by Sarah Adams
“Should have thought about that sooner. Last night while you were up redecorating my home would have been a perfect time.”
I can’t hide my grin. It did bother him. This is my punishment—forced commando. It was worth it. I knew Drew was particular about things, and mixing all of my stuff in with his has upset his well-being. All day I’ve watched him walk from room to room and cringe. His color scheme before was grey, white, and black. Now it’s an array of rainbow pastels, fuzzy materials, and a messy pile of shoes he has re-organized more than once already. I go behind him and scatter them out a little just to make his hair stand on end. Literally. I’ve learned when Drew is stressed, he rakes his hands straight back through his hair, making it all stick up at crazy angles. He forgets to smooth it back down half the time, but I refuse to find it adorable.
“That washer is huge—just let me put my clothes in with yours.” I try to hip-check him out of the way, but he won’t budge. He’s a tree trunk with deep roots. I try to lift my laundry basket to dump it inside, but he outstretches his arm so it’s anchoring my basket down. The top of his bicep presses against my chest, and my shoulder digs into his armpit. He smells good.
“No.”
“Why?” I’m struggling.
“Because that’s just not how it works. I wash my scrubs separate from everything else. All those bright pinks you have will bleed onto them.” It doesn’t surprise me at all that Drew is particular about his laundry.
We’re body against body. I’d like to think we’re both working hard to stand our ground against the other, but I know if I were to check the replay cameras, I would see myself red-faced with puffed-up cheeks trying to maneuver him out of the way, and he would be leisurely eating a sandwich or something.
“Not if we wash them on cold.” My voice is a grunt, and it makes him chuckle deep in his chest.
His face angles down to me, lips tilting. “Are you even trying right now?”
I want to reach up and pluck every one of those beautiful eyelashes out of his lids. He doesn’t deserve them. “No, because I don’t want to injure you with my super strength.”
“I’ll live. Give me your best shot. Really put your back into it.”
“I hate you.”
“I have no idea how I’ll sleep tonight.” He uses one arm to keep me away from the washer and bends down to retrieve his scrubs then tosses them inside. In the middle of that movement, the hem of his hoodie rises up three inches, revealing a sliver of taut, smooth, tan skin, along with the waistband of his black Calvin Klein underwear. I don’t realize until he shuts the lid to the washer that I’ve stopped fighting and am a useless pile of bones. My mouth is slightly open, and I think my tongue was hanging out. If just that tiny peek at what’s living under Drew’s clothes made me short-circuit so completely, I can’t imagine what seeing the whole thing will do to me.
Wait. What? No. There will be no seeing Drew’s body. NONE. DON’T EVEN WANT TO! Bleh.
Thoroughly freaked out by that train of thought, I clear my throat and spin away, storming toward my room. Or the freezer so I can dunk my head into the ice tray. Drew’s chuckling lingers in the air behind me, and I decide to let him think he’s won. Victory is always sweeter when your opponent underestimates you.
Ten minutes later, I hear the door to Drew’s bedroom shut. Feeling confident that the ogre has retreated into his cave for the night, I walk on tiptoes all the way back down the stairs, yellow laundry basket in tow. I’m a dirty little sneak all the way into the laundry room, and when I open the lid of the washing machine, I smile down into the murky water then dump all my undies inside to mingle with Drew’s scrubs. I will not go commando tomorrow, and Drew will not win this match tonight.
Unfortunately, though, when I read my text message from my grandfather, I’m informed that he did win.
Grandaddy: Four packages of Oreos. I win. Tray needs a pincher.
In the morning, I wait until I see Drew drive off in his car before I walk downstairs. I personally moved the laundry over from the washer to the dryer before bed because I didn’t trust Drew to not let my undies sit and mildew. But when I open the dryer, it’s empty. Drew’s clothes are missing, and so are mine. Misplaced hope pushes into my heart and I think maybe he folded my laundry for me, or at least put them in the living room.
One thorough sweep of the house later, I realize I might never see those panties again. That freak hid my underwear!! All of them! Is this life’s way of punishing me for wearing every scrap of my clothes before washing them? Wonderful. Looks like I get to go underwear-less today.
