Page 54 of The Backdraft
Darcy:Which color do you think is better for a nursery?
I snickered despite myself. The fact that I’d seen she’d sent pictures and automatically assumed they’d be risky ones was an exact representation of where my head was at when it came to her.
In the two weeks that had passed since Christmas, I’d seen her every opportunity I could without coming off as desperate, although that’s precisely what I’d become where she was concerned. Granted, at first, I did actually need to see her. We’d started moving all the workout equipment in her home gym to the corner of her living room, which was temporary until she was able to sell it. However, moving the equipment took two days, and the only reason it took that long was because Harrison had to leave an hour into day one. After the room was cleared out, I began babyproofing her apartment—a task I performed slowly so that I could keep coming back—but that didn’t last long. The next time I showed up, it was to clean out her vents which were actually in need of cleaning, but it was more so that I could see her.
Being around her was oddly soothing. Not that there was anything wrong, but being around her felt infinitely more right than sitting at home by myself. I craved our verbal sparring matches, even if some of the previous sharpness had softened, and while it wasn’t one of the reasons I kept going back to see her, the fact that said sparring matches usually ended with her hands in my hair while I pressed her back against whatever available surface was present was definitely a plus. We hadn’t taken things any further than kissing—I wasn’t sure if more fell under our agreement, and I didn’t want to press my luck because, truthfully, kissing drove me mad enough—but the way my body needed hers bordered on pain.
Darcy:Hurry up! I need your opinion ASAP.
Her urgency struck me as odd.
Me:Why?
Darcy:Can I call you?
Me:Sure.
A second later my phone rang, and I answered it immediately.
“Hey, is everything okay?” I asked.
I could practically hear her eye roll through the phone. “Yes, everything is fine. I’m at the store to buy the paint and I’m between those two colors. I need to know your vote.”
“My vote is the first one,” I answered honestly. “But I work the next two days, so I can’t paint it yet.”
“Oh, I know. I was thinking maybe I’d do it myself.” She responded with casual nonchalance, but it had me feeling anything but.
Why was she wanting to paint the room? Part of our deal was that I’d do it, so why did she suddenly want to paint it herself? Inwardly, I started panicking that she was backing out, or that I’d been in her hair too much, but outwardly I kept calm.
“I thought you wanted me to do it.”
Scratch that. That didn’t sound calm at all. It sounded every bit the grumpy ass she’d claimed I was.
“I did, but I thought it might be therapeutic?” There was a small pause before she spoke again. “And I was also kind of thinking that it might be nice to maybe hang out without you doing some sort of project.” Her voice sounded unsure all of a sudden, but my relief was instant.
I smiled. “Darcy?”
“Yeah?”
“Hanging out sounds good, and we can do that, but let me at leasthelpyou paint the nursery,” I insisted.
There was a moment of hesitation on her end. “It does?”
How very Darcy of her to focus on one part of my answer. “Yes. I’d really like to hang out with you.”
“You’ve only been coming over to do things around the apartment, so I wasn’t sure if it was crossing a line or something.”
I shook my head. “Not crossing a line.” Then, deciding I didn’t have anything to lose, I added. “I’d come over there now if I could.”
“Archer Mack! Are you saying you miss me? It’s been two days!” she teased.
“Shut it, Brat,” I grumbled, but there was no bite to it.
She ignored me, and muttered more to herself than to me. “Who the hell is in charge of naming paint colors? Okay, anyway, I guess I’ll get a gallon of Moss Mist, and I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
I chuckled, crossing my ankle over my knee. “It’s a date.” The expression left my mouth before I could stop it, but once the words were out, I realized I didn’t want to take them back. A night at her place could hardly be considered a date, but this at least felt like more than my previous visits to her apartment, and honestly, I didn’t hate the way it sounded.
“It’s a date,” she repeated. “Now stop slacking off and get back to work.”
