Rm W/a Vu (8 page)

“Home?”
Ben repeats. “You’re living together?”

I narrow my eyes angrily at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but—” Before I’m able to finish telling him that I’m just Greyston’s tenant, Greyston shakes his head, silently telling me I don’t have to say anything. Why?

“I’ll meet you out by the car after I’m done here, okay?” he says, tilting his head toward the door.

Glancing once more at Ben, I nod before grabbing the box on my bed, and heading for the door. “I’ll see you outside,” I say to Greyston.

“Juliette,” Ben calls after me, but I don’t turn around. “Juliette!”

I keep ignoring him and continue down the hall. People are looking at me again, and I try to pretend not to notice. Instead, I focus all of my energy on not dropping the box or having the bottom of it break apart, spilling its contents in the hall.

After making it to my car, I put the box in the back seat, moving around and leaning on the trunk while I wait for Greyston. I check my phone periodically and realize that almost twenty minutes have gone by since I left my old room. Worry starts to set in, and I’m about to go check if everything is okay when I see Greyston emerge with another two boxes stacked in his arms.

I push myself to my feet and meet him halfway, taking the top box from him and leading him back to my car. “So, did he leave after I did?”

“More or less,” Greyston vaguely replies.

I push the box into the back of my car and turn to him. “What does that mean?”

Greyston closes the back door and smiles at me. The way the right side of his mouth curls up a little crookedly, flashing his brilliant white teeth, makes my stomach flip; I wonder if he knows that’s a pretty deadly weapon. “He tried to start something, and I finished it. I don’t think he’ll be bothering you for a while.”

I’m curious to know what he said to Ben, but the look in Greyston’s eyes tells me more than I need to know. That and the fact that the backs of his knuckles are red and slightly swollen.

He sees me eyeing his knuckles and shakes his head. “I regretted it the instant it happened…well, kind of.” Greyston runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it once he reaches the back of his head. “Shit. You must think I’m some kind of barbarian.”

“What?” I ask incredulously. “Not at all. I’m just…confused.” I laugh, scooting a little closer to him.

 “After you left, I tried to go back to gathering your things,” Greyston begins. “The minute my back was turned, he started in on me about you. About
us
. I had no interest in speaking with him—he’s a twit.” My lips twist up into a smirk, and I fight a snicker. “I’m sorry, but he is.”

Shaking my head, I hold my hands up in surrender. “No. No need to apologize. I can clearly see that now. But, obviously you didn’t hit him
just
because he’s an idiot?”

Greyston chuckles, relaxing a little. “No, that’s not why I hit him.” He pauses and looks me in the eye, likely gauging my reaction to everything so far. “He cheated on you,” he says quietly, resting his left hand against the top of my car.

With a sigh, I lean my back against the side of the car. “He did.”

“With your roommate.” It isn’t a question; he’s telling me that he knows without a doubt.

Swallowing thickly, I glance at him through the corner of my eye. “Did he…did he tell you that?”

Greyston shakes his head. “No, I gathered as much from the way the two of you were arguing.” He pauses for a minute, letting out a quiet snort-like sound. “Well, that, and your ex-roommate showed up. She has issues taking no for an answer, doesn’t she?”

“Ew,” I say, feeling a little nauseous that Delilah tried to sink her teeth into someone as sweet and caring as Greyston. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Another pause. “I had already deduced that he’d been unfaithful, so when he started calling you out for being
unladylike…
” Based on his brief moment of silence, I have a feeling that Greyston is trying to sugarcoat whatever crass name Ben called me. “I know we’ve only just met, Juliette, but to hear him talk about you like that? Well, forgive me, but it pissed me off. You’re a sweet girl. You don’t deserve that.”

I swallow thickly and try to control the impulse to pull his face to mine and kiss him senseless. It’s really the most self-restraint I’ve ever shown
in my life
. “So you hit him,” I say in a raspy voice, knowing already that it happened.

“Well,” Greyston responds, his nose scrunching adorably and his eyes narrowing. “Would it be terribly juvenile to say he started it?”

I can no longer hold back my laughter. “While I think that defense only works in six-year-old court, I can totally relate.”

