There are yellow curtains with fucking pom-pom balls pushed to the edge of my panoramic window.
Green. So much greenery between the succulents on my bookshelf and the giant leafy tree in the corner by the window.
Speaking of my bookshelf, it’s a fucking rainbow. My books are completely rearranged, and the amount seems to have doubled in size since I left. Indy has taken my well-thought-out and organized bookshelf and made it look like a unicorn threw up on it as it goes from red to purple, sorted by color. What god-awful reason should Investing 101 be sandwiched between two books with shirtless men on the covers? Because they’re all orange?
And why the fuck are there naked dudes on my bookshelf?
She’s a romantic. Of course, she’s a goddamn romantic. She waited six years for a proposal that never came. She likes flowers and girly clothes. I should’ve known.
I circle my apartment in a frenzy. This was a mistake, letting her move in. Forty-eight hours alone and she’s taken over. Everywhere I look there’s a piece of her. Something she touched or changed. Color decorates every nook and cranny, but overall, there’s so much fucking Blue.
I hate it. I can physically feel the control slipping away. My usual even-keeled composure is crawling with anxious thoughts, and I need my space back. I need it to be mine.
“Indy!” I yell into the silence. I don’t give a fuck that it’s the ass crack of morning. I need to fix this. “Indigo, wake up!”
“What happened to being quiet when you come home from road trips? I’m sleeping!”
I pound on her door. “Indy, I swear to God if you don’t get out here, I’m coming in your room.”
“Please do! I sleep naked.”
Oh.
Heavy breaths keep words from coming out. Hands rest on either side of her doorframe as the image invades my mind. Her, naked. In my house. In the bed I bought her. Heat mixes oddly with the frustration thrumming through my body and the arousal is so sudden and so heady I’m almost lightheaded from the blood rushing south. I’m not sure how long it’s been since I’ve seen a woman’s naked flesh, but my body angrily reminds me with a jolt of my cock that it’s been far too fucking long.
Pushing those images away, I take a centering breath. Her most likely flawless naked body is the last thing I need to think about.
She opens the door, fully dressed in pajamas, startling me, and pulling me out of my daydream. “I knew that’d work. A naked woman in your house is practically your biggest fear.” She ducks under my arm and heads to the kitchen. “I know you did not just wake me up without bringing me coffee.”
“What the fuck happened to my apartment?”
“What are you talking about?” She keeps her back to me as she turns on the coffee maker.
“Why is all your shit all over the place?”
“Because I live here.”
“You have a bedroom.”
“So do you.”
God, this is like talking to a child. “Keep your things in your room.”
“You want me to keep my coffee cup in my bedroom?” She holds it up, trying not to laugh.
“Well…” I stumble. “Okay, that can stay, but everything else… I like my space a certain way, Indy.”
“Boring, you mean. Ryan, your house was like a prison cell. It needed some life.”
“There’s a fucking tree in my living room!”
“Actually, it’s a Fiddle-leaf fig plant and it’s there because this window faces the east, and the perfect amount of sun comes through here. Bright but not too direct. I have a north facing window. It wouldn’t thrive. So, maybe you could take a breather thanks to the oxygen it’s providing, yeah?”
What the fuck?
“What?” she asks as she puts her hot coffee in the fridge to cool down. “I’m not some blonde Barbie without a brain.”
“I didn’t say that.”