Page 74 of Steamy Ever After

The guy is my height, with pale skin and red, wavy hair and despite his uniform, he’s kind of cute, in an adorable Ed Sheeran sort of way.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

I nod with a cringe. “I am, thanks. Hope the box is okay.”

“I’m sure they have insurance,” he replies with a kind smile, the sunlight hitting his icy blue eyes. “You have a good day, miss.”

“You, too.”

I continue down the sidewalk, but glance over my shoulder, and our gazes lock. He smiles at me before entering the building. Thank my lucky stars he isn’t watching me anymore, because that’s the moment I trip on absolutely nothing, fall down, and my left hand lands on a sticky piece of gum.

“Wonderful.”

Once I’ve peeled myself off the ground, and the disgusting, gummy pink blob off my palm, I dust my skirt off and take stock of any injuries. The only victim of the collision is my left Birkenstock strap, which has ripped off.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

I find a hair tie in my purse and salvage the shoe with it, then raise my head, determined not to let this day get any worse.

After overpaying for my coffee and a croissant for Flo, I return to the office, miraculously unscathed and settle in for the day, but not before adding a reminder in my phone to pick up milk after work.

Joe reads a book, spread out across my couch like he owns it. His white V-neck tee stretches across his chest and lifts at his waist high enough to give me a clear view of the rigid planes of his lower stomach. I’m so exhausted after the day I had, but his body attracts my eye like a magnet and mine reacts, becoming alert and needy. And I fucking hate it.

I drop my purse and keys on the table by the front door.

“Bad day?” Joe asks, not bothering to lift his eyes from whatever he’s reading.

“Sort of.” I walk to the kitchen for a glass of wine, but the sight of the green and white carton in the fridge stops me cold and I cringe. “I told you I was getting milk.”

“You did?” he shouts back from the living room.

Since he doesn’t see me, I flip him the middle finger before walking out to face him. “You know very well I did.”

He shrugs. “Now we’ve got extra. No big deal.”

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head, and his T-shirt slides up a few more inches. Again, my eyes drag down his chest. I tear them away—the traitorous little bastards.

When he stands, his wide smile dimples his cheeks in a way I’m sure would make most women swoon. Not me though.

“I’ll make you a milkshake or something,” he adds, brushing past me into the kitchen, then I hear the contents in the fridge door rattle. “Where’s the milk?”

“In the fridge.” I bite the inside of my cheek.

“No. The one you bought.” When I don’t answer, he peeks out from the kitchen. “Jane? Where’s your milk?”

I turn around, crossing my arms and clench my fists. “I didn’t get any.”

I focus on the ground, but feel his intense stare searing into the back of my neck.

“Hang on a second.” He twists the cap off his beer, and I hear it drop into the garbage. “You’re bitching at me for getting milk, but you didn’t even get any?”

“That’s not the point.”

A deep v forms between his amber eyes. “That’s exactly the point.”

“I told you I’d get it, so you should have let me get it.” I busy my hands by folding the throw he let fall to the floor, then lay it neatly on the back of the couch.

“I forgot, okay? Anyway, I got some, so why are you so angry?”

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