“He’s jealous, you know.” I draw my eyes to his, confused by what he’s said. He must see this and decides to clarify further. “Of what he thinks you and I are.” Chuckling, Greyston shifts and bumps his shoulder against mine playfully. “I say make him stew in it. Let him think what he wants.”

I can’t help but laugh and actually feel a little better about asking for Greyston’s help. When I originally called him, it was only to ask him to act as a buffer between Ben and me; it never once occurred to me to ask him to pretend to be my new boyfriend.

The metal of my car groans as Greyston pushes off it, my eyes, naturally, following him. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s take your stuff back to the house.”

My cheeks warm, and I bite my lip as I place my hand in his. “That sounds like a good idea.” I’m just about to hop into my car when I turn back to him. “Hey, thanks again for helping me out. I didn’t mean to use you like that. I just… Everyone else I know is aware of what Ben did, and I didn’t want to talk about it. To me, you were, I don’t know, safe?”

“It’s really not a problem. I was happy to help in whatever capacity I could. Come on, let’s go home.”

My heart starts fluttering, and I feel like I’m going to pass out. I realize that hearing Greyston call his own house “home” shouldn’t make my stomach flip, but it does. It’s been a pretty stellar couple of days.

Well, minus the Ben part.

When we arrive at the house, Greyston hops out of his sporty little black Lexus, rushing to help me bring my boxes inside. After we haul the boxes up to my new room, Greyston excuses himself to take care of a business call while I begin to unpack a few things.

I’m just setting the time on my alarm clock when I realize I should call my parents and let them know where I am. I don’t want them to worry.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I dial the house phone. Mom picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom,” I respond.

“Hi, sweetie. Where are you? Your father and I were expecting you a half hour ago.”

I look around, a big smile forming as I take in the soft blue of the walls of
my
room. “Sorry. I meant to call. I finally stopped by the dorm and packed my stuff. I just wanted to bring it by Greyston’s place before I came home.”

“Oh, well that makes sense. How did it go?” Something in her voice tells me that she’s wondering if I ran into any unwanted drama.

“Fine,” I tell her, but I sense she knows I’m leaving something out. I sigh heavily. “I’ll tell you everything when I get home. I should finish up here, though. I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Sounds good, baby. I’ll save you some dinner.”

After putting my few belongings away, I break down my boxes and leave them in my closet until I can ask Greyston what I should do with them. I stand in the middle of my room and look around at the few little odds and ends that I’ve put out. It’s weird how they all seem to just belong.

Knowing I should probably get home, I pull myself away from the amazing view and lock my balcony doors. Still in a state of disbelief, I run my hand over the smooth bedspread on my way to the door. Living in a house like this while still in college shouldn’t be possible, but Greyston made it so.

I wander down the hall, noticing for the first time the photos that hang on the walls. I stop at one of Greyston and two people I assume to be his parents. They look nice. Loving. It’s no surprise that Greyston grew up to be such a great man.

Tearing myself away from the happy faces in the pictures, I wander closer to the stairs,  stopping immediately when I see that door on the opposite side of the staircase. My curiosity returns.

My hand rests on the doorknob, and just as I’m about to turn it, I realize what I’m doing. I yank my hand back, fully aware that I’ve almost invaded Greyston’s privacy. I decide to ask him about it…once I’m a little more comfortable here, that is.

Greyston is in the kitchen preparing something to eat when I finally make my way downstairs. He hears me enter the room, turning to me with a smile. “Hey. Get everything squared away?”

“Yup,” I tell him. “I broke down the boxes and left them in my closet, though.”

With an arched brow, Greyston turns his head toward me as I sit at the island. “Planning a midnight move already?”

I laugh, and a blush ravages my cheeks. “No. I just didn’t want to leave them lying about.”

He turns back to the stove and chuckles. “Not a problem. It’s recycling day on Thursday. I’ll grab them and put them out for pick up.”

“Thanks.” I push my stool back from the island and prepare to stand when Greyston turns around with two plates in his hands.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. “You’re not leaving already, are you?”

“Oh…”

Greyston sets both plates down on the island, one in front of me and the other next to it. “It’s just, I haven’t cooked for myself in so long, and I wound up making too much. I was thinking maybe you’d like to join me?”

