Smoke and Steel (Wild West MC #2)(105)

I was in the closet again, finishing up getting ready.

Core was in the bathroom.

I heard him curse and Nanook gave a muted howl.

I was about to go see what was happening when Core walked into the closet holding up my tube of mascara.

“Is this important?” he asked.

“It’s my mascara,” I answered.

“Should I take that as a yes?”

I walked to him. “Yes, it’s a yes.” I reached and took the mascara from him. “Why do you have it?”

“Because I stepped on it and nearly broke my neck in the bathroom.”

Oh shit.

“Maybe I didn’t put it away,” I stated the obvious.

“Yeah,” he said, then, before I could apologize, he turned and prowled out.

However, it must be noted he glanced along the floor, all the way to the corner where our hamper was before he prowled out.

I glanced at the floor too. And yes, it was true, my shoes were everywhere. So were a couple of pairs of my jeans, a few sweaters, a skirt, a bra and the laundry hamper was overflowing because I hadn’t had time to do the laundry in a few weeks.

This was when I started to get annoyed.

Because, okay, if he didn’t realize I was burning the candle at both ends, doing this so I could have time to be with him, then he really wasn’t paying attention.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t have five hundred pairs of faded jeans and eight hundred tees/Henleys/thermals, not to mention his thousand pairs of underwear (okay, exaggeration, but he had a lot of those things).

He was a bachelor before me, and as such, he packed the closet so he’d have to do laundry as little as possible.

He wasn’t hurting for things to wear.

And if he was, he could do a couple of loads of the laundry his own damned self.

I mean, they had staff for the dispensaries, so outside of the brothers keeping an eye on them, it wasn’t like Core’s day job was super taxing. And his pro bono vigilante work happened night or day, but it was his choice to put that time in.

If this was House Dad material for when that time came, it was for the birds.

I walked into the bathroom to grab the lip gloss I wanted, and to put my mascara back, and…

Right.

I had to admit, the dry shampoo can was out, so was my brush, and I hadn’t put away my blush, highlighter, foundation or any of the brushes or sponges I used to apply them.

He had a great bathroom. The flippers that had rehabbed his house had gone the extra mile in there with white tile laid in a herringbone pattern with black grout, a soaking tub as well as a big shower, and a long, black vanity with double sinks, which were kick-ass white bowls sitting on the counter.

There were also illuminated mirrors, which were perfect for doing makeup.

He had his space at the basins, and I had mine.

But it couldn’t be denied, not only was I was encroaching on his, his side was very tidy and mine was…not. Not just the makeup and hair stuff, but the dust from the makeup was sprinkled on the white counter and some of it had smudged.

It looked like shit.

It also looked like Oscar and Felix were sharing a bathroom.

In fact, Core was generally tidy, not leaving his keys and phone just anywhere. When he grabbed the mail (and Core always grabbed the mail), he sorted through it, his correspondence whisked away to wherever he tucked his paperwork. When I got home from work, I’d see my mail stacked in a neat pile on the little built-in desk that sat in the corner of the kitchen by the door to the laundry room (and, truth, I hadn’t touched that growing pile in days).

He had cleaning people come every two weeks.

But although I’d never seen him do it, we had a dog that was hella fluffy, yet the dog hair did not overwhelm us between these visits. I knew this was because, before I’d even moved in, Core had one of those expensive rechargeable, cordless vacs that were superpowered so they sucked up dog hair.

He had to run it, almost daily.

I thought this because I hadn’t run it, ever.

Evidence was suggesting my man was a neat freak, and I was not super messy, but if I got caught up in work and life, I could let things get out of hand, and maybe that was bothering him.

However, he was a grown-ass man, so if it was, he could use his words.

But in the meantime, at the very least, I needed to remember to put my mascara away because I wasn’t super hip on the idea that he might break his neck tripping on it in the bathroom.

Quickly, I tucked everything where it was supposed to be and wiped up the makeup sprinkles with a hand towel. I put out a new towel (our last clean one, eek!), took the dirty one with me, tossed it on the hamper (it rolled off and onto the floor…mental note: do a couple of loads of laundry tomorrow) and headed out to Core.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

“Yup,” he answered, hitting the remote to turn off the Christmas tree lights and then heading to the garage.

I’d done preliminary research, and considering the aesthetic we seemed to share, assessed that CB2 and West Elm were our primary targets for Christmas décor. Therefore, Core headed us to Cherry Creek.

“I’m sorry about the mascara,” I said.

“Not a big deal,” he replied.

“I’ll do better at putting away my makeup,” I told him.

“Again, not a big deal.”