Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(22)

“What about these?” He holds up a set of throw pillows the exact shade of a rotting pumpkin.

I can’t help but crinkle my nose in disgust. “You’d better set those down before the ugly starts rubbing off on you.”

He sighs, returning them to the shelf, then reaches for a black-and-purple striped pillow.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn him, and he yanks his hand back faster than if he’d touched a hot stove.

“What’s wrong with those?” His tone is so defensive that for a second, I think we must be looking at different pillows. But, no, sure enough, he’s gesturing to the striped nightmares.

“Where did you get your taste from? The clearance rack at a Halloween costume store?”

“Jeez, you don’t have to be so mean about it,” he grumbles under his breath, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ve always lived in pre-furnished apartments before. I’m new to this.”

I bite down on my lower lip to hold back any more sassy comments. Maybe I was a little harsh. He is a guy, after all. And a twenty-three-year-old at that. He invited me here to help him, not to hurt his feelings.

“I’m sorry, I was rude. Let’s start over. What do you want the vibe of your apartment to be?”

His expression relaxes as he runs a hand over his stubble, mulling over my question. “I just want it to feel like home. Cozy, I guess? I like colors, but apparently the wrong ones, according to you.”

I nod along with his suggestions. “We can do color. How about I pick some things out that I think will work, and you can be in charge of, um . . . candles.”

He raises one thick brow, a suspicious gleam in his brilliant blue eyes. “So you choose everything, and I take the job I’m least likely to screw up?”

“Pretty much,” I say with a shrug. There’s no sense in sugarcoating it. “Call it my wifely duties kicking in.”

The scrunched look on his face is clearly skeptical, but slowly, he surrenders the cart to me. “Fine. But no way are you just banishing me to candle land while you take full control. I’m coming with you.”

Landon follows close behind me as I do a lap around the store, holding up options of different colored curtains, blankets, and placemats. He doesn’t argue with me when I suggest a neutral color palette with pops of color, but I do have to talk him down from this weird medieval-looking kitchen table he’s convinced he needs.

I’m surprised by how much fun we have doing something as simple as picking out placemats. By the time we’re done, our cart is overflowing, and his list of furniture to order for delivery is impressively long.

“You did very well,” I tell him as he swipes his credit card, making a purchase that, aside from my ring, is probably the most money he’s spent at one time, but he takes it in stride. I guess when your paycheck is seven figures, you don’t sweat something as simple as furnishing your home.

“We did very well,” he says, correcting me. “We’re not such a bad team after all.”

“As long as you let me take the lead,” I tell him, taking as many shopping bags as I can hold in my hands. He snickers, scooping up the rest.

It’s a short walk back to his car, and Landon loads his bags inside, then takes each one from me to place it carefully in the trunk.

“Should we set all this stuff up when we get back to your place?” I ask as we drive. I might be a little bit giddy to play interior designer with all his new decor.

“It doesn’t just have to be my place, you know.” His lips lift into a soft smile as his kind eyes meet mine. “There’s plenty of room for two. And it’s a lot closer to your office.”

My eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of my head. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that I move in with you.”

“What if I am?”

There’s not the slightest hint of sarcasm in his tone, and if he looks at me even a second longer with those deep blue eyes, he’s going to knock me right over, and I’ll start agreeing to things I have absolutely no right to agree with.

I don’t know what to say without hurting his feelings, so I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Landon, you’re being weird.”

He gives me a pointed look. “What’s weird is a married couple not living together.”

“But we’re not a normal married couple.” I feel like a broken record, but apparently, the concept hasn’t gotten through his head.

His nostrils flare as he reins in his frustration with a long, strained exhale. “Fine. We’ll discuss it later.”

He pulls into the parking garage for his building, but rather than open the trunk when we climb out like I expect, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key fob. He clicks it twice, triggering a beep, and the lights flash once on a shiny black SUV parked nearby. I have no choice but to follow him toward the SUV.

“How many cars do you own?” I ask, trying to keep up.

“It’s not mine. It’s yours.”

“Wait, hold up a second. What did you say?”

Landon rolls back his shoulders, looking proud. “It’s yours. A gift. All the guys’ wives drive nice cars. Call it an official initiation into the Ice Hawks wives club.”

I can feel the anger slowly creeping up my throat. “You bought me a car without asking?”