Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“You’re going to regret that,” I said.
He shrugged, chewing.
“Seriously, when there are six little girls in here running amok and the other employees think I’m abusing this already huge privilege—”
“It’s my house, right?” he asked. “That’s what you keep saying, at least.”
I nodded.
“Then no one’s going to say a word.” He motioned to the list. “You have anything else?”
“Nope.” My entire chest lightened. Maybe this was going to be easier than I thought.
“Okay, my turn.” He popped the remaining quarter of his sandwich in his mouth.
“Absolutely. Whenever you’re ready.” I poised the pink pen over the paper and waited. He’d been so understanding with everything I’d requested, and even given Sutton what she wanted. Short of stripping off my clothes, there wasn’t much I wasn’t willing to do to make this arrangement work.
The muscles of his forearm rippled as he leaned over the island to peek at the list, and I rethought that last stipulation.
“Okay,” he said after swallowing. “So, these might sound a little extreme, but I’ve been in the military for a decade, so it might take me some time to adjust.”
“Noted.” I stuffed another bite into my mouth. So. Good.
“Rule number seven,” he said, taking his plate to the sink. “I’ll share in all the housework. Dishes. Sweeping. Mopping.”
“We share housework,” I repeated as I wrote. Oh my gawd, he was every woman’s wet dream.
“It’s because I can’t stand clutter.” He put both plates in the dishwasher and turned toward the island. “Messes aren’t avoidable, but there’s no need to live in them.” He neatly packed up the extra meat and cheese and put it into the refrigerator.
Oh boy. My hand froze as my gaze darted around the room. Everything was neat, tidy, even, but that’s because I’d gone on a cleaning rampage last night after my biggest non-Madigan client no-showed their appointment for engagement photos last night. Kids and clutter kind of went hand in hand.
“I mean, I don’t keep it messy—” I started, heat rising in my cheeks.
“It’s fine,” he said with a dismissive wave, cleaning up the rest of lunch. “There’s two of us now to keep it up, and I’m sure you’ve been busy.”
“Right.” I scooted my plate closer to my body for fear he’d take it before I finished eating.
“Rule eight.” He took out an actual Clorox wipe he must have just bought, because I was the queen of off-brand, and started scrubbing the island. “Let’s do our best to clean up after ourselves.”
“Uh huh.” The guy was a neat freak. This was bad. So bad.
“Rule number nine. If what Sutton says is correct, then I’ll do the cooking whenever we’re home at the same time.” He started on the next counter that he hadn’t even used. “No need to split the grocery bill or whatever, since I know I’m the picky one. I’m happy to pick up the tab.”
“Okay.” I kept jotting down rules, nearing the bottom quarter of the page with my scrawling handwriting.
“Rule ten, let’s respect quiet hours. I’m not sure how late you stay up working—you’re still a photographer, right?” He glanced back over his shoulder as he tossed one wipe and grabbed another.
“I am.”
“Cool.” He wiped down the pantry door. “I’m usually up for a run at five, so I’ll do my best not to wake you, if you’ll do your best not to throw a kegger at one a.m.?” His lip quirked into another half smile.
He was trying to tease me.
Weston con: horrible sense of humor.
“Quiet time, it is.” Weston pro: you can help him laugh. If it was humanly possible. I was starting to think it wasn’t.
“Rule number eleven.” He started in on the sink, scrubbing the faucet. “No pets.”
I blinked. “We don’t have any.”
“Let’s keep it that way. I’m not a fan of getting attached to anything.” He nodded and kept scrubbing.
“And it’s easier to get attached to a dog than an actual person?” I teased.
“Exactly.”
Whoa.
“Rule number twelve. No shoes on the couch. It’s a weird pet peeve, I know, but dirt gets everywhere during mud season and there’s nothing worse than sitting down to watch the news in a pile of sand.”
“Um. Okay.” It was a small price to pay. No pets. No shoes on the couch.
“Last rule.” He tossed the wipe. “If there’s a company—resort—issue, then we discuss it outside. I like to keep work out of the house, and honestly, I’m probably not the person to help you solve whatever it is Reed does to piss you off.”
My jaw dropped. Not once in the year that Reed had been home had he done anything that remotely upset me or jeopardized my job, but the look in Weston’s eyes had me closing my mouth. There were issues there. Big issues.
“Okay,” I said quietly, writing it down. Don’t bring work problems inside.
“So, I guess, if we agree on all that, then we’re officially roommates,” he said, coming around the island to stand next to me.