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“Stop!” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Stop right now! Right now! Don’t . . .” I was already making my way over to him, nearly tripping in my haste. “Just don’t move.”

“What?” His warm brown eyes were like whisky colored saucers. Big and confused. The doofus!

“You can’t just slap it on like that!” I howled, horrified. “Oh for the love of—it’s dripping! ”

I snatched his roller and ran it over the grated end of the paint plate, shedding a few gobs of paint Beckett collected in his clearly inexperienced first attempt at using a roller.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“You’ve never painted anything,” I accused. “Have you?”

“Well . . .”

“Don’t even reply. I already know the answer.

” My focus moved to the wall that now looked like a sad attempt at raised art on an expensive canvas.

I rolled the now sparsely covered roller over the lines of thickly dripping paint, catching them seconds before they rolled onto the tape that covered the baseboards.

The tape was a protection we seriously needed considering Beckett had a paint roller in hand.

“What did I do?”

“Paint is like—like cologne. Too much and you’re overwhelmed.”

“Cologne?”

“You want to keep it light and evenly spread.” I continued. “You can’t just slap it on and hope it spreads nicely. You don’t want to choke out the wall.”

“Choke out the wall? You picked purple paint.”

“Raspberry Fuzz,” I corrected. “It’s light and refreshing.”

“It’s purple.”

I rolled my eyes, fixing the last of his mess. Then I turned to him. “Did you see what I did?”

“You rolled paint on a wall.”

I was going to wring his neck. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Clearly.”

“Like art.”

“Evidently.”

“Beckett.”

“Peanut.”

“Gorilla!” I snapped. His brows inched up and then he tipped his head back and howled in amusement. The long cord of his throat was—well, I won’t even say. Attractive isn’t even a worthy word, and regardless, I shouldn’t be thinking such things.

But sweet lord . . . the man was attractive.

“I saw what you did. Cover in paint, roll paint off in plate and then gently glaze over the wall.”

“Sounds about right.” I said, trying to ignore the ever-present grin on his face. “Think you can manage now?”

“I guess we’ll see.” He reached for his roller and against all my better judgment; I released it to him for a second chance. It wasn’t lost on me that I was giving Beckett something I very rarely gave anyone. It was a big deal, even if it was only with paint.

It was later when the room was finished (it looked amazing, I’ll add) and Beckett popped the plastic lid off the cake to set it between us on the island counter, that I realized I’d had fun with a man.

“You need a kitchen table.”

“Why? The counter works fine.”

“It’s only big enough for two.”

He raised a brow, “You want more roommates?”

“No!” For the love of sanity, living with one person was enough. “I was thinking more about when Raina and Kaiden come over for dinner.”

“We can go to their place for dinner.”

“You can see their bathtub from the kitchen table. It’s weird.” It was true.

I’d lived with Raina in a sweet little apartment we paid way too much for, but it had separate rooms for everything.

When Raina and Kaiden got serious, they decided they wanted to save as much as they possibly could, and they moved into a studio apartment that didn’t even have a door for their shower.

It was horrible! Honestly, having everything out in the open like that, I couldn’t imagine liking someone I lived with enough to deal with a space like that.

Every time I went over there, all I could see was the clear shower curtain Kaiden had demanded—and Raina had caved into hanging. Seriously, I’d always known Kaiden was a bit of a perv, but at least he was perving on Raina and only Raina.

Still, that didn’t mean I wanted to see the evidence right there while I was eating dinner!

Beckett chuckled, “That shower is awesome.”

I harrumphed, “You’d think so.”

“What’s wrong with it?” He handed me a fork and stabbed his deep into the cake, foregoing plates.

“There’s no privacy.” I said dumbly, staring at the big cake-barbarian. “Aren’t you going to use a plate?”

“Why? It’s just me and you living here.”

“Tell me you don’t have that view in regards to the milk container?” I could already feel my belly churning.

“No worries there. Drinking out of the milk carton makes it go bad faster and I’m not much for milk. Juice, though, is fair game.”

“Gross. I’ll buy my own juice from now on.”

“I’ll still drink it.” He stabbed his fork into the cake again, taking another large bite. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Doubt it.” I muttered, swiping my fork through the thick icing on the corner of the cake. I didn’t have a bit of cake on my fork when I poked my tongue out to lick the icing. So. Freaking. Good.

And then I noticed Beckett’s eyes on me. I paused as we locked eyes.

An uncomfortable kind of heat flooded into my belly, my enjoyment of my most favorite thing on earth taking second place to the weird sensation, and I swallowed the sweetness on my tongue. “What?”

“Raina wasn’t lying.” His voice was deep and rough, and I so didn’t like that. “You do like icing.”

“Yep.” I dropped my fork and slid off my stool. I hated it when men looked at me like Beckett was looking at me.

I hated it when men looked at me like this, but I felt oddly warm when Beckett did it.

And I didn’t understand why.

“Where are you going?”

“Pouring a juice before you get the chance to contaminate it.” I said, reaching into the fridge for my unopened carton of raspberry juice. It was another one of my weaknesses.

“Sorry,” Beckett said and I startled, confused.

“Why are you sorry?” And then I realized the seal was broken. “Beckett! You didn’t.”

“I actually used a cup for that.”

“Raspberry juice is mine. It’s the one thing I told you I don’t share. I love raspberry juice.”

“What if I promise to never let it run out? Will you share then?”

I popped my hip, dropping a hand onto it. “You’re promising a never ending supply?”

“I am.” He straightened from his crouched position over the counter, nodding. “What do you say?”

“I say that’s a pretty good deal. As long as you’re not drinking from my jug.”

“See how well we work together?”

I snorted and poured my glass. With the heat gone from his eyes and the stirring now dormant in my belly, I rejoined him at the counter and lifted my fork.

Of course, we didn’t eat the whole thing. But we definitely ate more than we would have had he simply pulled two plates from the cupboard.

“You’re a bad influence for my hips.”

“You’ve got great hips and an addiction to the gym. I have a feeling you’ll be fine.”

I had great hips. This was something I knew, but it was something that, when hearing it from Beckett, stirred all kinds of gooey, and entirely inappropriate feelings inside of me.

“Anyway,” tending to avoid awkward situations, I was looking for an escape when I announced, “I’m off to the bath I promised myself this morning.”

That heat I saw in his eyes earlier came back with a vengeance. It was all I could do to make one foot move in front of the other as I attempted to flee. But then he spoke, “You wanna catch a movie after?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Come on,” he pushed. “It’s Saturday.”

“I,” I looked at the couch and then back at Beckett. I wanted to. I wanted to so badly, and that was why I shook my head and snapped, “I already said no. Goodnight, Beckett.”

“Night, peanut.” He said, sounding just as disappointed as he looked.

And I cursed myself throughout the length of my bath, and later as I lay in bed. The man was going to ruin me.