Just before I leave the house for work, I get a text.
Sexy Drew: Be careful outside today, Commander. It’s a little breezy.
Apparently, that jerk also stole my phone, unblocked his number, and gave himself a new contact name.
I’m a stewing, angry little panty-less troll all morning. My thoughts are nowhere but on all the ways I plan to exact revenge on Drew (in addition to the gem I already have planned for the fundraiser, of course). Over brunch, Lucy finally notices my intensity.
“What is it with you today?” She has a big bite of blueberry muffin in her mouth. “You look like you’re constipated.”
I am. I’m constipated with revenge. Ew. Yeah, that was a little gross. “Sorry.”
“You’re not going to tell me? Is something wrong?”
Other than the fact that these jeans are chafing my butt? No. For some odd reason, I don’t want to tell Lucy what happened with Drew. It’s irrational to want to keep it to myself. It was a rude prank he pulled; I should be overflowing with joy to slander that man further. Instead, it feels like it’s a little secret between me and Drew. I’m holding on to it like a captured lightning bug in a jar. In the dark, I’ll watch it flicker, and I’ll smile.
I should tell Lucy…
“Just tired. Still not sleeping well.” I avoid looking at her because I’m afraid she’ll see that I’m still holding back half the truth.
The bell over the door chimes at the coffee shop—our favorite place to go for a midmorning coffee break when our schedules magically align and we both have an hour off at the same time—and Lucy looks over my shoulder. A smile lights her face, and in my opinion, it doesn’t match the words that come out of her mouth.
“Look, Drew just walked in!”
My heart kicks into overdrive. “WHAT!” Irrationally, I drop my sunglasses from my head to my nose, grab for a dinky paper menu, and hold it up to my face. “Do you have a floppy hat?!”
“You know I don’t.”
“But you’re a mom.”
“You say that like it’s an explanation for why I’d have a floppy hat hidden on my person.”
I peek wide eyes at her over the menu. “Why do you carry around an enormous purse if not to be prepared for everything? Never mind. Has he seen us? Don’t draw attention.”
She waves her hand over her head. An astronaut in space sees her because her movements are so exaggerated and waves back. “Drew! Over here!”
“You’re not getting anything for Christmas this year.”
She sticks her tongue out at me playfully. I make a distorted ugly expression. When I feel a big shadow loom over me, I haul the menu back up to my face and unfold it like a newspaper until my nose practically touches the ink. I feel Drew’s voice rather than hear it.
“Hey, Luce. Who’s your mysterious friend?” He says it with a hint of amusement. He knows it’s me. I should just put down the menu, but I don’t. I want to hide from him, and I’m not entirely sure why.
Actually, I do. It’s that damn sliver of skin I saw. It did something to my brain—altered me like a computer virus. This morning I noticed that Drew built a little shelf above his bedroom door and placed my Frosty the Snowman mug on it like a trophy. Who does something like that?! Me. I would, and frankly, I’m annoyed I don’t get to. Point is, he’s still the same old annoying, gloating, selfish Drew he’s always been…but I don’t know. Before, I co
uld think of him as a robot. A spawn of the devil. Now I know for a fact he has flesh. Gorgeous, man flesh.
“I don’t know. Who am I at lunch with?” Lucy asks, knowing better than to invent a story on her own.
“Nobody. No one is here, go about your day.”
Below the menu, I can see Drew plant his hand on the top of the table. Above me, his shadow grows. And then his finger peeks over the edge of the menu and he pulls it down, revealing his stoic face and jet-black scrubs. No smiles for miles. Good. I don’t want to see his hideous dimples.
When the menu is down, he sees my sunglasses and lifts a brow. He wants to smile but holds back. The feeling is mutual. His hand rises again and peels the sunglasses off my face. I wish more than anything I could be a sunglasses nesting doll. How great would it have been if there were a smaller pair of sunglasses under these, and then a pair of goggles under those, and then tiny little 1800s spectacles under all of them?
Without the protection of my eyewear, Drew leaves me vulnerable to attack from his deep, dark, angry blue eyes. What does he have to be angry about?
