Page 97 of Dallas

Then there was her love life. Men didn’t stick with her, much like she couldn’t stick with a career. Or rather hadn’t been able to. No men, same job for the past two years.

She deserved a trophy. The Deferred Orgasm Award for Excellence in Abstaining While Getting Your Crap Together. Yeah, she was on the upswing for sure. Except for this little hiccup. But as always, Jace had her back, so the disaster wasn’t too big.

That was Jace. Steady. And neat. So many things she wasn’t.

Which was why she needed him. One of the many reasons why.

“You don’t have to do dishes,” he said, following her into the kitchen. “You cooked.”

She started rinsing the bowls, smoothing away stew chunks with her thumb beneath the running water. “I want to.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.”

She glanced over at him. He was leaning against the counter, his relaxed posture at odds with the tension coming off of him. “Oh my gosh. You don’t think I’ll do a good enough job on the dishes, do you?”

“That’s not it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish expression on his handsome face.

“No, it totally is. Jace Colter. You don’t trust me to do dishes.”

“You’re scrubbing them with your thumb, Samantha.”

“They’re going in the dishwasher!”

“You have to pre-clean them correctly.”

“Holy frick, Jace. Your issues can be perfectly adorable, especially when they culminate in you wiping my kitchen table off after we have dinner at my place, or you vacuuming my couch before you sit on it, but this,” she said, holding up the bowl, “not so cute, my friend. It’s going in scalding hot water that will disinfect everything. It’s not like I let Poppy lick it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

She arched a brow and took the bowl out of the sink, lowering it slightly. “You don’t think?”

“Sam,” he growled.

“Grrr. Jace is mad.”

“I will put you on the hide-a-bed.” He took a step toward her, his scent attacking her like a sexy beacon of temptation again.

She swallowed hard, tossing her head back, ignoring the lingering tingle in her lips. “Bastard. You have a bed with a down pillowtop and you would be put me on that abomination?”

He took another step toward her, his dark eyes clashing with hers, sending a little zing of heat through her. It was all that deferred pleasure business. This level of not-being-able-to-ignore-Jace’s-hotness wasn’t normal.

“If you let your dog lick my dish...” His tone was so menacing, his gaze so intense, and the tension in her chest was so tight...she snickered.

“That sounds like the world’s sickest euphemism.”

His lips twitched, as if he was trying very, very hard to hold back a smile. Or evidence of amusement of any kind over her shenanigans.

“Samantha, do not let your dog lick the bowl. And I’ll let you do the dishes.”

“Hollow victory, but I’ll take it.” She lifted the bowl back up out of Poppy range and turned to the sink. “You can do the breakfast dishes.”

“Great. I’m going to go take a shower. Pick whichever room you want, but the dog cannot sleep on a bed.”

“Fine. Fine. Good night, Jace the Grumpy Cowboy.”

“Good night, Sam.”

He turned and walked out of the room and she just kept washing dishes. She didn’t even look at his ass.

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