Page 24 of Unleashing Chaos

She looks at the jeans in her hand and back at me a couple of times, her eyes wide as if I should know exactly what is going on. When she realizes that I clearly do not, she says, “My jeans, Jace. Why did you put my jeans in the dryer?”

“Because you left them in the washer last night. I believe the words you are looking for are thank you. I also folded them, by the way, so you’re welcome.”

“‘Thank you’? For what? For ruining my brand-new clothes?”

“How the hell do you dry them then?”

“Meredith said not to dry them! That they would shrink if I did! That I had to hang dry them. And she was right. Now they’re all about two inches too short!” She holds up a pair to her waist, and I look down at her ankles. I cringe because even I can tell they’re shorter than they’re supposed to be. “And what started as a size fourteen is probably now, like, an eight and I won’t be able to fit one thigh in them!”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that some rocket scientist made women’s jeans different from men’s jeans? You clean them, dry them, put them away, and wear them.”

“They aren’t different, but these fit me perfectly. Meredith and I spent hours going to stores. I tried on several pairs to find these. It’s not easy to find jeans that are long enough and fit my hips and thighs.” She slaps her hands down on the top of her legs to make her point. “And these jeans need to hang to dry.”

Hang drying jeans and secret bubble baths, it’s too much. “There’s a simple way to avoid this—don’t leave your jeans in the washer.”

She grits her teeth and closes her eyes for a split second. When she opens them, I swear, the green is brighter than ever before. Stepping forward, she takes the pile of jeans from the counter and tosses them at the couch without even looking, where they bounce off the cushions and land haphazardly on the floor. Taking one more step toward me, she says, “You are so damned condescending.”

I step forward, leaving mere inches between her and my chest. “And you are so spoiled.”

Her lashes flutter and her lips part. My teeth ache to bite into the plump, pink bottom one. The heat radiating off her is tempting me to pull her close and see what her skin feels like against mine.

“I’m not spoiled. I just know what I want, and I’m willing to go after it, even if I’m not sure how to make it mine,” she whispers, focusing on my lips looming above hers.

I struggle to maintain control. Just one tilt of my head and I’ll know if her lips taste as sweet as they look. God, I want to know. Keeping my voice a low rumble, I say, “You aren’t as clueless as you let on, Desideria. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“And what’s that?”

Dozens of answers fly through my brain. Sleeping with your blinds open. Standing too close to me on purpose like you are right now. Pissing me off just to make me squirm. Making me hard every time you come into a room.

My last sliver of control vanishes, and I eat the remaining space between us. My bottom lip brushes hers as I rasp, “Just pick up your jeans.”

And as the realization that I’ve nearly kissed her sets in, I jump back as if she’s burned me, wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, and turn away to the stairs before she can say a word.

Eight

DESI

The last two days have been utter hell. Jace refuses to look at me, and, if I’m lucky, he might grumble a good morning or an excuse me as he maneuvers around me. Beyond that, our communication is nonexistent, and I’m tired of this game.

“Why is it you can leave your shoes scattered about or forget your cup on the coffee table, but I rearrange the pillows on the couch, and Jace loses his shit?” I ask.

Cannon peers around the refrigerator door and cocks a brow. “You act as if I’m a complete slob.”

I lean against the island and cross my arms over my stomach. “Well, compared to Jace’s ridiculously high standards, you kind of are,” I say, and when he looks at me with an offended expression, I raise my hands in defense. “Hey, it’s not your fault he expects something so far beyond perfection that it’s impossible.”

“True. One bowl in the sink will not cause the world to crumble around him.” Cannon returns to the counter with all the fixings for turkey sandwiches. Without getting a plate out of the cupboard, he prepares our lunch directly on the granite—an act that would send Jace into an epic meltdown. “Why don’t you just talk to him? The man is a pretty good listener, not to mention really funny.”

I’ve seen Jace’s funny side a couple of times, and it’s a side I really, really like. But ever since we argued and nearly kissed—or whatever the hell happened—he hasn’t shown me any side except the angry one, and it’s intimidating as hell.

“I’ve tried to talk to him. I’ve tried opening up to him. It’s like we take one step forward and two steps back. I just think that somewhere deep down, or maybe not so deep down, he doesn’t like me. That there’s just something about me he can’t stand. He likes you. Me, not so much.”

Cannon sets the used knife on top of the jar of mayo and slaps the top slice of bread over the meat and cheese. He grabs two plates from their shelf and tosses our food on top. “You’re overthinking this, Desi. You’ve had guys walk out on you, never call you back, and stand you up, but you’re here worrying about Jace. You need to do something to get your mind off him.”

I pick up the sandwich and tell him thank you before shoving a bite into my mouth. I haven’t eaten all day, and I am what Glen likes to call hangry.

“You’re right, you’re right. I just hate that he’s my roommate and we can’t seem to get along for more than a couple of days at a time,” I say after swallowing and taking a drink of tea. “You’re right, doing something else sounds fun. But what? Ideas?” I take another bite of my sandwich and drum my fingernails on the countertop.

“Do I have permission to cash in on that second date?”

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