Page 20 of The Wreckage of Us
“Listen, it’s complicated. My husband and I aren’t even intimate anymore.”
“Don’t care. Not my problem. The minute a spouse is revealed, I’m out. I don’t have time for your drama. Take it elsewhere. I don’t know how you got into my place—”
“The front door was unlocked,” she commented. “And I heard rumors that if the front door is unlocked, women can walk right on in.”
“Bullshit. So go ahead and walk right on out. Take off my clothes and leave them here too.”
Well, this is uncomfortable.
I stood there frozen during the most awkward situation of anyone’s life. The woman looked defeated as she moseyed over to her clothes and switched into them quickly before heading outside into the rain.
If I were a turtle, I’d be an awkward one standing there.
Ian brushed his hands against his face and released a weighted sigh as I counted the water droplets still rolling down his toned chest.
One, two, skip a few ...
Each water droplet cruised down his abs to hit the top of the towel, and there I was, staring once again, at his crotch.
I shook my inappropriate thoughts away and cleared my throat. “Do you often have random females crashing into your house uninvited?”
“You’d be surprised to know it happens a lot more often than not. Now, what are you doing here?”
I bit my thumbnail and tried to control the nerves rocking inside of me. “I was wondering if that room was still available for me to take on?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What? You get spooked out there or something?”
“No,” I lied, crossing my arms. “Your roofing skills just aren’t as impressive as they should’ve been.”Gah, Haze. Stop being so sassy and sarcastic. He offered you an olive branch. Don’t piss on it and end up back in the shed with the psycho killers.“Sorry. My instant reaction is sarcasm.”
“It’s fine. My instant reaction is asshole.”
“Well, as long as we both know who we are, rooming together should be fine. But I do have a few rules about us living together.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me one bit?”
I smirked a little and kept my arms crossed. “I pay rent. Whatever you’re paying, I’ll pay half of it.”
“Done. What else?”
“I like to cook, and if there are leftovers, you can have them. I hate leftovers.”
“Okay. Any more things, darling?”
“Oh yes. Don’t call me ‘darling.’”
“Chicks love being called ‘darling,’” he countered.
“Women don’t like being called ‘chicks’ or ‘darling.’ Really, for a rock star, you sure are ignorant to what women want.”
He took a few steps closer to me and lowered his brows. His deep-chocolate eyes pierced me and forced my stomach to flip upside down and sideways. The stubble on his chin was so perfectly groomed, and his lips looked soft enough to kiss. He slid his teeth slowly against his bottom lip before brushing his thumb against it and raised a brow. “And what exactly is it that women want, Hazel Stone?”
The way he used my full name made me dazed and confused. Gosh, I hated him. I hated how cocky and confident and moody and sexy he was all at once.
“Th-they w-w-want to be called anything in the world other than ‘chick’ or ‘darling.’”
He eyed me up and down and placed his hands against the top of his towel, securing it in place. “Duly noted. Any more rules?”
“Yes, and this one is important.”