Page 154 of Your Place or Mine

Quick. Hard. Addictive.

And yeah, maybe I was a walking cliché. A tough guy turned to mush by one sharp-tongued, big-hearted city girl who stormed into my life and made me see everything in color again.

But if that made me a fool?

Then I’d be one gladly.

Because I was hers.

Even if she didn’t know it yet.

The whirring started slowly, and she stepped back and got right to work again.

A soft mechanical hum in the background of Lydia’s teasing voice as we stood in the middle of the laundromat. She was reading off some list she’d scrawled on a notepad, pacing the cracked linoleum in her too-cute work boots and the vintage tee I swear she wore just to mess with my head.

The machine in the corner gave a hard jolt.

I glanced over.

The spin cycle had kicked in.

Hard.

The ancient washer rattled against the wall like it was about to launch into orbit. Metal against tile. Wobble left. Wobble right. The damn thing was dancing more than half the high school prom crowd ever did.

And for some reason—maybe the fact that I’d barely slept, or that Lydia was standing right there like temptation wrapped in paint smudges and sass—I started laughing.

Not just a little chuckle.

A full, low, wicked laugh.

Lydia paused mid-sentence and narrowed her eyes. “What?”

I tried to shake it off. “Nothing.”

She cocked a hip. “No, no. That was alook. You had aplan face.That’s not your usual grumpy ‘I hate everything’ look. That was… something sinister.”

I dropped my hands on my hips and stared at the machine.

It vibrated again, just a little.

“Do you trust me?” I asked, already stepping toward her.

Her brows pulled together. “Generally speaking? Not when you sound likethat.”

But she was smiling. Lips twitching. That spark in her eyes flared to life.

She didn’t back away.

Didn’t even blink.

“I’m serious,” I said, sweeping her into my arms before she could object.

“Callum!”

She squealed and wrapped her arms around my neck as I carried her across the room.

“What are you…?”

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