“This is what it is,” I announced, not looking to the chiseled features of his face.
Though I didn’t need to when I heard the smirk in his voice as he asked, “Which is?”
Edward flicked on the faucet. The sleeves of his shirt were already rolled up to his elbows, exposing the unfortunately delicious flesh of his forearms. “The worst kind,” he agreed.
Without speaking, we decided he would wash, I would dry.