“I have lavender scrubs at home now.” His voice is so low, anyone around me might think he’s talking sexy to me. I know otherwise.
I press my lips together and try to stifle a laugh. “Good for you—not conforming to gender color stereotypes.”
Lucy is completely lost, looking between the two of us. “I don’t get it.”
He smirks and keeps his eyes on me. “When someone mixes hot pink with light blue, the result is lavender.”
I hold Drew’s gaze and have to suck my cheeks in to keep from laughing. There’s no way his scrubs are as bad as he says. I’ve washed those undies a dozen times already—the color wouldn’t have run so potently. He’s being dramatic as always.
Lucy’s phone rings, and she answers it hesitantly, like she’s afraid to leave Drew and me unchaperoned for any length of time for fear that we’ll murder each other in cold blood right in the middle of this coffee shop. His eyes get darker, and I think maybe we will.
“Hi Mom…” we hear Lucy say as she trails off toward the door.
Drew’s eyes squint a little. I squint back a little more dramatically. The edge of his mouth twitches. Suddenly, it’s getting warmer in here, and I realize it’s because Drew is still hovering over me, soaking up all the refreshing breeze I would normally be able to feel.
I lean back in my chair a smidge and wave my hand in a sharp annoyed movement. “Okay, back up. Enough with the looming. Are your scrubs really lavender?”
He stands back up to his full height, and now I feel like an ant down here. He nods an affirmative to my question.
“How? When you wash colors on cold—”
“I wash my scrubs on hot.”
Oh. Well, that would do it.
“Guys, I’m so sorry, that was Mom, and apparently Levi just started throwing up with some sort of stomach bug!” Lucy reappears at the table and starts shoveling her keys, sunglasses, and wallet into her purse. “I think Molly had a cancelation today so I’m going to call her and see if she can cover for me with my two o’clock appointment.” She wraps up her muffin and shoves it in her purse too. “I’m so sorry to cut our brunch short, Jessie, but I’ve got to get to Levi and relieve my mom.” She rushes around the table and is almost to the door when she realizes something important. “OH SHOOT! I drove you here and the salon is the opposite way of my mom’s house.”
“It’s okay, you go ahead. I’ll call an Uber to take me back.”
Lucy gives me a guilty look.
“Go! Levi is waiting on you. Tell him Aunt Jessie is going to drop off a present for him later to make him feel better.”
Lucy still doesn’t move. She jingles the keys in her hands and shifts on her feet, debating whether she should really leave me or not.
“I’ll take you.” Drew’s words pierce through me, and my eyes collide with his.
Me? Ride in a car with Drew? No. I don’t even fully know why I’m so opposed, but…just no.
Lucy looks so relieved, and not at all as if she’s going to hurl like I am. “Thank you! You’re the best as always!” She rushes up and kisses his cheek, and then mine next. “See you guys later.” Wonderful, now we both get stomach bugs too.
The door chimes with Lucy’s exit, and Drew smirks for reasons that scare me a little. Maybe he plans on taking me to the lake and dumping me in. “I’m going to order a coffee,” he says, his back already turned to me.
“And drink it somewhere else!” I say. “By the way, I’m not riding with you! You’re dreaming if you think I’d ever put my life in your hands behind the wheel of a car!” The whole coffee shop turns to look at me. The barista’s eyes say, I will kick you out of here, lady. Drew’s backside gloats.
I get in Drew’s Jeep—which is surprisingly old and not flashy—and he locks the doors. Most vehicles do that automatically when you put them in drive, so I don’t know why he needed to do it as soon as I got inside, other than to freak me out. Which it doesn’t.
What freaks me out is how much this Jeep smells like him. It’s a 1990s Wrangler with a soft top and years of memories packed inside. His scent is so ingrained in the upholstery I feel like he’s wrapping his arms around me. On the dashboard, someone carved Val hearts Drew, and I want to run my fingers across it. How long has he had this? How many girlfriends has he driven around in it? So many questions are buzzing around my head, but I can’t ask any of them because we don’t have that type of relationship. If only rideshares weren’t so expensive, I could be sitting happily in the back seat of a stranger’s car, not wondering who Val is or how long ago she loved Drew.
