Sighing, I lean against the wall and watch the floors pass by. “Because there’s no way I can have sex with Fisher without feelings getting involved.”
Her face softens with sympathy. “I hate to break it to you, but it sounds like feelings already are involved.”
She’s probably right.
Things got all screwyweeksago when we went to see Sabrina and Noah and Vegas only made it worse. We literally ended upmarried.
I forgot about all the work Fisher already completed in the apartment, so Whimsy’s gasp when she steps inside has my heart lurching like there’s a burglar waiting inside for us with a stash of my designer purses on his arm.
“There’s color in here.” She spins, taking everything in. “This looks so amazing. You didn’t tell me you were doing all this.”
“Because I didn’t do it. Fisher did.”
I set my coffee, purse, and phone down on the counter. My purse falls over, the contents spilling out. I gather them back up and shove them inside.
“He’s decorating your apartment?” she asks in disbelief. “And you’re letting him?”
“Seemed easier than arguing,” I mumble.
Whimsy spins, taking in every crevice of the small space. “Your apartment has been a plain white block for as long as I’ve known you.”
I pick up my coffee, twirling the straw through the liquid in an attempt to mix some of the caramel into the drink. “We travel so much that I’ve never seen the point in decorating.”
She raises a brow. “But Fisher sees a point in doing it?”
“He knows all white isn’t me. I like color.”
“So why didn’t you ever decorate?” she probes.
I busy myself taking the cushions off my current couch to make it a bit lighter for them to carry out of here. “Didn’t feel like it.”
There’s a bang against the door and a series of expletives.
I rush to the door and swing it open to find Fisher with his glasses askew and my brother flat on the floor struggling to catch his breath. “I thought I was in shape,” he groans. “I’m a professional athlete for God’s sake but that couch got the best of me.”
Reaching out, I adjust Fisher’s glasses for him. He gives me a half smile in return. “Thanks.”
“Seriously, sis, what is this couch made of? Bricks? How the hell did you ever get it in a storage unit?”
“I hired movers.”
“Well.” He heaves another breath. “You should’ve hired them again.”
“I wasn’t the one who wanted the couch.”
Groaning, he points a finger at Fisher. “You should’ve hired movers, dude.”
“Sorry. I’ll remember that for next time.”
My brother sits up and gives himself another minute before he stands. “All right, let’s get this other one out before we bring this one in.”
They drag the vintage couch down the hall a bit so it’s out of their way to get rid of the other one.
“Should’ve thrown this off your balcony,” Elias gripes.
“And possibly killed someone?” I interject in horror.
“I would’ve yelled look out below first,” he mutters.