Rm W/a Vu (15 page)

I’m probably over-thinking it; I usually do.

When I reach the basement, I realize I forgot my hamper upstairs, so I decide to just fold my small load and carry it upstairs instead of risking the laundry trail that I’ll inevitably leave in my wake if I carry a rumpled pile.

I fold my pajama bottoms, then a couple of tank tops. As I pull my socks out, I toss them into a pile, always leaving them for last because then they’ll all be there and I won’t be searching for them as I go. It’s really a huge time-saver.

Or, so I used to think.

I’ve got all of my laundry folded and have almost finished matching my pile of socks…all but one. With a sigh, I toss the lone red sock on the dryer and open it again, looking inside for the straggler. It’s not there. I check the floor around me. Nothing. I think back to when I gathered my laundry this morning, and I specifically remember having both red socks in my hamper. They were right on top for crying out loud.

So where is it?

The washer next to me buzzes, and my eyes go wide.
Really
wide.

“Noooooooooo,” I groan, reaching out and pulling the door open. What I find inside is a nightmare. There, on top of his freshly washed clothes is my missing red sock.

After removing it, I pull out one of Greyston’s t-shirts.
Pink.

A couple of his socks.
Pink and pink.

Another shirt.
Pink.

Then…a pair of boxer briefs.
Pink.

“Oh God,” I groan, dropping my face into my hands. I’m so upset by this huge err on my part that I haven’t even dropped his underpants.

“Juliette?”

Chapter 12

F
rightened, I shriek, dropping his boxers back into the washer and slamming the lid back in place. “Jesus! You scared me.”

Laughing, he pushes his sweat-dampened hair back off his forehead. He looks a lot more relaxed than when he left, and for a very brief moment, I’m glad.

Then I remember his new pink laundry.

 “Nope, not Jesus. Just me.” He places a hand flat on his chest. “Greyston.” I laugh, but it’s forced, and he can tell. “I, uh, just came to check my laundry.” He peers around me, one of his eyebrows arched high. “What are you doing?”

 “Nothing,” I answer a little too quickly, even going as far as to hop up
onto
the washer to keep him from getting to it. Yes, I realize how stupid that is.

 “I’m going to need to get in there.”

I shake my head vehemently. “No you really don’t.”

 “Juliette?” He’s advancing slowly toward me, and I begin to panic, my heart racing.

I give him my best puppy dog eyes; my parents used to fall for it all the time when I was younger, so I’m confident it’ll work now. “Please, don’t.”

He smiles, his blue eyes sparkling with nothing but mischief as he takes another step toward me. I’m still shaking my head, making myself somewhat dizzy, as he continues forward. I push myself farther back onto the washer, trying to make my body heavy and hanging onto the sides as he reaches out for me.

 “Nonononono,” I keep repeating over and over again. Of course, the minute the tips of his fingers touch the exposed sliver of skin between my tank top and shorts, I consider changing it to
yesyesyesyesyes!

I’m no match for him; he moves me with ease, even against my struggles to remain between him and the massacre beneath me. He sets me on the top of the dryer, my face in my hands but peeking at him through my fingers.

 “You weren’t trying to poach my laundry, were you?” he teases before opening the lid and seeing the problem. “Oh.”

My hands fall from my eyes to cover my mouth as he slowly pulls out several pink pieces of clothing. “I’m
so
sorry,” I say, my voice muffled by my fingers. “I guess I was in such a rush to get my stuff out of there so you could use it that I missed a sock.” He remains silent, and this scares me. “A-are you mad?”

He drops his hands immediately, his shirt collar still held tightly between his fingers, and looks at me. The minute his lips turn up into a smile, I let my hands fall to my lap, feeling slightly relieved. But only slightly. “They’re just clothes, Juliette.”

 “Yeah,” I agree. “But they’re
pink
.”

 “True. But no one needs to know that.”

I drop my eyes to my fidgeting fingers. “Yeah, but I’ll know.”

Greyston snickers. “You planning to start thinking about what color my underwear might be?” I inhale sharply, and he’s quick to correct himself. “Sorry. That was…out of line.”

 “Uh, no, it’s fine.” Truthfully, if what he said was out of line, everything I’ve thought about him since the day we met has been so far over the line that I can’t even see it anymore. And I am most definitely wondering about the color of the underwear he’s wearing right at this moment.

Greyston starts pulling his clothes out of the washer, and I pull my legs up and crisscross them in front of me so he can load them into the dryer. He looks amused as he removes each piece of pink clothing.

“Come on,” Greyston says after turning the dryer on. He looks up to me with a playful smirk and winks, offering me his hand. “I think you’ve had enough fun in the laundry room.”

While the initial shock of destroying his clothes was almost petrifying, I have to admit that it’s kind of funny to think that Greyston has more pink clothing than Daphne now. I start to laugh, and he looks stunned.

He lets go of my hand now that I’m firmly on my feet and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s having trouble keeping the smile from his face; I can see it in his eyes. “You think this is funny?”

 “I’m sorry. It isn’t,” I assure him through fits of giggles. “But it is kind of
funny
… Now.”

 “Oh, you think so?” There’s a note of challenge in his voice, and when he narrows his eyes, my laughter dies instantly.

He takes a stalking step toward me, and I swallow thickly, taking one backward. I raise my arm and hold up a single finger. “Doooon’t,” I instruct, sounding like I’m scolding a puppy. I try to stifle a laugh at my own comparison, and then add, “Bad, Greyston.”

And then he lunges.

