I skirt past the kitchen, training my focus on the living room and the remote. Not Loren Hale, who closes the fridge, a water bottle in hand. I am not even going to glance at his gorgeous bone structure, those sharp-as-ice cheekbones or the pink lips that turn into a sexy pout when he glares. Or his intense amber eyes that always stare straight into me. It’s just me and the remote.
