Page 57 of Outside The Wire

I raised an eyebrow at her. “It looks like you went through my box of secrets. You know, the one I told you was hidden in the corner of my closet and told you not to go through. And it looks like you got so lost in it that you didn’t even hear me come in, and now you’re surrounded by all of my family photos.”

She looked all around her at the pictures spread all over the floor and then back up at me. “Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like, but I swear?—”

I chuckled as I strode over and sat down beside her on the floor. “Relax. Do you really think I would have told you where my big box of secrets was if I didn’t want you to look at it?”

Her jaw dropped, then she glared at me, taking me by surprise as she shoved me backward, making me fall on my back. “You ass. Why would you do that to me?”

“Because I like it when you get all flustered. Kind of like how you did the same thing this morning by showing up at the grocery store to call me out on leaving you in bed.”

Her nose twitched slightly in humor. “Fine, you may have a point.”

“I definitely have a point. So, what did you discover about me?”

“Well, you definitely need a photo album. You have to be the most unorganized man I’ve ever seen. Haven’t you ever heard of scrapbooking?”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Yes, in fact, I get together with my boss every Thursday night for a scrapbooking party. He brings the wine and I bring the scraps of sheet metal.”

“Haha. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know exactly what you meant,” I grumbled, sliding my hand around her neck. “It just so happens I have other plans for my nights than scrapbooking,”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm,” I murmured, sliding my lips over hers. “And if they included glue, it would be for things that didn’t have anything to do with pictures.”

Shock rippled across her face before she burst out laughing. “I don’t even want to know what you would do with glue in the bedroom. That sounds so…”

“Twisted?”

“Yes!”

“Good. I have no idea either.”

“Then why did you say it?”

I shrugged. “It sounded good at the time. So, what did you come up with? What kind of man am I?”

“Definitely not flowers.”

“I can agree with that.”

“And you shouldn’t have anything pink. That would be weird.”

I glanced around the gray walls of the house and tried to imagine anything pink in here and grimaced. “I think pink is definitely out.”

“Not that pink and gray don’t go well together,” she said suddenly. “Just not for a man like you.”

“I’m glad you think so much of my masculinity.”

“But you definitely need something on these walls. It’s so depressing.”

“I’ll let you lead the way.”

I started gathering up the photos and putting them back in the box, but noticed she was just watching. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye and caught that look on her face, the one women got when they were about to ask a question—one they weren’t sure they should ask, but they really wanted to.

“Go ahead,” I prompted.

She didn’t ask right away, but I knew it was coming. And I knew what she was going to ask.

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