He puts the Jeep in drive and away we go. It’s silent. No music. I can, however, hear my heart beating.
“So…” His big hands close around the steering wheel.
“Nope.” I look sharply out the window. “Not talking.”
“Your maturity never ceases to amaze me.”
I roll my eyes at my reflection. Man, it does look immature.
“Are you having a good morning?” The sincerity in his tone shocks me enough to turn and look at him. Drew and I have never, not once, had a normal, non-fighting conversation. And when I look at him, I see a smirk grow and his eyes bounce down to my lower half and back up, telling me that wasn’t a sincere question at all. “Anything of interest happen so far today?”
“Well, some freak stole all my underwear and is hoarding it in private like a dirty little weirdo…so yeah, I guess that was interesting.”
He smiles, gaze fixed on the road. “Dirty little weirdo indeed. What a strange thing to do.”
I glare at his mouth. “Where are they?”
He shrugs. “How should I know?”
I poke him in the ribs to teach him a lesson and immediately wish I hadn’t. 1) I’ve now not only seen evidence that he is warm flesh and blood, I’ve felt it. 2) We’ve had a strict no intentional touching rule, and for some reason, I just broke that. My action shoots like a flare gun into the air, announcing this new breach of contract.
“Give them back. You don’t want to wage war with me, Dr. Stuck-up.”
He immediately takes advantage of the broken rule and presses his finger under my armpit. It’s so annoying being forced to laugh when you want to scowl. “I thought our war was already being waged?”
“You’ve seen nothing yet,” I say, my voice dripping with warning like a woman who has a dagger strapped to her thigh. I’m dangerous, and he should be terrified to mess with me.
“You have a coffee spill on the front of your shirt.”
I gasp and look down. “Nuh-uh. I don’t see one.”
“It’s on the underside of your belly.”
Oh great! Just great. My cheeks flame red as I try to crane my neck over to see the part of my belly I know I’ll never catch a glimpse of without a mirror. I feel like a clumsy toddler. “Just…keep your eyes on the road from now on!” Super comeback.
Drew chuckle
s, but I sit back angrily and cross my arms. There’s a minute of painful silence before he speaks. “Why do you hate me so much?”
My heart skips, but I try to keep my face impassive so he doesn’t notice. “Umm, I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with you standing me up when my grandaddy came to visit.”
He shakes his head, his brown locks a little more unruly today than normal. “Before the day I accidentally overslept.” I don’t answer right away, so he glances at me and then looks back at the road, his hand tightening around the wheel, making his forearm flex. “You hated me before that.”
My mouth starts drying up. This isn’t a conversation I want to have with him. He’s tiptoeing toward the truth that I don’t want to acknowledge—not to myself and definitely not to him. I did hate him before I met him. I hated him before I knew a single thing about him. “Lucy. You were a jerk to her, remember?”
He makes an unimpressed humming sound and cocks his head to the side, eyes squinting in thought. “Even that first time you showed up at my house, you still acted like you’d hated me for a hundred years before that, and we’d never met. So what was it?”
That is the million dollar question.
“What can I say? You’re just hate-able right from the start.” My words were meant to be cutting, but they came out oddly weak. Drew doesn’t look wounded like I hoped. He looks…intrigued. Curious. He’s not buying my insta-hate story. He’s a journalist who just got a lead on his next scoop. The look in his eyes when his gaze flashes to me is terrifying, so I hurry to change the subject before he can push any further toward the truth. “Aren’t you supposed to be doctoring people right now?”
“I was at the clinic, but I have to go into the hospital for a little while today. Just stopped for a coffee—and apparently a hostile pregnant woman—on the way.” He shows the first signs of a smile, so I look away. I need to get out of this Drew-infused vehicle. It’s making my brain mushy.
We pull up in front of my salon and park. Drew then swivels his big torso so his back leans in the corner between the door and the seat. He surveys me, eyes scanning like lasers, trying to comb through my thoughts.
