Page 23 of Lovingly Restored

Oaf? What the fuck.

“Turn to the side,” I tell her.

“What the hell will that do?”

“I don’t know, make you smaller.”

Her voice is shrill. “What isthatsupposed to mean!”

I laugh. It’s too easy. I’m not going to tell her that I wouldn’t change a damn thing about her body. We’re fumbling around each other, the inward opening door hemming us in. Her soft hips brush my legs, and the floral and vanilla smell of her shampoo fills my nose. Ashlyn holds her arms awkwardly, trying to afford herself some personal space.

“Let me out of here, Isaac.”

“I’mtrying,“ I grit out.

With exasperation she tosses her arms up, accidentally swiping the box of detergent off the shelf behind her. Fine white powder spills across the linoleum and over our feet.

She covers her mouth with both hands, brown eyes wide. “Oops.”

What a fucking mess, and I don’t even mean the stuff on the floor.

“I’ll get the broom,” she says. “It’s behind you. Excuse me.”

“I know where the broom is.”

Her telling me where things are in my own damn house irritates me. The powder sticks to my socks but is slippery at the same time. Where exactly does she want me to go? There’s no room to back up, and I’m tracking soap all over the place.

“Let me do the laundry, and then I’ll go.”

She speaks under her breath, “None of this would have happened if you’d stuck to the schedule.”

Holy hell.

This woman isn’t on my nerves, she’sinthem. Why did I ever think we’d be able to manage this living situation? We’re too different. I have about twelve things I need to do, and dancing around while being berated isn’t one of them.

I’mdone.

I grip her waist, lifting her with ease. “Up we go.” I plant her on top of the big dryer with a hollow bang.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Personally, I think she sounds a little breathy. My lungs are doing some type of squeezy thing too, but that’s due to the powerful smell of the spilled laundry soap. Right?

“Laundry.” I wink at her. “Choresarefun.”

I begin transferring the wet clumps of clothing.

“This is highly inappropriate, Isaac Lauri.”

There she goes again. I’ll protect my middle name with my life lest she start using all three of my names.

“I’m just trying to stick to the schedule, Ash,” I say, sweet as honey.

She huffs and crosses her arms, and even though she’s scowling, she looks damn cute perched up there. I fish out the last piece of laundry from the bottom of the drum, a particularly small pair of boxer briefs, unfurling them in front of her before tossing them in.

“For goodness sake,” she says, a pink tinge blooming over her nose and cheeks.

It’s so easy to get a rise out of her, and I’ve been doing it every chance I can. If she’s going to nag me and make my life some sort of chore-laden hell, then I’ll bother her the best way I know. Relentless flirtation. What’s the worst that can happen? I throw the boxers in the dryer, closing the door. Ashlyn lifts her legs at the last second to avoid them getting slammed.

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