Page 44 of Floored (Frenched 3)
I glared at him but stepped back, allowing him to come in. Pushing the door shut, I leaned back against it and pointed at him. “I want it on record that letting you in tonight is against my better judgment.”
He nodded. “Noted.”
“And that I don’t think you’ll keep your word.”
“Now whose ego is staggering?”
Glad the avocado masque was hiding my blush, I glided past him, chin up. “Take off those wet boots and leave them by the door. On the rug. I don’t want wet footprints on the floor.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I ignored that. “Grab glasses from the cupboard next to the fridge. And get a spoon from the drawer in the island if you want some ice cream.”
He left his boots by the door and opened the cupboard. I couldn’t resist going over to the rug and straightening—his giant, heavy boots had pulled it askew. “Oh my God.”
“What?” I straightened and saw him pulling open all my kitchen cupboards, the contents of which were neatly stacked and lined up.
“There’s not one thing out of place. Even your spices are all organized in perfect little rows. And oh my God—are they alphabetized? They are!” He burst out laughing.
I shoved him aside and closed all the cupboard doors, leaving open only the one holding the glasses. “I like things neat, OK? I like to know where everything is. Your kitchen is probably one big mess.”
“You’d hate it,” he confirmed, taking two tumblers off a shelf. “None of my dishes match, my spice cupboard is all jacked up, and my dishwasher leaves spots.”
I shuddered dramatically, reaching up to close the cupboard door.
“Let me guess—it drives you crazy when someone leaves a cupboard door open.”
I said nothing and walked into the front room. (I don’t think I need to confess that he nailed that one.)
A minute later, he joined me in the front room, setting down two glasses of liquid amber before lowering himself onto the couch. “You’re cheating on me?” he asked, looking at the screen. “You can’t watch this without me.”
“What do you mean? You’ve already seen this series.”
“Yeah, I know, but once you start watching a series with someone, you can’t just keep going when they’re not there—it’s the rules!”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s absurd.”
“It’s not. Everyone knows this.”
Ignoring him, I reached for my whiskey and took a sip. “This is nice.”
“You mentioned that you like Irish whiskey that one day at Starbucks. This is my favorite one.”
I checked out the bottle. “Green Spot?”
“Yeah. You like it? I thought it would warm you up. I kept thinking about you being cold last night.”
“I do like it.” I sipped again. “And thank you for your concern. Whiskey is much better than turning up the heat. And it’s going to pair so nicely with my cake batter ice cream.” Moving a little closer to him, I set the tub between us. “Dig in.”
We drank and ate through an entire episode, and just drank through a second. At some point, I went upstairs and washed my face off, but only because Charlie complained that I got avocado in the ice cream. While I was up there, I wondered if I’d gone too far with the anti-attractive campaign. He hadn’t made one move, hadn’t cracked one dirty joke. I frowned at my reflection. Had I lost my appeal? On impulse, I dabbed a little concealer under my eyes and swiped some mascara on my pale lashes. Perfume would be overkill, but how about scented lotion? Under the sink I found some Kiss My Face lavender lotion and rubbed it into my hands and face. Then I pinched a little color into my cheeks and took down my hair. There. Better. I considered changing my clothes but thought that would be too obvious.
I wanted him to want me, but I didn’t want him to know that I wanted him to want me.
This was a tricky game.
When I came back downstairs, Charlie was about to pour more whiskey. “Whoa,” I said. “I don’t know if I should drink any more. I take it you don’t have to work tomorrow?”
“No, I’m off.” He looked at me. “You changed your hair.”
