Mister Weston

I stood there, staring at him, watching him clench his jaw even harder.

“Do I need to call security?” he asked. “Do you not understand what ‘Get the fuck out of my condo’ means?”

“I know exactly what it means.” I snapped, feeling heated and upset about the way he was talking to me, about how he’d so quickly flipped the switch. “And I will definitely leave, Jake—after you thank me.”

“What the fuck?” He crossed his arms. “What did you just say?”

“I said, I will leave, Jake.” I spoke slowly, hissing right back at him. “After you thank me.”

“You want me to thank you for playing fucking Goldilocks in my apartment?”

“No, I—”

“You want me to thank you for breaking and entering?” He stepped closer and closer to me, backing me onto the edge of the other kitchen counter. “For drinking my best wine and bringing strangers home to fuck you? Or should I be thanking you for using my shower and leaving your goddamn scent all over my sheets?” His face was red. “Please enlighten me about what part of this fucked up situation you think I should be thanking you for right now.”

“I want you to thank me for watering your goddamn plants every day. Every. Day.” I fired back. “I even make time to do it on the days I’m not assigned to your room since you bought fifty fucking perennials and you clearly don’t know how to take care of them at all. If you think they’ve managed to survive all this time because of your charm, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Gillian...” A vein in his neck swelled.

“I’m not finished talking, Jake,” I said, beyond pissed and unable to stop. “I want you to thank me for closing the windows whenever it rains since you have a terrible habit of always leaving them open, for arranging all the books in your library by color so the sunlight won’t damage the spines, and for collecting all of your mail and organizing it by date. I bring it up from the mailroom and leave it on your counter to make it ten times easier for you. You can’t possibly think it’s the mailman who goes through all that trouble.”

“Also,” I said, crossing my arms. “I want you to thank me—again and again, for refilling your Coke can supply whenever it gets low. You haven’t had to buy any Coke in months. Months. And you only buy specialty cans for some reason. They’re very hard to find in this city.”

He stared at me, not saying a single word.

“You could also thank me for filling out some of your unfinished crossword puzzles, but if you want to leave that particular ‘thank you’ out, I can deal with that.”

He was still staring at me, his eyes narrowed.

“And since we’re speaking of crosswords, and you’re clearly having trouble with this concept,” I said, “a two-word phrase. Eight letters. Popular saying that expresses gratitude.”

He uncrossed his arms, and his expression slowly softened as a slight smile tugged at his lips.

“With all due respect, Jake...” I swallowed, glancing at the door. “Your ‘thank you’ needs to be verbal. Otherwise, I’ll be standing here until I get it.”

He let out a low laugh and picked up the corkscrew, slowly uncorking the wine. He poured one glass and handed it to me. As he poured a glass for himself, he kept his eyes on me, his sexy smile unwavering.

I downed my drink in one nervous gulp and he poured me another. Then another.

“Just so you know...” I said, feeling bolder after drinking a third refill. “A few glasses of wine are not equivalent to a thank you.”

“Trust me.” He tipped his glass back. “We’re going to get to that...” He took my glass from me and placed it into the sink. Then he clasped my hand and pulled me after him.

“For the record,” he said, gesturing toward the white frames on the walls. “That’s Dubai, The Philippines, Moscow, and...Ironically, the bottom right one is Tokyo.” He rolled his eyes and pulled me across the room, into the private library.

Letting my hand go, he looked at the bookshelves, then back at me. “Thank you for your attempt at trying to be thoughtful while stealing shit from me.” He picked up a crossword booklet from a chair and tossed it into the trash. “And for filling out my fucking crossword puzzles without me having to ask. I’m not sure how I’ve ever survived this long without you.”

“Thank yous aren’t typically delivered with venom.”

“They’re not typically delivered with fucking either.” He pressed me back against the bookshelf and stamped his mouth over mine, making me forget whatever else I’d planned to say.

His tongue slid between my lips, demanding full control of this kiss, and everything around me suddenly became a blur. His teeth tugged at my bottom lip as his eyes met mine.