Because it’s all I seem to be able to do in Greyston’s presence, I smile as wide as that creepy cat in the
Alice in Wonderland
reboot. “Yeah, I can stay,” I say, sitting back down and looking at the amazing-smelling pasta dish he’s prepared. “Just let me text my mom to let her know I’ll be a little longer.”

“So,” Greyston says when I set my phone back down. “I realized yesterday after you left that we didn’t really talk about how this cohabitation thing was going to work.”

He’s absolutely right. It never even occurred to me in between all of the inappropriateness. I’m not sure if there are questions I should ask, mainly because it’s just as rampant as it was yesterday. Good thing Greyston knows how to keep a conversation rolling, because I can’t.

“Obviously, I want you to feel at home here. There’s a lot of shared space, and I don’t want you to feel that if I’m in a room, you can’t come in.”

I’m just swallowing a bite of pasta when he says that, and I begin to cough after inhaling a string of linguine. Immediately, thoughts of him in the shower and me walking into the steamy bathroom fill my brain… And now I’m imagining him in his bedroom—naked—and I just come on in, because he said I should feel at home, and that’s what I do at home—walk in on people at the worst possible times.

With my coughing fit under control, I look over at Greyston, who is a very serious shade of red. It’s good to know I’m not the only one with a terminal case of foot-in-mouth disease.

 “I’m sorry. That didn’t quite come out right. What I meant to say was—”

I wave my hand dismissively, because if he goes into clarifying, I’m still going to transform it into something filthy. “That’s okay,” I tell him, my voice dry and raspy.

Greyston hops up and grabs me a glass of water, watching me, concerned, as I chug it. “Are you all right?”

I nod, setting the glass down. “Yes. Fine, thank you.”

 “I guess I just don’t want you to feel like you have to tip-toe around here. If you’re hungry at two a.m. for whatever reason, feel free to raid the fridge or pantry. If you want to have guests over, that’s fine. All I ask is no outrageous parties.”

 “Oh, yeah, of course. I’m not really one for parties anyway. I’m way too involved with my studies,” I tell him.

Nodding, Greyston pushes his food around his plate. “We’ll have to figure out some sort of laundry schedule…for obvious reasons.”

Great. Now I’m wondering if Greyston prefers boxers or briefs.

We continue to discuss how we see this living together thing working out. Turns out it shouldn’t be too much of an adjustment, especially when he reminds me about his work schedule from time to time.

 “I don’t have any trips lined up as of yet, but sometimes they’re very spur of the moment,” he explains. “I’m not your parent, Juliette”—
thank God for that
—“and you’re not a child. If you’d feel more comfortable having someone come and stay with you while I’m away, I’d understand. Girlfriend, boyfriend… Whatever.”

I laugh. “I don’t think that last one will be happening.”

Greyston doesn’t look at me, instead seeming a little too interested in the piece of broccoli in his Alfredo sauce. “I doubt that.” His voice is quiet, but I still hear him.

He sets his fork down and turns his whole body toward mine. “All I’m saying is that I don’t want you to think of me as your landlord. I’d like for us to be friends. This is your home now too.”

 “Thank you,” I respond, touched by just how much he wants me to feel like I’m at home.

We each take another bite, having ironed out a few details, before Greyston asks, “So, how did your parents take the news about you moving out?”

I giggle. “Moving out was never the issue. The issue was my living with a man.” Greyston chuckles lightly. “My dad was fine after I explained things a little more rationally. He’s still concerned, but I’m his only child. I get his fears.”

 “He just wants to keep you safe,” Greyston deduces.

 “Exactly,” I agree. “Actually, he has one stipulation.”

Greyston’s eyebrows rise curiously. “Which is?”

 “He wants to meet you,” I tell him, kind of nervous for his reaction.

 “I can do that. If it’s going to set your father’s mind at ease, I’d love to get together,” he offers.

Beaming brightly, I lock eyes with him. “Great! I’ll set it up.”

When we’ve both finished dinner, I offer to clean up before I have to go. I’m just rinsing the last dish and putting it in the dishwasher when Greyston’s phone rings.