Page 28 of Stella

I bit my lip. I hadn’t gone grocery shopping for my heat yet, but I didn’t feel like leaving the house. There were too many people out there. “I was going to pick up some Epsom salts.”

“And food?”

“And food,” I grumbled. “I’m almost three weeks early. I wasn’t prepared.”

“Do you have the app? My sisters swear by it.”

There were a variety of apps to track your heat cycle, but it always seemed like too much work.

I shrugged. “No. I’ll come with you.”

It was too peoplely out there, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to spend time with Evan.

“Sure.” Evan grinned like this was his plan all along.

“I have to go shower before I can leave the house.”

“No problem.” He sat down in the wicker chair, the same one Jerrick and I’d had sex in, and another bolt of heat pulsed through me.

I swallowed hard. “Help yourself to water or juice or whatever you manage to find in the fridge.”

“I’ll be okay.” Evan winked at me. “Love this chair.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I retreated for the shower.

When I came out of the bathroom dressed in a peasant top and flowing skirt, Evan was folding laundry on the living room couch.

I blinked.

“Hey, I didn’t know if you hang your skirts or not.” He gestured at the pile of skirts he had neatly draped over the back of my armchair.

“You’re folding my laundry.”

“The buzzer went off.” He shrugged. “I also switched the water out in the sink you had your delicates in.”

I had a love for soft fabrics, which meant half of my shirts had to be hand washed. It was a giant pain in the butt, and definitely not my favorite chore.

I stared at him. “You’re doing laundry. And you’re going with me to pick up some Epsom salts.”

Evan looked up, his brown eyes warm. His black hair was tousled today, and it was sexy, like we had tousled his hair doing fun things. “Sure.”

I squinted. “Why?”

“If you let things soak too long it can be bad for the fabric.”

I waved my hand. “I mean, why are you here?”

“You need food.” Evan folded my favorite shirt, the one with little daisies and hearts embroidered over it. “And I was going to the store anyway.”

“You’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart,” I said flatly. I was equal parts annoyed and aroused at how easily he fit in my house. The sight of a man doing laundry was enough to make anyone hot and bothered.

He cocked his head. “It’s too close to your heat to ask you on a date. I thought we could spend some quality time together, getting you set up.”

Somehow that explanation didn’t put me into a more positive frame of mind. It only annoyed me more. “So, you’renotasking me on a date.”

“Nope.” He picked up my flared jeans, the ones with the perfectly distressed knees. “You’ll overthink whether or not you should date me. Your hormones are in overdrive, and they’ll make you keep second guessing what you want.”

He was right, but the idea that he wasn’t going to ask me on a date, or wasn’t going to even try, still annoyed me.

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