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hair and face when I was done throwing on a T-shirt and tan cargo shorts. Why women fussed so much over themselves I would never understand. Ivy was fucking gorgeous the second she rolled out of my bed in the morning. She didn’t need to make such an effort.
    But Ivy didn’t see herself the way I did, the way most other people did. She thought she needed to do all that to make herself look better. I could tell her it wasn’t necessary until I was blue in the face. Still, it wouldn’t matter. The thing I learned was putting herself together was something she needed to do, if only for herself. Makeup and shit was sort of like her happy place, like football was mine. I wasn’t gonna bitch or argue about it. I’d love her no matter what.
    I stopped in the bathroom doorway and admired the way her silky green top rode up on her midsection, exposing a smooth patch of skin as she fussed with her hair. “I swear to God, woman, you take longer in here than it took all the founding fathers to create the Declaration of Independence.”
    Just ‘cause I wasn’t gonna argue over her hobby didn’t mean I wouldn’t tease her about it.
    She shuddered. “Ew. Did you see those men’s hair? If I were making history, I wouldn’t have looked like that.”
    I snickered and crossed my arms over my chest and leaned in the doorway. “I bet they were studs back in the day.”
    She lowered her arms, shirt falling back into place. So I admired her round ass instead.
    She made a rude sound and turned from the mirror. “If they were studs, then the women back then had no standards.” I liked the way her nose wrinkled with distaste and the way her eyes took on a shade of green to match her top.
    “You look hot,” I told her.
    She rolled her eyes, but I knew she liked the compliment. Girls like compliments.
    “Such a way with words,” she mused.
    I caught her around the waist and pulled her into the doorway with me. I leaned back and spread my legs, bringing her up against me. “I told ya I’m not good with words.”
    “The way you kiss makes up for it.” She leaned in, but I turned my face.
    “Is that all I am to you?” I joked. “A piece of man candy?”
    She licked me.
    Took that wicked tongue of hers and slid it right up the side of my face.
    “Man candy? No. Sour Patch Kid? Totally.”
    I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “Have I ever told you what a good kisser you are?” I deadpanned. “The best.”
    “I have been told that before…” she mused.
    I lunged at her, catching her around the waist and turning us so she was against the doorframe and I was in front. I moved fast, lightly digging my fingers into her sides, getting all the spots I knew would make her squirm.
    “Stop!” she shrieked and jerked, trying to avoid my tickling. “Braeden James, stop it!”
    “Ooh, someone means business.”
    She laughed and collapsed against the doorframe. Prada came racing out into the hallway and started barking at us. When Ivy kept laughing and screeching, Prada jumped on my leg like she was going to attack me and save her favorite girl.
    I relented and pulled back slightly. Ivy’s cheeks were pink from the commotion and her top was slightly askew.
    Prada chewed at the end of my shorts and pulled. Ivy laughed and scooped her up. “Good girl,” she crooned.
    “That vicious thing tried to attack me, and you tell her she’s a good girl?”
    Ivy pushed out of the doorframe, carrying the dog. “Oh, you poor thing. You could have been seriously hurt.” She stuck her lip out in a pout but slapped me in the midsection as she moved past. “Man up, Nancy.”
    I grinned and swung around to follow her. “If I were a woman, my name would not be Nancy. I need something with some sass.”
    Ivy turned and glanced at me over her shoulder as she walked, her eyes amused. “This is quite an interesting conversation, but I need coffee.” All her attention moved toward the fluff ball in her arms. “And this little princess needs