Page 20 of Lovingly Restored

I gasp, snapping the book closed. This man is a walking adrenaline rush. He needs to wear a bell. Between sneaking up on me and that four-letter word from his mouth, my heart is racing.

Isaac leans against the doorway to my bedroom in a way I’m sure my punk rock hero did in Chapter Five. I slide the book beneath my thighs in an attempt to hide the semi-nude man on the cover.

He laughs, pointing in the vicinity of the book. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

The navy blue henley he’s wearing does nothing to camouflage his muscular arms and broad chest. I scan the length of his legs, ensuring I blink at his belt buckle. I’mnotgoing there.

“What are you doing in my room, Lauri?”

I’m not sure why I used his last name like we’re bros. Isaac and I arenoton the same team.

“Myroom, you mean.“ He gestures to a couple sports trophies on a shelf. “But you knew that.”

I swallow. Of course I did. The room has male written all over it. I can guess what’s under the mattress, too. Obviously, I had no clue that the original occupant of said room would need it. When he showed up yesterday and announced he was staying, I thought about offering to trade… but then he pissed me off. First, he ate my snacks, then he touched me. But it wasn’t that finger on my collarbone that bothered me. It’s the way my body lit up from the contact of that solitary digit.

I shake my head to clear the memory. “Looks like it belongs to alittleboy. I’m not switching.”

“The little boy grew up.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I swear his chest swells.

He looks around the room, noting the alterations. The seven-foot-tall palm tree, my clothes in the open closet, the full bedding change. Sleeping in the sheets of an unknown person was a no for me.

“Can I help you?” I lace enough sarcasm into my voice, so he knows I’m not offering to assist him with anything.

“Yes.” He unfurls a pair of jeans. An obvious, orange bleach stain extends down one leg. “Wondering if you knew how to get rid of this?”

“That,” I circle my pointer finger, “is permanent.”

He looks crestfallen, full bottom lip protruding. I note that a grown man pouting should revolt me, but the shape of his lips only makes me wonder how they’d fit against my own.

“Damn. I thought you’d know a laundry trick.”

I stifle a laugh. “A laundry trick?”

As though women received a handbook of such information at the onset of menstruation. Or worse, is he coming in here expecting I’lldohis chores? Forget it.

“Nope, that’s bleach, unfortunately, the damage is done.”

“How unfortunate that someonethrew bleach at me.“ He balls up the fabric and chucks it toward me, but I dodge.

“I thought you were an intruder. It was an automatic reaction.”

“Remind me to not sneak up on you if you’re cooking in case you have a knife.”

“Smart. I keep them real sharp.”

“Are you aware of how hard it is to find jeans with a thirty-five-inch inseam?”

“Um.” I gesture to my legs that don’t come anywhere near the end of the bed. “The distressed look is fashionable.” I have to lighten the mood. For the plants. I’d hate for them to wilt from the awkwardness.

“Spring is coming. I’ll turn them into cut-offs.”

His delivery is deadpan, and while I endeavour not to burst into laughter, the mental image of a pair of blond hairy legs in booty shorts breaks me. Laughter bubbles out of me.

“I don’t think you have the ass for it.” I crane my neck, pretending to steal a look.

“I think you know I do.” His warm grin hints at dimples beneath his scruff.

I cover my mouth, trying to get myself in check. Flirtatious banter, or whatever this is, can’t happen. It goes against what I told him last night. He made his choice, and I won’t be an afterthought because our living situation puts me right under his nose.

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