“Son of a beach,” she muttered.
He laughed. “You ever going to answer any of those texts or calls you’ve been getting all night?”
“No.” She hesitated, conflicted, worried. Everyone knew she was on a break, even her brothers. She’d checked in with Janeen and Tracy. She’d spoken briefly to her mom and Jackson when she’d been out in the city earlier, both of whom had wanted the usual. Her mom to complain about her life, and Jackson to get her to agree to some public appearances—an ongoing bone of contention between them because she tried to do the bare minimum when it came to those things.
Part of what had drawn her to writing—besides the fact that she absolutely loved the actual writing—was the simplicity of the life. She didn’t want to be a public figure. She wasn’t good at it, as proven by what had happened the last time she’d reluctantly agreed. She’d been sent to do the Late Night show and had tripped coming out onstage. On camera.
The YouTube video of her revealing her black lace thong had seven million views.
But that her phone kept going off made her worry that maybe there’d been some kind of emergency.
“There’s this little thing called the power-off button,” Spence said. “Works like a charm.”
“I thought about turning it off,” she admitted. “But I’d know the messages were still there and worry about missing an emergency.”
“Feel free to check in,” he said easily.
“I know I shouldn’t keep it on me like this, but I’m a hopeless control freak, apparently. Old habit from when the twins were minors and capable of unbelievable stupidity.”
“It’s okay, Colbie.”
Reluctantly, she pulled the phone from her pocket. One look at the screen had her taking a deep breath. Kurt. No surprise there. And . . . Jackson. There’d been a time when just seeing his name would’ve made her heart leap like she was a teenager with a silly crush.
But he’d fixed that for her with one shockingly hurtful event, eradicating any romantic feelings she’d had in a blink, which didn’t mean that she was ready to face him.
She pushed the thoughts aside and called Kurt back first. He was always the easiest to get things out of. “Hey,” she said when he picked up. “What’s wrong?”
Except she could hear what was wrong. “Why is the smoke detector going off?”
“Because I was making a cheeseburger and set off the alarm,” he yelled.
“Again?” she asked, putting her finger in her other ear, as if that could help her hear past the wailing alarm. “Seriously? How hard is it to turn the vent to high when you’re cooking burgers on the range?”
“What?”
“Turn on the vent!” she yelled.
“I can’t hear you!”
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“I can’t remember how to get it to turn off!” her brother yelled.
“The broom! It’s in the corner by the trash. Wave it at the smoke detector and then call the security company to let them know it’s a false alarm—” She broke off. “Are you eating in my ear?”
“Hey, gotta eat the burgers while they’re hot.”
She pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it before punching disconnect and shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”
“How old is he again?” Spence asked.
“Twenty-three going on twelve.” Since she had the phone out, she went ahead and flipped through the unread texts. Kurt from earlier, wanting to know where her car keys were. Jackson wanting to know when she was sending a chunk of her manuscript. Kent wanting to know if she’d send him some money because he forgot to pay the electric like she’d asked and now there were extra fees to turn it back on.
She stopped and transferred some money but by then Kurt was contacting her again, wanting to know if she could get him tickets to Hamilton to impress a date. And last but not least, her mom wanting her to bring her some soup from her favorite deli, even though the deli was literally half a block from her mom and three thousand miles from Colbie.
Did no one read her texts? “I know you said the chef doesn’t do dishes but I’d really like to,” she said. “It calms my brain.”
“How is that even possible?”
“I’ll show you.” She turned to the sink.
“Uh . . .”
She paused and he grimaced. “You should know something,” he said.
“Okay. What?”
He grimaced again. “I’ve never done dishes in this place.”
“Never?”
“I’m not even sure I have dish soap.”
She stared at him and then laughed.
“But I swear I’m not like your brothers,” he said. “I don’t have a sister but if I did, I wouldn’t call her for money or help. I’d take care of her.”
Wishing that those words hadn’t moved her, she found some dish soap beneath the sink.
“Not my doing,” he said, lifting his hands. “Trudy. She takes care of this building and also me. I’ll have to give her a raise.”
Colbie made the water hot and squirted soap into the sink. “Put your hands in here and scrub a dish.”
He did and then slid her a look.
“Is your brain calm yet?” she asked. “And empty of thoughts?”
“Does imagining you doing these dishes in those heels you’re wearing and nothing else count as calm and empty of thoughts?”
Amusement and arousal vied for her current top emotion, which had never happened before. Having both those things barrel through her with equal fervor left her momentarily unable to decide what to do.
So her inner child came out and she splashed him.
Water dripping from his nose, hair, and glasses, he grinned—the kind of grin that felt like 100 percent trouble of the naughty variety.
Which, clearly, she was imagining.
“Now I’m imagining you wet and doing dishes in nothing but those heels,” he said.
Okay, so she hadn’t imagined anything and at the knowledge, her knees wobbled. “You’re . . . flirting with me.”
“I am. You okay with that?”
Oh boy. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “I’m just not used to the feeling,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what to do with it.”
“Let me help you with that,” he said and splashed her back.
This started a water fight that invoked squeaking—on her part—and swearing—on his part—and the most fun she’d ever had doing dishes ever.
After, he got them each a towel. “Are you cold?” he asked. “I’ve got some hot chocolate mix. I make a mean hot chocolate.”
She met his gaze. He’d had to remove his wet shirt, and somewhere along the way, he’d also lost his shoes. His feet were bare and for some reason, she found this combination incredibly sexy. Maybe she just found him sexy . . . “I do love hot chocolate but it’s getting late . . .”
“The hot chocolate comes with marshmallows,” he said. “If that interests you.”
“The freeze-dried marshmallows or real marshmallows?”
“Are you kidding me? Real, of course.”
She smiled. “So you’ve got your priorities.”
“Damn A straight.”
Gah. That smile. But she needed to think and she needed to do so without him looking at her, because when he looked at her like he was right now, like to him she was pretty and sexy and interesting, her, Colbie, not CE Crown, she couldn’t think at all. “Thanks for letting me in your space tonight.” She got the feeling it was special that he’d done so, and rare.
“Uh-oh.” His eyes locked on hers. “I sense both a ‘but’ and a blow-off coming.”
She shook her head. “Just a ‘but.’ ” She paused. “But . . . I really should go.”
“Before dessert.”
She bit her lower lip in indecision.
“What?”
“I’ve never successfully resisted dessert.”
He smiled. “A woman after my own heart. Sure, dessert is the base of my food pyramid.” He opened one of the pantry drawers. It was filled with cookies, candy bars, and more.