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Again.

I know that’s the point, but it still annoys me.

I unlock the door and step inside. A smile hits my face at the cinnamon and orange smell that fills the room.

“Damn, it smells nice in here.”

And then he has to go and ruin it, my moment of knowing I’m finally home for the night.

I shimmy off my coat and hang it up. Preston does the same, hanging his right next to mine.

“This place is cute.” He moves to the couch and holds up a pillow that is white with yellow polka dots. “Very you.”

I snatch my pillow from his hand and then grab the other one, clutching them to my chest.

“You don’t know me, Preston.”

“I don’t?” he asks, and his tone is thick with challenge.

“No.”

He sits, making himself right at home. Legs wide, body leaned back, arms stretched across the back of the couch. “Try me.”

“No,” I repeat. “We are not playing games.”

“Why not? It’ll pass the time, since we can’t go anywhere.”

“We can read in silence.”

“Fuuuuck that, Sunny. A movie at least.”

“I swear you argue with me for the sake of arguing.”

“It’s the one thing we have in common.”

The nerve.

I gasp so loudly, his head falls back as he chuckles.

“You’re responding that way because you know I’m right.”

Do I enjoy that he has quick comebacks? Sure. Would I say that it’s the reason I enjoy arguing with him? Yes—no, wait. I don’t enjoy it.

Do I?

My gaze meets his and then drops to that damn smile.

Shit. I do.

Head held high, I walk past him to my bedroom.

“Oh, is it time for the tour?” He jumps up and follows me.

I’m two steps into my room when it hits me that he’s not pausing at the doorway.

“Your bed looks nice. Big. Like it could fit two people,” he points out.

“It’s not big enough for your ego. You’re stuck with the couch.”