Sugar on the Edge

by Sawyer Bennett

Page 9

  “You really are an ass**le,” she exclaims hotly, and then takes a deep breath that she lets out in a rush. “And yes, I realize I’m calling you that in another bout of anger, but I vow to you… I’m going to call you that one day without any provocation. Mark my words. ”

  I can’t help but grin at her.

  Savannah scoots the stool back further and steps away from the counter, leaving the rest of her meal uneaten. She turns and heads for the door.

  “Running away?” I taunt her. “So very anti-heroine. ” I’m not sure why I’m goading her, but I’m enjoying this moment.

  “Not at all,” she replies smoothly as she picks up her purse. Her voice is even and without anger. “As it so happens, I have a job to get to that starts in about half an hour. Thank you for dinner. It was… enlightening. ”

  “What job are you going to?” I ask curiously, because all of a sudden, I kind of don’t want her to leave.

  “I work part time for a photographer as an assistant,” she says as she turns to look back at me.

  “Have an interest in photography?”

  “That’s actually my main job. I have a BA from Carnegie Mellon with a minor in photography and digital imaging. Unfortunately, I just got laid off from my job as the photographer for the local newspaper, so I’m taking whatever kind of work I can find right now. ”

  “You’re kidding?” I ask, absolutely surprised for some reason.

  “What… blowing your image of the passive, little house cleaner? Didn’t think someone of my mettle could finish college? Have a real career?”

  “No, that’s not what I think at all,” I tell her, although… if I’m honest, I probably assumed she didn’t have much ambition.

  “Well… sorry if that puts a kink in the anti-heroine character you’re writing. If it’s any help to you, I haven’t started looking for another photography job yet. That should keep me firmly in your narrow little box you have formed around me for the time being. ”

  Okay, I deserved that.

  “Why haven’t you looked?” I ask, because I’m stalling so she’ll stay for maybe just a moment more and continue to fascinate me. “Clearly, you didn’t go to college to clean houses or be someone’s assistant?”

  “Because… I’m probably going to have to relocate to find something, and I haven’t decided where I want to go yet. So, I’m just surviving right now. ”

  It seems sweet Savannah, who is definitely still on the shy and timid side, may have a bit more to her than I originally suspected. Before I can say anything though, she turns to the door. “I need to go, so I’m not late. Thanks again for dinner, and if you don’t mind rinsing the plates when you’re done, that would make my job a little easier on Friday. ”

  She’s out the door before I can even say goodbye.

  I finish my meal, ruminating on our conversation. It hits me hard that it was probably the longest conversation, sober anyway, that I’ve had with someone in a long time. I didn’t think Savannah Shepherd held much for interest me, but I’m finding she has layers that I had overlooked.

  Maybe she’s not quite the Milquetoast I thought she was.

  This, of course, does not bode well for the character I just introduced. My muse apparently has a bit more resolve than I originally thought, and my mind starts spinning on how I can work this into my story.

  8

  I fumble putting the key in Gavin’s front doorknob, blinking my eyes to clear my vision. I’m so exhausted I’m practically asleep on my feet, and I’m not sure the last time I ate. I’m going to have to sneak a few veggies out of his fridge or something just to stop the rumbling of my stomach.

  I’ve gone twenty-six hours now with no sleep. Yesterday, I cleaned two houses, and then hit the road for a contract assignment for the newspaper. It was in Charlotte for the opening of a new restaurant by an Outer Banks local who has a sister restaurant in Nags Head. That turned into a twelve-hour trip, ten of which was driving in one day. I got back to the Outer Banks less than thirty minutes ago and headed straight here to clean Gavin’s house. When I’m done with his cleaning, I’m going home, where I’m going to collapse into a coma and sleep until tomorrow morning when I’m scheduled to volunteer at The Haven.

  Finally, the key slides home and I open the front door. I can hear Gavin moving around in the kitchen. When I walk in, he’s pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. As he straightens and closes the door, my stomach gives a little flip because holy hell, he’s standing there without his shirt on and his chest is just as magnificent as I remembered it. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of track pants and silver and black running shoes. His chest and face are covered with sweat, his hair plastered to his head, and it’s clear he just worked out or something.

  Twisting the cap off the water bottle, he gives me a smile and says, “Good morning. ”

  “You’re an ass**le,” I tell him with a straight face, fulfilling my promise to call him that without any provocation. I stifle the yawn that wants to burst out of my mouth, which would totally dilute the power of my message.

  He smirks at me briefly, and then starts drinking his water. The way his throat moves is freakin’ sexy as hell, and I use the opportunity to stare at him unnoticed.

  When he finishes the entire bottle, he sets it on the counter. “I just got done with my run, and I’m going to hit the shower before I start writing. Can you go ahead and start with the vacuuming so it doesn’t interfere with me later?”

  I roll my eyes at his thoughtful gesture and walk to the counter to pick up his empty water bottle. Pulling open one of the bottom cupboards, I toss it in the recycle bin. “Sure. Anything else special today?”

  “Um… maybe a sandwich at lunch?” he asks.

  “Be glad to,” I say as I notice that the sink is full of dishes again, but at least they all appear to have been rinsed off. Geez… why can’t he just put the damn things in the dishwasher?

