Page 118 of Beyond the Stroke

“It was a mistake,” I blurt out. Kissing Rory wasn’t a mistake but it’s all I can think of right now.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch at my words. Either he knows I’m full of shit or he agrees. I’m not sure which one is more terrifying.

“Hmm.” Rory leans against the built-in cabinet on the opposite side of me. “What about my rules?”

“What rules?” I ask slowly, buying myself time to remember if we discussed any other rules last night.

“You’re not the only one who can make rules.”

I’m guessing we didn’t and he’s trying to assert his authority now.

My eyes narrow at his mischievous smirk. “Fine. What?”

“You can’t wear those little shorts anymore.” He motions to my overly worn, softer than a cloud sleep shorts.

I gasp in outrage. “What do my sleep shorts have to do with anything?”

“I think it’s only fair.”

“Fine. Then you can’t stretch in front of me. No more of that lunging thing with all the pelvic thrusting.”

“I have to stretch or my hip flexors get tight.”

“Then you’ll have to do it in private.”

His eyes narrow with suspicion. “You know you’re only admitting to watching me.”

“It’s hard not to notice.” I lunge forward in an exaggerated movement to show him how obnoxious it really is. My head spins, and I have to reach out to the counter for balance.

Once I’m upright again, Rory stalks closer, pining me with a fierce look.

“You can’t wear that perfume anymore.” He dips his head closer to me. His nostrils flare, as if he’s smelling it right now. “The one that smells like sun-warmed skin after a day at the beach, and jasmine, and honey.”

“I don’t wear perfume. That’s just how I smell.”

His brows drop. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

I glance around for some idea for another rule that will make him think again.

“You can’t stand close to me.”

Rory takes another step toward me. “Define close.”

When I step back, my butt hits the counter. “This.” I point a finger at his chest. “This is too close.”

Edgar appears at our feet, looking back and forth between us, like he’s the referee to our sparring match.

“Do these rules happen to be because of what you said last night?” he asks, eyeing me curiously.

“No.” I’m quick to respond, but the reality is I’m losing control of the situation.

“Hmm. Okay.” He nods contemplatively, then pins me with a heated look. “I have a confession, but I wanted to tell you when I knew you’d remember.”

“Tell me what?” I swallow hard.

He moves closer, completely ignoring my proximity rule.

“This was supposed to be simple. An arrangement. Fake. But when you smile at me, I feel it in my chest. And every day, it gets worse. I notice everything about you. How you chew your lip when you’re thinking.”

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