Page 92 of A Really Bad Idea

“Luckily, it was the second-floor roof, so we could scale down the side of the building.” I take a dish from him and wipe it with the dishrag.

“I take it, you had to ditch the flippers.”

“And the masks. Problem was, when we got on the ground, it was in front of the picture window of the meeting space where the president was hosting an alumni dinner.”

He turns around to assess my face. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How come I’ve never heard this story before?”

I guffaw. “Because it was pretty damn embarrassing.”

“No. It’s pretty damn funny.”

“Maybe now. At the time, it mortified me.”

“All this to get into a sorority.” He raises a brow. “Wait, you weren’t in a sorority.”

“Hell no. Between the danger of being trapped on the roof and the bikini show we gave to the alumni—which the girls knew was going to happen once we climbed down—I realized it wasn’t for me. I joined the Good Samaritans Society instead.”

“That’s my little do-gooder,” he says, so I give him the finger. He retaliates by splashing me with water.

“Real mature,” I chide, and he splashes me again.

I grab a cup of iced tea off the counter and dip my fingers in to flick him. He looks down at his shirt and the tea-colored stain on it. A wicked Cheshire cat grin coats his face as he steps away from the sink and lunges toward me.

“You asked for it.” His voice is teasing, and in seconds, I’m tackled down to the floor.

It’s way past my bedtime and what I would think is Christian’s. I thought he would have left an hour ago, but he’s still here. I’m happy; don’t get me wrong. I’m just … confused.

My bathroom door is closed since he walked in there with his satchel. I’m in the living room, straightening up, as the door opens at the end of the hallway, and he steps out, wearing flannel pajamas and a white T-shirt.

“Meadow,” he calls out, and I pop into view. “Where’s your toothpaste?”

“In the medicine cabinet.” I point even though I only have one cabinet in the bathroom, so it shouldn’t be difficult for him to find.

He keeps the door open while he brushes his teeth, and I stare at him as one would a lion in a safari.

He’s a fertile male, distinguishable for his impressive mane, signifying masculinity. The darker the mane, the healthier the lion, as it allows him to appear stronger and appeal to lionesses, which are proven to be more attracted to thick, dark manes.

Christian turns the light off and exits the bathroom with his satchel in hand. He walks it into the living room where he places it on the coffee table and takes out a blue file folder.

“I thought you had surgery tomorrow?” I say as it has become abundantly clear that he is staying over.

“I do.” He looks up from the open file that holds scans and hospital records.

“You’re staying,” I state the obvious.

He looks around, puzzled. “Unless you want me to leave. Although I’d prefer not to go home in my pajamas.”

“No. I want you to stay. I just know you like to stay home the night before surgery.”

“The surgery isn’t until the afternoon, so I thought I’d sleep in a little. I brought my stuff, so I can review here. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. I’ve just never seen you go out of your routine.”

His teeth skim his full lower lip. “You were upset for more than one reason tonight. I thought you could use the company more than I could use the silence.”

A rush of emotion swarms up my spine and flocks into my chest, making my heart feel like it’s grown ten sizes. Good thing it’s protected by my rib cage, or that one line of chivalry would have had it bursting out and into his arms.

I walk up to him, kiss him on the cheek, and then head back to my room to get ready for bed.