Lia's POV
The notice was taped to the fridge in big red letters
MANDATORY HOUSING INSPECTION SATURDAY, 10:00 A.M.
I nearly choked on my cereal. The apartment still smelled like stale beer, and Jaxon had apparently decided that "cleaning" meant shoving dirty laundry under the couch cushions.
When I confronted him about it, he didn't even look guilty.
"Relax," he said, sprawled on the counter like a cat who paid no rent. "These inspections are a joke. They peek in, nod and leave."
"Not if they see this." I gestured wildly at the crime scene of an apartment. "We'll get written up. And if we get written up, I lose my scholarship housing. Which means I lose my scholarship. Which means"
"Which means your entire world collapses, birds stop singing, and civilization ends as we know it," Jaxon interrupted, smirking. "Got it."
I glared. "You're helping me clean."
He raised a brow. "What if I don't?"
"Then I tell the inspector about the unregistered motorcycle you keep parked under the fire escape."
That got his attention. His eyes narrowed, but instead of fighting back, his mouth curled into something far more dangerous: amusement.
"You're learning, Carter." He slid off the counter, stretching lazily. "Blackmail. I like it."
What followed was three hours of chaos.
Jaxon vacuumed like he was fighting a war. I scrubbed countertops while he "accidentally" flicked water at me. He claimed he couldn't fold laundry, so I caught him deliberately balling up shirts and tossing them like basketballs into drawers.
By the time we collapsed on the couch, sweaty and breathless, the apartment looked almost civilized.
I was about to congratulate myself when he leaned closer, smirk tugging at his lips. "Admit it. We make a good team."
I rolled my eyes, but the truth was, my heart was hammering in ways I couldn't explain. He was too close, his arm brushing mine, his cologne smoke and something darker clinging to the air between us.
For one terrifying second, I wondered what would happen if I didn't move away.
Then the knock came.
The inspector stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand, eyes sweeping the apartment. Jaxon, of course, turned on the charm.
"See?" he whispered, grinning at me as the inspector made notes. "Flawless. We're practically domestic."
I wanted to smack him. I wanted to kiss him.
And neither option made me feel safe.