There are some things that Alex could just never get used to, and being the diplomatic person that I am, I've learned to pick my battles. And I know that fighting one of those breathtaking smiles that lights up my whole world is futile anyway, so maybe it's more about saving face.

I used to drink Coke, but ever since we got together, the fridge in our apartment is filled with Pepsi. I used to drink whiskey, but she hates the smell, and God help me if she ever finds a bottle in the house.

I've boxed up all my DVDs . . . and my CDs . . . and really everything on our living room shelf to make room for a dictionary, an encyclopedia, a thesaurus, several law journals, and books so thick that I wonder how she can get through them without the reading spilling into the next century.

I buy orange juice every week, Tropicana, with no pulp. I make her a shopping list every Monday because I don't think she trusts me to buy anything more than a carton of milk or orange juice from the local convenience store. I pick up white roses for her every week because she loves them, even though I've really never seen the point of buying something that only lasts a few days.

Anything for Alex.

I wake up one Sunday morning around eleven, which is kind of nice. Usually I don't sleep this late, but it's kind of refreshing.

Alex is already up, and I pad into the kitchen to find her reading yesterday's newspaper and scowling. Her scowl – like everything else about her – is so adorable that I have to laugh. "Hey, baby," I say, kissing her cheek. "What's the matter?"

She glares at me. "Would it really kill you to fold up the newspaper when you're done with it?"

I shrug. "Probably not."

"Then why don't you do it?"

I can't keep the smirk off my face when I reply, "Because I love to see that adorable scowl on your face, trying not to go off on me, and folding the paper so meticulously like it's the most important task on Earth, even though we both know that it's going in the recycling bin when you're done with it."

"Alex," I whine. "Come to bed."

"Shh," snaps Alex, not even looking up from her paperwork. "I'm busy."

"I can't sleep without you," I complain, jutting out my lower lip, trying unsuccessfully to look cute.

"Sleep with that stupid teddy bear you're so fond of," she mutters unsympathetically.

"You're comfier," I protest.

"I'll make you a deal," she offers.

That peaks my interest. "What kind of deal?"

"Throw the teddy in the garbage and I'll come to bed right now."

I chew my bottom lip, considering. "Alex," I grumble. "What kind of deal is that?"

She shrugs. "The kind that gets me into your pants."

The nonchalance with which she says that almost makes me fall over, and my panties immediately start to moisten. Ah, who cares about a stuffed animal? I want Alex tonight. "Okay," I agree.

Her head snaps up. "What?"

"I said okay."

She raises her eyebrows. "Wow. I didn't mean that. I was bluffing."

I pout. "Well, that's how much you mean to me."

She grins and takes my arm. "The paperwork can wait. Let's go to bed."

Alex gets home from work one day, pouting adorably as she comes into the family room and perches on my lap.

I can't help but laugh at the look on her face and stroke her hair. "What's the matter?"

"Apparently I'm an uptight, self-righteous bitch."

I shake my head in amusement. "Who said that?"

"Opposing counsel."

"Ah, well. You're my uptight, self-righteous bitch."

She scowls at me and gets up off my lap. "Fine. Be that way."

She's so cute when she speaks like a fifth-grader. "Hey, I was just messing with you." I pat the space beside me. "You're a relaxed, easygoing, positive person who deals with conflict calmly and maturely."

She smirks. "Thank you, but I think the other one is a better description."

"Alex," I say when I get home from work one day to find a traffic ticket laid out on the table like a gift. "What's that?"

She shrugs, giving me her most innocent, "who, me?" expression. "I was coming to get you at lunch," she explains. "I missed you so I ended up maybe going a few miles over the speed limit." She gives me her sweetest smile. "But you can take care of it, right?"

"Or else . . .?"

She pouts. "Or else you're sleeping on the couch."

Well, that lights a fire under me. "I'll make a phone call."

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