Page 34 of The Revenge Game

I take a deep breath. I’m a successful adult, for god’s sake. I’ve left all that crap from high school behind me.

“Uh, yeah, I just realized I should be doing the dishes.” I stand abruptly and start clearing the plates.

“You don’t have to—” Justin starts.

“If you made me dinner, I have to do the dishes. That’s the rules,” I say. “Plus, loading a dishwasher is about the only domestic skill I’ve mastered. You’ve got to let me show it off.”

I’m trying to reset the mood, and the grin on Justin’s face gives me a pulse of triumph. Because it’s my sense of humor thatmade him smile. Regardless of what happened in high school, I can entertain Justin now.

“I’ll rinse then,” Justin says, moving to the sink. “Though I should warn you, my pre-rinsing technique has been described as slightly obsessive.”

I force skepticism into my tone. “How can you be obsessive about pre-rinsing?”

He flashes me another grin. “Ah, you have much to learn.”

“Apparently, I do.”

I quickly learn exactly what Justin means. Each plate gets the same treatment—rinse, examine, rinse again—like he’s worried the food particles might be plotting a rebellion.

“I’m pretty sure that bowl has confessed to all its crimes by now,” I say after Justin gives the bowl he’s holding one last scan.

“Hey, in the war against stuck-on food, there can be no prisoners,” he replies as he finally hands it to me.

“I’m beginning to see that you subscribe to the ‘leave no food particle behind’ school of dish rinsing,” I say.

He’s standing there with damp sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair slightly mussed from the steam, as he gives me a grin.

“Some people call it obsessive. I call it giving these dishes their best chance at a clean future.”

I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me, and Justin’s charming grin widens. Despite myself, my heart rate increases.

I’m a gay man. He’s gorgeous. It’s a natural biological response. It doesn’t mean anything.

I tear my gaze away. I need to talk about something completely unsexy with no chance of shared humor or connection.

Looks like we’re going back to talking about work.

“So, how’s the sports catalog coming along? I heard Dave mention something about updating product descriptions.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me. I spent three hours yesterday with Debra from Marketing trying to brainstorm how to make soccer shin guards sound exciting.”

“I’m imagining there are only so many ways you can describe plastic leg armor before you start questioning your life choices,” I reply.

We continue to talk about work as we rinse and load.

“I see someone else got the perfectionist gene,” Justin says, watching me reorganize the top rack to accommodate the last glass. “I think you missed your calling as a dishwasher Tetris champion.”

“What can I say? When you spend your days doing password resets, perfectly aligned dishes become your creative outlet.”

Justin laughs. He straightens the dish towel before glancing at me.

“It’s nice having company to do the dishes. Tabitha and Cassie try, but somehow, there’s a limit to the scope of the conversation with them.”

“I’m so glad that my conversation skills rank above animals who can’t actually speak,” I deadpan.

Justin’s laughter echoes off the kitchen tiles.

I turn away so I can hide my reaction to the sound.