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“You know, you’re kind of bossy.” I narrowed my eyes. “I think I might be all out of favors for tonight.”
“Oh, no.” She jabbed a severe finger into my chest. “You owe me for slapping my ass back there. That was out of line.”
I rocked back onto my heels and let out a huff. She had me there. I shrugged. “Force of habit.”
Her only response was an arched brow.
I liked her sass. Liked that she didn’t back down, ever. Maybe that’s why I jumped onto the desk, ignoring the organ in my pants that was enjoying the sight of her angry little scowl. My little brain needed to be reminded by my big brain that I didn’t have time to entertain an angry woman while I was here. The best thing to do was to get her out of here before the evening’s events got out of hand. Or should I say, more out of hand.
I glanced up through the opening. Wow, her ceiling was much higher than mine. What else was up there? I reached for the jagged edges of the hole and thrust my body up into her place. My nose nearly grazed the white clawfoot tub when I made my way through. “Ah!” My shoulder stung with a fresh scrape, but it was just a fat splinter. “I’m in!” I called down. “Bring the tweezers.”
“Oh, shut up,” she groused, disappearing from view.
I stood up and surveyed the room. Her bed was unmade, as if she’d just slept in it with a laptop and various files piled up near her pillows. The foot of the bed looked like a dump truck had unloaded an entire load of throw pillows onto the floor. Floral ones and tasseled ones and striped ones and even a faux-fur one. I frowned at the pile of pillows. She seemed so tough, made of spit and mettle. But she liked pretty things.
The room smelled just like her skin, so I took in another breath. As I wandered out to find her front door, I passed the kitchen. There, in the corner near the toaster, was a collection of cans of sparkling water. I drifted closer, noting they were all peach-flavored, and shuddered. Disgusting.
I took in all the other little details—framed family photos, a collection of antique teacups on the shelf, a vase of fresh daisies on the table. Her apartment felt warm and well-lived-in. A pang of guilt twisted in my gut, but only for a split second. If she could make this dump welcoming, imagine what she could do with a new apartment. One with intact flooring.
I opened the door, and she stood there with one hand on her hip. “Hello, again.”
Her gaze fell to my arm and she leaned in. The tweezers bit my arm as she dislodged a shard of wood.
“Hey!” I flinched and smacked my hand to my shoulder.
“There. Now we’re even.” She pushed her way past me and stopped with an impatient expression. “You’d best be going. Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime,” I said, stepping out. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
“Uh-huh.” She shut the door before I could say another word. I stared at the wood grain on her front door for a moment, and for some reason I couldn’t explain, my lips curled into a smile.
A minute later, I turned the knob to my apartment but it didn’t give. So I tried again. Locked. Of course… Had she done that on purpose? Back up at her front door, I banged my knuckles against the hollow wood in a friendly rhythm.
She opened the door still in her stained blue towel. “Don’t tell me you’re here to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“No, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the only sweet thing in this apartment. My front door is locked. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said a moment before giving me a sharp smile. “Force of habit.” Her words were delivered like little daggers.
I held her gaze for a moment, my heart thumping. This woman would drive me nuts if I spent any more time with her. So why wasn’t I ready to turn around and leave?
I let myself in and headed toward her bedroom. “If you wanted me to stay the night, you should’ve said so.”
Her steps followed close behind. “Oh, you think you’re so cute. Well, I don’t.”
“You sure about that?” I took a few steps into her bedroom, my eyes drawn to the messy bed and ridiculous overabundance of throw pillows. When I took a step closer, the floor squeaked beneath me.
She strode past me and took an authoritative stance near the hole. “I have a very important meeting tomorrow and I need to sit on a bag of ice, so you have to go.”
“I know another place you can sit.”
The words just…slipped out. There was something about the flush warming her cheeks and the outrage lighting her eyes that made my mouth move before I could think—but it was worth it just to see her scowl.
Clasping the blood-smeared towel at her chest, she pointed her finger at the opening. “Get in the hole, jerkwad.”
I couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across my lips. Then I made my way to the opening between our two worlds, sat on the edge, and let my legs dangle beneath me. The last of the bathwater draining from her tub gurgled down the drain, bubbles clinging to the bottom.
She liked throw pillows and bubble baths. A woman who was hard, who took no shit, and who surrounded herself with pretty things and delicate scents. My gaze snagged on a splatter of red on the far wall: ink. A pen sat in a pool of red below the mess on the wall.