I shriek, dodging him and running for the stairs, laughing the entire time. I’ve just grabbed onto the banister when his long fingers ensnare my hips. He pulls me backward, turning me and slinging me over one of his shoulders. I’m too busy struggling and laughing to really focus on the fact that his hands are so high up on my thigh they’re grazing the frayed hemline of my shorts.

Well, I wasn’t focused on it until
now.

I continue to squirm in his grasp, but not too much because I’m quite enjoying the view of his ass in his running shorts. It never really occurs to me—not until I hear the patio door open, anyway—exactly what his plan is.

Flattening my hands on his firm lower back, I lift myself slightly and crane my upper body to confirm my suspicions. “Greyston, what are you doing?” It’s a stupid question, because I know the minute we step out onto the patio that I am about to get thrown in the pool.

Of course, I don’t expect to go down alone.

“I’m warning you,” I tell him, curling my fingers into the thin material of his shirt and shifting my weight on his shoulder as we reach the edge of the pool.

“And
I
am terrified, Miss Foster.” Sarcasm drips from every word. His hands slip from my upper thighs, forcing a ripple of goosebumps across my skin, and he grabs just above my knees in preparation of tossing me in the water.

The minute I feel him move to throw me in, I adjust my upper body, wrapping my arms around his other shoulder. I can feel it offset his balance already, and he tries to right himself, but I take the opportunity to swing one of my legs around his waist, sending us both into the pool. We break the surface with a loud splash, both of us emerging at the same time, laughing and wiping the water from our eyes; his are bright with amusement.

“You’re trouble,” he declares, pushing his hair back and off of his forehead.

I shrug before swimming toward the edge of the pool. “I tried to warn you,” I remind him.

The water feels amazing as I move through it, passing by Greyston. I know that once I get out, I’ll wish I was back in, so I stop swimming and let my body roll over until I’m floating on my back and looking up at the clear blue sky. To my right, I hear a splash, and when I turn my head, I see Greyston has hopped out of the pool and is headed for the house. It doesn’t escape my notice that his shorts are riding a little low and showing off the very top of his muscular backside between them and his shirt.

“Where are you going?” I call out after him.

“To answer the phone and grab us a couple of towels. I’ll be right back.”

I shift my body upright and begin to tread water, watching him disappear into the house, grabbing the phone from the kitchen counter and coming right back outside, walking toward me and holding out the phone.

“It’s your mom,” he announces, walking toward the pool as I make my way to the ladder.

My white tank is clinging to my skin as I climb up onto the deck, shaking the excess water from my hands before reaching for the phone. Greyston stops dead in his tracks, clenching and averting his eyes quickly as he hands me the phone.

“I’m, uh…” His voice is raspy, so he stops talking to clear his throat. “I’ll go grab you a towel.”

Unable to figure him out as he quickly runs back to the house, I put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

“Hey, sweetie. I’m just calling to see how everything is going,” she replies.

I laugh. “Pretty good. I kind of ruined Greyston’s laundry, though.”

“Well that can’t be good!” Mom exclaims with a snicker. “What happened?”

I cringe again just thinking about it. “Red sock. White clothes.”

Through her laughter, she says, “Oh, dear. Was he upset?”

“Enough to throw me in the pool,” I tell her, shaking my head.

She stops laughing, and her voice takes on a more serious note. “Oh, really?” I don’t have to focus hard to get the underlying insinuations in her tone.

“Mom, stop,” I command lightly. “You’re insane if you think anything will
ever
happen there. Believe me when I say that there is nothing I can do to make him find me even remotely attractive.”

“Who?”

I jump when I hear Greyston’s voice behind me and almost drop the phone. “Uuuh, Mom, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure, call me!”

I hang up the phone and set it on one of the lounge chairs before looking up at Greyston. “Sorry, she’s a talker.”

Greyston is regarding me curiously. How much could he have possibly overheard? Have I made things awkward between us by outing the crush I have on my landlord? My landlord who is in a relationship…with another man.

A cool breeze picks up, ripping right through my soaking wet tank top, and I shiver. Goosebumps cover my entire body, and in a flash, Greyston is thrusting one of the two towels he’s holding toward me and using the other to cover his head and dry his dripping wet hair.

This behavior of his can’t be normal for him, and I’m right back to wondering what the hell is going on. Instead of wondering, I decide to just ask. “Hey,” I say, dropping the towel onto the chair and reaching out for him. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting kind of funny.”

He removes the towel from his head and looks at me. I almost think I’m seeing things when his eyes move south and then quickly find mine again. Then I remember I’m in a white tank top…a
wet
white tank top…and I’m not wearing a bra…and my nipples are…

 “Oh god!” I exclaim, reaching for my towel and holding it to my chest. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think when I got dressed this morning!” The heat in my face can only mean that I’m the deepest shade of red I’ve ever been in my life. “I can’t even imagine what must be going through your head.”

 “I think it’s safest if you don’t even try,” he says with a nervous chuckle. “I, uh, have to run into the office to do a few last minute things before my trip. I’ll grab a pizza on the way home?”

I still can’t even look at him. In the course of a day, this poor man has been subjected to my lacy underthings and now my may-as-well-have-been-naked boobs. These are the last things he wants to see.

 “Sounds good. I have a bit more studying to do, anyway.” He’s just turning to head back inside when I stand up and say, “Hey. We’re cool, right? I know I’ve royally messed things up today, but I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

 “It’s fine, Juliette. I think this will just take some getting used to.” He offers me a smile, but it’s not the crooked one that makes his eyes shine; this one seems reserved—maybe even slightly forced. “I’m going to go change and head to the office. I’ll be back soon.”