at your parents place in Michigan.”
She whirls all the way around and faces me. “It was pitch dark that night! And I was wearing a bra and underwear!”
I consider that. “Maybe, but if I recall correctly, they were white. White doesn’t hide much. And it sort of glows in the dark.”
She huffs and crosses her arms even tighter over her chest. “You said you wouldn’t look.”
“I was drunk,” I say. “You know you should never believe anything I say when I’m drunk.”
The look she gave me could have singed the scruff on my face.
God, I love making her mad. It’s so much fun and it’s way too easy. I don’t even know why I’m saying this shit right now—we don’t usually flirt, but her body is making me all kinds of crazy, and the best thing for her to do would be to go put some damn clothes on before I remember how long it’s been since I’ve had sex.
Instead she juts her chin. “Well, I saw you naked too.”
“Oh yeah? When?”
“Same night. I was the only one who kept my underwear on. You jumped off that dock in your birthday suit.”
“You were completely turned in the other direction.”
She looks smug. “Not when you got out.”
I have to think about that for a moment, but the memories of that night, beyond her perfect curves in white cotton and lace, have my brain a bit muddled. “I guess it’s possible you saw me naked.”
That makes her snort. “Oh, it’s more than possible. I saw you.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Why didn’t you?”
Setting the empty container and fork aside, I shrug. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
