Page 57 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

He made a disgusted face. “Was that an option?”

“It was last year after the broken chair incident.” I shuddered. “Two weeks cleaning up barf from seasick tourists.”

Curiosity sparked in his eyes. “Broken chair incident?”

“You don’t want to know.” I cringed. If no one had told him yet, I certainly wasn’t going to. “Want to help me serve the great people of Winterhaven?”

“Sure.” He gripped my doorway above his head as if stretching out his back, putting his muscles on full display. My mind went completely, utterly blank. A calm sea. Sand so white it blinded you. A sky without clouds. An unpainted canvas. Dylan’s soft skin tightened around the strip of exposed abs as he pushed his chest outward, then released his hold. “I really appreciate your help.”

With what? I had no idea what he was talking about. He brought his arms down and stared at me, but I could still only think in nouns. Biceps. Skin. Community service. Painting. The library.

“What time?” he asked.

I blinked. Then blinked some more for good measure. And took a long drink from my disposable water bottle. Did I need sugar, maybe? A fan? A long, hot kiss from a hot, strong man?

Nope, not that.

“Tomorrow morning at nine. Bring your phone. We’ll get pictures for social media while we’re there.” I held onto our scheme like a lifeline to pull me from my weirdness.Muscles are normal, Rosie. You’ve seen them before.“Community service, when not court ordered, looks really good for your image.”

Chapter 22

Dylan

Roommate Group Chat

Bret:Did you bring any of your jerseys with you?

Dylan: Yep.

Gage: Why did you bring one?

Bret: It’s his emotional support jersey.

Bret: Give Rosie one to wear.

Dylan: Really?

Bret: Trust me.

When Rosie opened herapartment door, I thrust my wadded-up jersey into her hands.

“What’s this?” She uncrumpled it and held it in front of her. The alien cat stalked behind her, eying me closely. I’d found it in my apartment again this morning, asleep against my bedroom door, curled up in a dirty shirt it must have dragged over fromthe bedroom. It definitely would have tried snuggling with me again if I hadn’t locked the door.

“My jersey,” I mumbled. “You should wear it today.”

I expected more push back from her, so I was surprised when she said, “Okay,” and she threw it over her head. It went halfway down her thighs, covering up her shorts and making it look like a dress on her. She brought up the neckline and sniffed it. “It smells like you.”

Oh no. I hadn’t even thought of that. “Give it back to me, and I’ll wash it.”

“No.” She clutched the neckline against her chest. “I like the smell of you.” She dropped my shirt like it burned her. “I mean …”

A slow smile spread across my face. “You do?”

She glared at me, but it didn’t have any actual anger to it.

“Should we go before we’re late?” Why was I saving her? I wanted to hear more about how good I smelled.

“This is ridiculous,” Icomplained, but I flexed my biceps as I held the paint brush awkwardly against the wall as she directed.

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