  “Are you still mad at me?” he asks.

  I jerk in surprise. “No, why would you think that? Because I called you an ass**le?”

  “No,” he says chuckling. “You gave me fair warning you were going to do that. Bonus points for that, by the way. It’s just… you seem kind of quiet today. ”

  Cocking an eyebrow at him, I grab my vacuum cleaner and head for the staircase. “Just trying to stay within the bounds of your stereotype of me,” I quip, but truthfully, I’m too freakin’ tired to muster up the brainpower to hold conversation.

  When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I feel a pull on the vacuum cleaner. I turn to see Gavin pulling it out of my hands. “I’ll carry that up for you. ”

  “Thanks,” I murmur, not quite sure how to handle this nicer, more gentlemanly Gavin Cooke.

  “My pleasure, Sweet,” he says and then bounds up the steps ahead of me.

  “Sweet?” I ask, dumbfounded by this apparent nickname he’s given me.

  “Yeah… ‘sweet’… because you’re… well, sweet. ”

  “For a writer, you’re not very original,” I mutter, and he laughs in response.

  When I reach the top of the stairs, I see the vacuum cleaner waiting there and Gavin disappearing into his room. I go ahead and get started on the three spare bedrooms first, which will give Gavin plenty of time to get showered and vacated before I vacuum the large area rug in his bedroom.

  Unfortunately, the normal lull that I find so peaceful with the vacuuming about sends me into a deep sleep while I’m standing, so I make my movements a little shorter in stride to bust up my rhythm. Glancing at my watch, I see I’ve only been at it for five minutes, and I’m about ready to topple over. God, I can’t wait for this day to be over.

  When I finish with the spare bedrooms, I cautiously walk into Gavin’s. His bathroom door is still shut, so I plug in the machine and start to move it across the huge rug. I try to make quick work of it so I can get out of the privacy of his room, but within just
moments of me starting, the bathroom door opens and a wave of steam pours out.

  And yeah… Gavin walks out with nothing but a towel around his narrow waist.

  I sneak a quick glance at him, and shit… that memory will be seared into my brain forever. He’s a pretty ripped guy, but my eyes were helplessly drawn to that dark line of hair that went due south from just below his navel. It brought back memories of the way he was exposed outside of his boxers when I first met him. I had a guilty curiosity course through me, wondering how big he would be if he were fully erect.

  Gavin doesn’t say a word, although I probably wouldn’t hear him over the hum of the vacuum. I turn my back on him, moving my way around the other side of his bed. Just as I’m about finished with that side, I jump as something goes sailing past my shoulder and lands on the floor beside me. Glancing down, I see it’s the towel he was wearing. My skin prickles with awareness that I’m standing in the same room with a very naked, and very sexy, British author.

  I know this is a test. He’s testing me to see how anti-heroine I can be. I’m sure he expects me to blush deeply—which, okay, I am—but I’m sure he expects me to stiffen up in mortification and ignore his taunt due to extreme embarrassment.

  It’s time to show Mr. Cooke my heroine traits.

  Holding the vacuum handle in one hand, I bend over and grab the towel, throwing it over my shoulder. I turn my head, look straight at him, and will myself to maintain eye contact and not look at anything below his chin.

  “Thanks,” I call out loud enough that he can hear me over the vacuum. I even give him a quick wink before turning back around.

  Holy hell… he was completely naked. While it was a brief glance and I definitely sought out just his eyes, my surrounding vision took in his nude form in all its glory. I’m sadly disappointed I didn’t get a better look at the rest of him, and my cheeks burn with the realization that I am undeniably, one-hundred percent, completely attracted to this strange and frustrating man.

  But God… look at him. What’s not to be attracted to?

  I go back to finishing a few more swipes of the rug. Turning the vacuum off, I push it out of his room. I have the distinct feeling he’s smirking at me. I wish I were brave enough to do something that would leave him confounded, wondering if Savannah “Sweet” Shepherd isn’t quite the demure little creature he has me pegged to be.

  But truly… I don’t have that in me. Especially not with the lack of sleep I’m functioning under. I’d probably end up doing something completely lame and cheesy, and my new nickname from him would be “Dork. ”

  When I reach the hallway, as an afterthought, I can’t help but turn back around to ask him, “Do you want me to clean your office really quick since I didn’t get it last week?”

  Damn… he has a pair of jeans on already, but his chest is still yummy and bared to me. He nods his head while reaching in a drawer for a T-shirt. “Just give it a quick dusting. You can do the floor next week. I have to make a few calls before I start writing. ”

  I quickly run downstairs and grab my bucket of supplies, trudging up to the third floor. The last flight of stairs leaves me winded, and I’m betting that has everything to do with lack of food energy.

  His office is nice with dark hardwoods and burgundy walls. It holds nothing but an ornate wooden desk in the middle of the room that faces the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlook the ocean. His desk is well organized with a laptop in the middle, a stack of legal pads, and a few pens. To the right of the laptop sits a small frame, and I creep forward to get a closer look.

  I’m surprised to see it’s a picture of a little boy sitting on the steps outside of a house. He’s adorable, with brown hair and bright blue eyes. He’s showing a semi-toothless grin at the camera, and I have to wonder who it is.