Page 60 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

“I forget what normal is around him.” She leaned too close to the wall and her hair swung into the wet paint, leaving it with white tips that then brushed her collarbone and neck, creating more white streaks. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Clearly,” I said dryly. On impulse, I ran my finger across the wet paint at her collarbone. Her eyes widened as I then drew my finger down the bridge of her nose, leaving behind a streak of white.

She gasped and turned more fully toward me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Max pause and take us in.

Amusement danced in Rosie’s eyes as she snapped her wrist, paint from her roller splattering across my shirt, face, and beard.

“Oops,” she said with a devilish grin that was anything but remorseful.

I stepped toward her slowly, and then quick enough she couldn’t get away, I brought my face to her neck to wipe the paint off onto her.

She shrieked in laughter and pushed me away, flinging more paint onto me in the process. I came toward her with a playful growl, and she held her roller out like a weapon.

“Don’t come any closer,” she said with breathy laugh. “I know how to use this, Dylan.”

“I thought I already established that I’m not afraid of a little paint.” I took another playful step toward her, dragging my fingers along the freshly painted wall as I did. Her eyes widened, along with her stance.

“You wouldn’t.”

I lunged for her with my wet fingers, but she ducked under my reach. I didn’t even realize that she’d swiped the paint brush from the bucket until she raced around me, and I felt a cold glob of wet hit the back of my head and run down my back.

I turned to find Rosie, a brush in one hand, her roller in the other, both held out like swords. A devious smile stretched across her beautiful face.

“You’re fighting dirty.”

“I have three older brothers. It’s the only way I know how to fight.”

I barked out a laugh at that. My smiles always seemed to lower her guard for some reason. I used it to my advantage to race closer and grab her around the waist.

She squealed and flung the paint on me, but I walked her backward until her back was pressed flush against the wet wall. I stepped in close to her, our breaths mingling as she laughedand tipped her head back into the paint to stare up at me with a gorgeous smile.

I nearly staggered backward at the feeling that pummeled me. More than want. More than desire. I could deal with those feelings.

This was something different. Something I couldn’t deal with. Not right now, and maybe not ever.

Her breathing changed, and the energy around us was charged with sudden expectation. My grip tightened on her hips, and my fingers grazed the tiny slice of skin at her waist. Her breath caught, and her hand clutched my shirt at my chest, the paint brushes dropped at some point.

She bit her lip, and I nearly groaned. Maybe I did groan, because her eyes widened and then fluttered shut as her head tilted up. An invitation? If so, I wasn’t going to say no.

“Hey! That paint isn’t free.”

I pulled back slowly, any elation I’d been feeling replaced by dread, and turned to see my dad standing three feet behind us, Max at his side, both of them competing for most disappointed expression.

Rosie squeaked. She was covered in white, nearly from head to toe, and I figured I didn’t fare much better.

“Dylan.” Dad motioned for me to step closer to him, and his tone brooked no room for argument. The anger wasn’t what raised my hackles, though. It was the disappointment. Always with the disappointment. It sometimes felt impossible to make my dad happy.

“I don’t need you coming here and being a bad influence.”

“I’m the one who started it,” Rosie said, coming close to my side. I expected she’d take this moment to talk to Max, who was still staring at us like he was trying to figure something out.

Dad looked at her sourly. “Don’t cover for him.”

“I’m not,” she said indignantly. “Is it really so hard to believe I’d start a paint fight?” She stepped close enough for her arm to be pressed into mine, the stickiness of the paint brushing against my skin.

“You can’t afford another ticket.”

“How would this earn her a ticket?” I asked, coming in too hot. Dad turned his thunderous expression to me.

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