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“Try again.”
“Will you come here?”
I wait.
His mouth tightens. “Please.”
“No.” I put the ruler away. “Asking correctly doesn’t mean you get what you want.”
Jamie sits up. His hair is tangled, his mouth still faintly swollen, and he moves carefully when he pushes Duck aside. He reaches for my waist when I step close enough. I catch his wrist before he touches me.
“Again?” he asks.
“You don’t schedule yourself.”
“I thought after last night…”
“I know what you thought.” I drop his hand.
He keeps looking at me as though there must be another answer coming. There isn’t.
I pull back the sheet. “Get up.”
Jamie swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “What are we doing?”
I point toward the bathroom. “Get your filthy ass in the shower while I choose your clothes.”
He gets up.
I open his wardrobe while the shower starts. Black skirt. Dark green shirt. The choker he wore yesterday. I put everything on the bed, then open the drawer.
“Tights or bare legs?”
The shower curtain shifts. “I get to choose?”
“You’re lucky I’m allowing that much after the way you started this morning.”
“Bare.”
I close the drawer.
Jamie comes out wrapped in a towel, his wet hair hanging over his shoulders. He looks at the clothes, then at me. “Aren’t you dressing me?”
“No.” I pick up the choker and set it on top of the shirt. “Dress yourself. Do your face afterward. Green around your eyes. Keep it dark.”
Jamie looks down at the clothes.
“Your face is beautiful,” I tell him. “Your behavior was ugly. Fix it before breakfast.”
His fingers close around the shirt. “Are you getting Oliver?”
“Yes.”
His mouth tightens.
I tap the ruler against my palm.
Jamie looks at it, then back at the clothes. “I’ll be downstairs.”
