Page 48 of Flaunt
“Easy. Deal.”
“Third thing is don’t leave your girly stuff all over my bathroom. And if you shed in the shower, pick it up.”
“There’s not a second bathroom?”
I add the two new rules to the paper. “There used to be. The second one is inoperable at the moment.”
“Do I want to know why?”
“Probably not.” I take a breath. “Fourth rule is no men who don’t share my bloodline in my house. Period. Got it?”
She frowns. “What? You don’t want to hear me and Brock getting it on?”
I narrow my eyes.
“Fine. No men in your house.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “But I have rules of my own.”
“I’m not done.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Go on.”
“Five,” I say. “Keep your vibrators in your room.”
“Oh, you are so funny.”
“I’m being serious.” The thought of her lying in bed fucking herself is too much for this conversation. “Moving on … No touching Betsy. Don’t even breathe on her.”
“Who the hell is Betsy?”
“My car. She’s in the garage under a dust cover.” I narrow my eyes. “She’s my baby.”
“Fine. I don’t want to touch your dumb car anyway. Rule seven,” she says. “I can clean the house.”
“You can’t make rules in my house. That’s not how this works.”
She lifts a brow. “I won’t move anything where you can’t see it if you were looking for it in the original location, but—”
“I don’t want you touching my stuff. Any of it. Hands off.”
She groans. “We have to be able to sit at the table, Banks.”
“Eat in bed. That’s what I do.”
She grips her arm rests like she’s a second from lurching forward and walking out.
This isn’t the hill I want to die on. I don’t even really want to be on this hill, but I’ve already started climbing it and scaling back down without hitting the peak would be more awkward than suffering through the rest of the adventure.
“Fine,” I say. “You can clean. But you can’t throw anything away.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I say again.
A slow smile spreads across her face, and she sinks back in her chair. “When do you want me to move in, roomie?”
I’m not sure whether to feel defeated or excited. Played or playing. Whether this is going to be hell … or heaven.
I shift in my seat in a futile attempt at relieving some of the energy coursing through my veins. “I’ll be home in an hour and a half.”
