Page 46 of Personal Foul

“Noteverytime,” he grumbles, since the last time I was here it wasn’t to clean.

I narrow my eyes, refusing to be distracted by that technicality. “And now, there’s no ‘uniform’ in there.” I make a dramatic production of putting air quotes around the word uniform, which makes him snort with amusement, even though I am definitely not amused. “Therefore, the only logical conclusion I can reach is that your new ‘uniform’”—again with the dramatic air quotes—“is nothing at all.”

He runs a hand down his face, and I think he mutters, “Christ, Charity.”

“If you think that making me be here naked is going to—”

“My god, woman, will you please fucking stop?” he almost roars.

I blink, my mouth open, but the words caught behind a dam. That’s the most emotion I think I’ve ever seen him display. It’s always mild annoyance or disdain with him, if anything, though he did seem pleased when he won the axe throwing game the other night, and sometimes he’s amused. Now he’s throwing his arms in the air, leaning closer, crowding me so I take a step back, but it’s a small space and the only place to go is back into the bathroom, and I’mnotdoing that. I’ll be damned if I clean his apartment naked. I’d rather he put an announcement telling my secret in the school newspaper, the local newspaper, and plastered it all over every social media site than do that.

“I’m not making you wear a uniform anymore! At all!” He throws his arms in the air again to emphasize the last phrase.

“Wait—you mean …”

“Exactly!” He looks as angry and frustrated as I’ve felt around him all along. “I’m not dictating what you wear. I mean, if youwantto clean naked, I certainly won’t stand in your way, but you can wear whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“You think Iwant—”

“Oh my god.No, you’ve made it very clear that’s not what you want. Do you want the stupid maid’s uniform? I can go get it. But I thought you hated it. I thought you’dappreciatenot having to wear it. But holy shit. If it’s going to cause this much grief, I can pull it back out.”

“No no no.” I hold up my hands as though to stop him, even though he’s not going anywhere. “No. I don’t want to wear that.” I clear my throat. “Um, no, you’re right. I do appreciate not having to wear that. I’d much prefer to keep my clothes on.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment.

His arms crossed over his chest again, Dylan glares at me. “You really think I’m that much of a dick?”

I shrug lamely, looking away. Maybe I’m being a little unfair. He has been nicer lately. But with the way this all started, and with him being distant and grumpy yesterday morning, deciding to make things worse for me doesn’t seem out of the question. I didn’t give him what he wanted so …

Or maybe making him out to be the asshole gives me a convenient person to dump all my stress and anger on. An emotional lightning rod of sorts. Which is definitely unfair to him.

He makes a disgusted sound and walks away, leaving me alone.

After a moment, I look around, then realize there’s no to-do list taped to the bathroom mirror either. I head to the kitchen. Did he decide to leave it there since he also decided not to make me dress up?

But when I get to the kitchen, it’s spotless. No to-do list. Not even any dishes waiting to be washed. And when I open the dishwasher, it holds a few plates and utensils, bearing enough food remnants to make it clear they’re dirty and Dylan obviously loaded it himself.

He knew I was coming, though … Why would he do his own dishes? I thought that was my literal job here.

Confused, I head for the living room, where I find him in his usual spot, his feet propped on the coffee table like normal, his phone in his hand, and his attention focused on it. He doesn’t even look up when I enter, which isn’t like him.

I clear my throat. “Um, so, I couldn’t find a list …”

He grunts.

“And I saw that you did your own dishes.”

That makes him raise his head, his gaze cool. “I am capable of cleaning up after myself, you know.”

“No, I know.” I mean, I guess I know? Although, to be honest, I sort of assumed he didn’t really know how to do a lot of those things since he’s been blackmailing me into doing them so he wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of finding an actual maid. Or cleaning lady. Or whatever they prefer to be called. The point is, I figured he’s always had someone to clean up after him, so when would he have learned to do it himself?

He snorts and shakes his head. “I’m so glad you have such a high opinion of me.”

My eyes practically bulge out of my head. “You realize you’re literally blackmailing me, right? What about that is supposed to make me think highly of you?”

His mouth opens, but he closes it again and grunts. “Consider our arrangement over, then.”

Now it’s my turn to do a double take, my stomach churning as the reality of him ending our agreement sinks in. “Wait, what does that mean? You don’t want me to clean your place anymore?”

He shakes his head.

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