Page 10 of Uxpectedly Ever After

"I've been trying to get my cheap-ass landlord to fix that damn drip for months."

He just shrugs again, completely unfazed by what he’s done. "It was a quick fix."

"Oh." I'm suddenly at a loss for words, which is a rare and unsettling occurrence. I'm not entirely sure what to do with this information or the weird, unfamiliar feeling that's starting to bloom in my chest. Is this… gratitude? Confusion? Wait, is this…affection?

Ew, no. Gross.

Settingthataside, there’s also the disturbing realization that maybe having Banks around isn't going to be the complete and utter disaster I was anticipating. "Thanks," I manage, the word feeling a little awkward coming out of my mouth. "I guess."

"You're welcome, I guess," he mimics, that damn smirk back on his mouth again, but his eyes are… warm. And something about the way he's looking at me makes it a little hard to remember how to exhale.

I haul ass to the bathroom before I do something truly idiotic, like smile at him or, God forbid, start thinking of him differently. I can’t afford to do that, not when it took me years to get over my crush on him the first time. He isnotallowed to worm his way back in like that by being nice to me. Nope. I just need a second to remind myself he’s the cocky a-hole firefighter who thinks my life choices are less than impressive.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind me with a satisfyingly solid sound, and I lean against it, letting out a slow, shaky breath.

See? I’m fine.

Any lukewarm feelings that might’ve been developing are already gone.

I set my coffee on the counter and reach to turn on the shower, completely unprepared when a strong, steady stream of water immediately bursts forth. Huh. He actually did fix it. Maybe this three months won't be a complete and utter nightmare after all. Maybe.

Steam starts to fill the bathroom as I strip off my shirt and sleep shorts. I step under the spray and let out the biggest sigh of relief as hot water pounds down on me with so much more pressure than I've experienced in months.

As if summoned to disturb my moment of zen, a loud knock shakes the thin door.

"What?" I yell over the sound of the glorious water.

"Sorry!" Banks's deep voice comes through the door. "I forgot my razor in there. Mind if I grab it real quick?"

All that tension in my body that had just melted away comes right back. Before I can even form a coherent "Hell no, you can wait until I'm done," the door cracks open a few inches.

"I'm not looking, I swear. Just reaching in for it."

"Banks, don't you dare—"

Too late. His arm snakes through the gap, groping blindly on the counter. I press myself back against the shower wall, even though the curtain is completely opaque. The fact that he's literally right on the other side of that flimsy piece of fabric, that if he wanted to, he could just yank it back and see me naked and wet and…

My brain throws a goddamn circuit breaker at the mental image. Heat that has absolutely nothing to do with the water temperature floods through me, making my cheeks flush all over again.

"Got it," he announces, his arm withdrawing as quickly as it appeared. "Thanks, Freckles. Enjoy your shower."

The door clicks shut again, and I exhale the longest breath of my entire life. Enjoy my shower? What the hell was that tone he just used? And why am I suddenly analyzing the exact inflection of those three words? This is not good. Not good at all.

"This is fine," I mutter, reaching for my body wash. "Everything is fine."

Except nothing feels fine. I've spent the last seven days in this constant state of high alert. Hyper-aware of exactly where Banks is at all times. Hyper-aware of how he smells—like fresh air and smoke and expensive cologne. Hyper-aware of the sheer amount of space he takes up just by existing. And most disturbingly, hyper-aware of how my body decides to betray me whenever he's even remotely close.

Because I amnotattracted to Banks Priestly. I refuse. That would be peak levels of self-destructive and goes against every single meticulously planned step of my life, which does not, in any way, shape, or form, include falling for arrogant, know-it-all firefighters.

Nope. Not happening. Absolutely not.

By the time I finally finish my shower, throw on some clothes, and emerge from the bathroom, Banks has thankfullyput on a shirt—a faded PFD one that stretches across his chest in a way that's almost worse than him being shirtless. It looks soft and I want to steal it as soon as he takes it off, but no.

No, Clover.

It looks like while I was having an existential crisis in the shower, he whipped up eggs and toast and is now sitting at my kitchen table, looking far too comfortable and at home inmyspace.

"I made breakfast," he states, like I'm blind and haven't noticed the perfectly cooked eggs and golden-brown toast sitting in front of me. And seriously, what the hell did he need to interrupt my shower for if he was just going to leave that sexy shadow of stubble on his jaw? I swear he did it to rattle me. Well, mission fucking accomplished, Banks. "You mentioned having an early class today."

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