Page 13 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
That scary feeling was back, and he realized he was being a hypocrite. He had feelings for her—feelings he had no intention of sharing with her—and here he was talking about honesty? “Just saying. Now, does Pierre stay or go?”
Her jaw tensed before she said, “I’m winning a star—hopefully more than one—and I’m doing it on my own regardless of whether we have a talking parrot who knows food.”
His solar plexus was jumping, so he went for levity. “Isn’t saying a talking parrot repetitive?”
She hit him with a not-so-subtle punch, making him grunt. Good. Maybe she could punch the lust out of him.
“You mentioned earlier that you’d already reached your limit on crazy.” That intent look was back. “What happened?”
He grabbed his phone. “Let’s just say it’s like ‘Living La Vida Loca’ but not in the way Ricky Martin meant.”
“What happened?” she pressed.
He gestured to Sawyer’s painting corner, as Dean so sweetly called it, tucked at the end of the communal living room. “I was scrolling on social media on this very couch when Sawyer slashed a knife through what I thought was a perfectly good painting for Nanine’s last night, muttering something about Monet and Matisse’s genius.”
Truthfully, it hadn’t made him crazy. It had broken his heart, watching his friend rip the torn, wet canvas and ball it up and throw it in the trash.
She bit her lip before gesturing to the new blank canvas on Sawyer’s easel, one Kyle had placed there this morning after much internal debate. He’d discarded the urge to put a Post-it Note on it readingYou’ve got this.His only reassurance this morning had been hearing Sawyer was heading to Sennelier for more paint. Right now, Kyle wasn’t sure Sawyer could finish the paintings he’d promised Nanine. But more importantly, his friend was suffering and he didn’t know how to help.
“Maybe he needs more room to paint, where no one else is around to watch,” Madison said after tapping her chin. “While I like the wholepush the ottoman against the wall to make room for an artistlook, he’s right out here in the open. I know from personal experience that you don’t want people to see you in process when you aren’t at your finest or best.”
He was going to tuck that detail away for future reference. “This whole place is too small for us, now that we’re adults.”
She winced, her slender dark brows knitting. “I’m lucky the kitchen is a large space, and I’m grateful for free room and board—”
“But we’re not college kids anymore. I want a king-size bed again and more space.” He gestured to the room and stopped all thoughts of beds and whom he’d like in his. “Not that this place isn’t great. It’s got a great view, floor-to-ceiling double windows, and frescoed ceilings—”
“I live for those, dahling,” she said haughtily, her usual snark back.
“I—we—also need a real office.” He pointed to the sole electrical plug in the room. “I trip the breaker every time I print something—”
By her ever-increasing smile, he knew she was starting to enjoy his rant. “First, we put Sawyer in a corner and now you tell me about your printing woes. You poor baby. Should mama kiss it and make it better?”
His eyes zoomed in on her plump, full lips before he shot back, “Jesus! No.”
“Don’t act so weird about it.” She puckered up, and he gave her a playful shove while his heart tripped in his chest.
“We tried that, Madison, and your lip-lock technique is still giving me Jason-like nightmares. I might need hypnosis to recover,” he lied.
Her only response was a grin, which had him thinking he really might be the only person for whom the infamous kiss had changed things. And that made it even more of a bad thing.
“I’ll bet Dean can find a hypnotist for you,” she said, “along with a happy clown and a therapy elephant, to complete your healing routine.”
He frowned at her, knowing she was just going to keep teasing him. That was how they’d agreed to handle theget rid of Paisleykiss they’d shared—with snark. He needed a comeback to cover up the emotions roiling inside him. Teasing banter was his life preserver right now.
“Can you possibly put a paper sack over your head so I don’t have to watch your lips move?” he shot back.
Those golden eyes sparkled with delight. “Maybe later I can cut holes in a paper sack for my face. But sticking to topic… Yes, I know some of you are having issues with our space, and I’m sympathetic.”
“But you aren’t.” He gazed at her, choosing his words carefully. “Just how much space did you have in your Miami apartment?”
“Do you know how crazy Miami prices are?” She made the motion of dishing out dollar bills. “I had something like a studio. I don’t need much space. I didn’t have much growing up. I was barely home with my hours at the restaurant. How many bedrooms did your house in Austin have?”
Pretending to pick lint off his navy suit jacket would be the coward’s way out. “Four.” He wouldn’t mention the guesthouse.
“Doesn’t having a lot of space make you feel weird? All those empty rooms collecting dust—”
“The cleaning lady—” He shut up. While everyone knew he came from money and had made a ton of it himself, sometimes it was a touchy subject.
