The Belle and the Beard Kate Canterbary (reading comprehension books .txt) 📖

"I'm not worried that you don't know how to operate it," he replied. "I know for a fact that you don't know how to operate it and that worries me."

"Like I said earlier, I just won't use it." I handed him a bowl. "It's not that complicated. I can just pretend it doesn't exist."

"You think that will work?"

I reached into the sink to pull the drain. "I mean, yeah. I didn't know what that switch did until I flipped it earlier. It was purely accidental and I'll probably forget all about that switch."

"Until you go to turn on the light over the sink again and hit the wrong switch," he murmured.

"Oh my god," I groaned. "Would you just let it go?" I shook the water from my hands, giving him my most annoyed glare as I reached across him for a dish towel. "So there was a fork that had slipped into the opening and got whirled around a bit. It happens. We recovered it before anything tragic occurred so why don't we just put it behind us? It's not like I stuck my hand down there while it was on."

"Only because I stopped you from doing that," he cried.

I slung the damp towel over the front skirt of the sink. "Do you have any idea how obstinate you are?"

He leaned back against the countertop, his arms crossed over his chest. I was getting the sense that he knew how much I liked it when he crossed his arms like that. It was even better when he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. That dark dusting of hair on his thick forearms, the ropy muscle against the soft fabric of his plaid shirts. Gahhhh. It was amazing.

"I have a very good idea, yes." He shot me a smirk. "Do you know you're just as obstinate?"

"I am nothing of the sort."

"You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met."

"Wow. Wow. That's unspeakably kind of you to mention," I said. "I have to wonder, Linden, why you'd go to such trouble to keep me around when I'm obstinate and stubborn and dangerous with household appliances. Better yet, I'll stop wondering and return myself next door for the evening. I'm sure you could use a break from telling me how to do everything."

"You're not going over there."

"No? And who do you expect will stop me? It can't possibly be you since you're very busy being right all the time."

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What? Fine. What are you talking about?"

He pushed away from the counter and stepped closer, trailed his knuckles along the buttons running down the front of my shirtdress. "I'm asking how you're feeling tonight."

I laughed as I shook my head because I couldn't understand why we were talking about this now. "For a stubborn, obstinate woman, I'm all right. Why do you want to know?"

His brows pitched up as he considered this. "I mean, it helps to know if you're tired or feeling down or just want to scream at me a little longer."

"So you can get out of the way?"

He jerked a shoulder. "Yeah, that. You know I like to see you mad but I'm not a total beast. I want to know if you're having a rough time."

"And why is that?"

He stared at my buttons for a second. "Is there anything else I should know? About how you're doing, I mean."

"How I'm doing," I echoed. "Are we talking about the garbage disposal again? Or being recently fired? Or newly divorced? Or my role as the star of last month's political shitshow? What is the concern in question?"

"Any of the above. What are you up for?"

"Why do you want to know?"

He reached out, thumbed open the top button. "Because I'm not going to throw you over my shoulder and toss you facedown on the bed if you don't want it."

"You're—oh." I watched as he opened another button. "Then you've decided the best way to resolve this matter of our shared stubbornness is putting me to bed, is that it?"

"I'm not putting you to bed." He hooked an arm around my waist, dragged me up against him. "I'm taking you to bed."

"And by that you're saying…" I peered up at him, hoping to the heavens he'd finish the sentence for me, but after a beat it was clear that wasn't happening. No, I had to finish the sentence. "You're saying you're joining me in there."

"Fuck yes, I'm joining you."

"You're saying you're ready to finish what you started the other day."

"I've been ready all week. You were the one who needed to rest up. You weren't ready for me and you know it."

"That's highly debatable," I murmured.

"I don't fuck girls who haven't slept in a month," he replied.

I gave him a brassy smile. "Oh, is that what you have in mind? I wasn't sure where you were going with this."

He flipped open the next two buttons. "I'm going to rip this dress off like it's on fire and I'm going to taste every sweet inch of you. I'm going to fuck you until you can't take it anymore and then I'm going to fall asleep right beside you. And I think it's pretty cute how you make me spell it out for you when that was your job."

"I didn't need you to spell it out," I said with all the indignance one could muster with her dress open to her navel. "I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

"People have let you down before."

A considerable part of me wanted to argue with this sudden shift from our play-fighting to this very real, very unpleasant truth, to push him to explain that statement and why he felt it was appropriate to make it now. The other part of me was small and tender but it was starving, and it cried out at the recognition he offered. "Yeah."

"Right here, right now"—he