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“What is all this?” he asks, seeing the different shades of teal, blue, cerulean scattered around me.

“I’m working on something,” I mutter. The music has stopped playing, and he walks over to check on me, but I'm not in the mood. It’s been almost two weeks since the incident on my birthday and the woman that came over to see him. Things between us have not changed, and we are at a standstill. It’s making me restless.

We never talked about my birthday or the woman. Every night we crawl into different beds, and I have to admit the guest room is nice. I’ve brought over a few more things from my house, and I’ve managed to make it my own.

Alex and I still swim together, grocery shop together, eat together—everything a couple would do—except for get naked and have sex.

And for that reason, tension is building. We have turned into roommates, which is probably for the best…but not in the direction I wanted things to go.

“I’m not hungry,” I mutter, going back to the first teal I had, hoping if I put in a dash of green it will even out.

“Sunny,” he barks at me, giving me that tone I haven’t heard in so long. By instinct, I turn toward him. “Come eat,” he says a little softer this time.

I listen, hopping off the scaffolding and stalking past him without a second glance. At the table, I pick at my dinner while he watches me, and I know he’s just as frustrated.

Finally, after a few moments, he throws down his napkin and stands up. “You have cleanup duty.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“You’re cleaning up after dinner,” he says again, reaching for the wine bottle. “You ate it, right?”

I’ve been working all day in the pool house, painting his goddamn wall, and now he wants to treat me like a kid who needs to do chores. My jaw hangs open. “I’ve been working all day, Alex.”

“So what, Sunny? You can help out if you’re going to be living here.” My mouth goes dry.

This isn’t about dishes at all. I can read the subtext in Alexander’s mannerisms and tone, and I am acutely aware that this has nothing to do with chores and housework, and everything to do with this tension between us.

He wants to fire me up. He’s pushing my buttons like throwing a spark on tinder wood. It’s like he knows this is how to shake things up, to get us out of our standstill, to shift the balance so that we either end up naked or fighting.

And if he thinks it’s going to be that easy, he doesn’t know a damn thing about me.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Then maybe I won’t live here anymore,” I threaten, feeling stubborn but also desperate to see his reaction.

“Then, don’t.” He’s pushing back. He’s not serious.

I stand up in a huff. “What the fuck is up with you right now?”

Stepping closer, he corners me. “You’re not going to be like me, Sunny. You’re not going to grow up without any responsibility or expectations. When you’re here, you’re going to pull your weight.”

“Since when did you become my parent, Alex? I’m twenty years old!”

“Since I started giving a shit about you, Sunny. Can you say the same about those other two?”

“That was harsh.”

“Get over it, Sun. Life is harsh. Toughen up and stop expecting handouts. You know how much I wish my parents would have given enough of a shit about me to make me responsible for myself, but they didn’t. No one did, babe, so you’re welcome.”

He steps away, leaving me reeling, leaning back against the table. The anger in my stomach is mixed with something else…lust.

But he’s already gone, walking out to the pool to drink his glass of wine—the only alcohol he keeps in his house these days. Which I’ve noticed he limits himself to one glass with dinner, and that’s all.

Stomping over to the sink with my plate in my hand, I scrape off the food into the disposal and start on loading the dishwasher.

The whole time all I can think is that I can’t let this argument die. I can’t go back to the way things were.

Once the kitchen is cleaned and wiped down, I stomp out to the pool house, ignoring him sitting in his chair by the water.

For a moment, I consider going home. I could pack up my things and call his bluff, but the thought of crawling back into my mother’s house is too abhorrent to even consider.