Rm w/a Vu

by A. D. Ryan

  Suddenly, I hear Dad’s laughter coming from the living room. My eyes meet Mom’s, shock clearly written across my face as I launch myself off my stool. By the time I make it back to the living room, Dad is relaxed back into his chair—his holster no longer on or even in sight.

  What the hell happened while I was in the kitchen? I hadn’t been gone that long.

  Dad looks extremely happy, his eyes shining with what I assume to be tears of laughter. I can’t even put into words how shocked I am to be witnessing this. And here I thought he was going to be a hard-ass the entire evening. Clearly, I underestimated Greyston’s ability to win him over.

  “What’s going on in here?” I ask, looking between the two of them with wide eyes.

  Dad glances at me, looking somewhat perplexed. It’s then that I realize I’ve forgotten his drink. Thankfully, Mom’s right behind me to save the day.

  “Juliette, honey, you forgot your father’s beer in the kitchen.” Mom hands Dad his beer and sits on the armrest of his chair. “Dinner should be ready right away,” she announces, draping her arm over Dad’s shoulders.

  Settling back onto the couch—possibly closer to Greyston than before—I try to get a feel for the atmosphere in the room. Mom and Dad begin to talk quietly amongst themselves, so I decide to ask Greyston how he managed to change my dad’s pre-conceived notions so quickly.

  “So,” I begin, “things are going well?”

  Greyston chuckles quietly, shifting his body to face mine again. His knee touches mine, and a spark shoots through me. I’d blame static, but this seems to be the effect he has on me every time we’re together. “Your father’s not quite as terrifying as you seem to think.”

  “Yes,” I argue. “He is.”

  I think Greyston is about to tell me what was said between him and my dad but is interrupted by my parents standing up, and my mom announcing that dinner is ready.

  Mom and Dad lead the way to the dining room where the table is set for four: two places on one side for Mom and Dad, and two on the other for Greyston and me. Dad, Greyston, and I find our seats while Mom heads back to the kitchen to retrieve dinner.

  “This smells absolutely amazing, Mrs. Foster,” Greyston proclaims, pulling my chair out for me.

  My parents’ expressions aren’t missed as I accept Greyston’s chivalrous act. Their eyebrows shoot straight up, widening their eyes, and their mouths are gaping slightly. While I’m sure Greyston has already caught the looks they are giving us, I clear my throat to make them stop.

  Mom’s the first to speak, setting the casserole down in the middle of the table. “Thank you, Greyston. It’s one of Juliette’s favorites. And, please, call me Anne.”

  We all take a minute to dish up before Mom gets the conversation flowing. “So, Greyston, what is it that you do for a living?”

  I find myself sitting up a little straighter and looking at my father while awaiting Greyston’s answer. I anticipate a huge reaction because Dad’s generally pretty animated when it comes to anything sports-related.

  “Actually, I’m a sports agent,” Greyston announces.

  My dad is looking at Greyston, but there’s no excitement. I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed.

  “I think it’s kind of cool,” I say, gaining a strange look from my mom. I can understand her reaction—I’m not a sports kind of person—but I’m trying to get my dad excited about this.

  Greyston shoots me that crooked smile that makes me all tingly. “Thanks. I was actually just telling your dad that it was my agency that helped sign the Cardinals’ new quarterback.”

  Well, that would explain my dad’s lack of response; he already knew. Damn, I was hoping to have been around for that.

  “In fact, Cam…” I’m stunned by Greyston’s use of Dad’s first name, but neither one of them seems fazed. “The team’s manager gave me a few extra tickets to their next game. I don’t suppose you and your family would like to join me?”

  Dad’s eyes practically bug out of his head, and the food he’s just scooped onto his fork falls back to his plate with a quiet splat. His astonished reaction makes me feel a little better about not having been around when Greyston told him about the sports agent thing.

  “You mean the game next weekend? Against the Eagles?” Dad looks like he’s about to pass out; I’m starting to get concerned.

  Mom interjects, setting her fork down and placing a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Cam grew up in Philly, Greyston. The Eagles are his favorite team.”

  Smirking, Greyston swallows the bite he’d just taken, grabs his napkin from his lap, and wipes his mouth. “Well, that’s too bad.” Dad seems confused. “It’s going to be hard to watch them lose, then.”

  Mom and Dad are staring incredulously at Greyston, and I’m not even sure how to react. Surely my dad is going to blow a gasket and throw Greyston’s cocky ass out of the house. It looks like I probably won’t be moving into my new place.

  Goodbye, new life. I’m sure you would have been great…

  “Well, that seems awfully confident,” Dad retorts, shocking me completely.

  Greyston shrugs, the look in his eyes goading my father on further. “What can I say? I have faith in my hometown team.”

  “Greyston,” I whisper, gripping my fork so tightly that my knuckles turn white. There’s another part of me that’s fighting from poking him in the leg with it just to shut him the hell up before he ruins everything. “I don’t think that this—”

  Dad snorts, and it sounds as though he’s amused by what Greyston has said. “And the fact that the Cardinals haven’t won the last five games hasn’t shaken that faith, son?”

  I choke—but not on food or drink because I’ve been far too stunned by Greyston’s comment to eat. Of course, my shock over that is nothing compared to hearing my father call Greyston “son.”

  Did I step through some magical portal into a world where everything is ass-backward? In what universe is my dad this chummy with any guy I’ve brought home?

  “Sorry,” I apologize after catching my breath. “I inhaled and swallowed at the same time.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I’m mortified. There’s no way that all three of them don’t see my face turn a shade of red that rivals the cherry-red pillared candles in the middle of the table.

  Did I seriously just say that out loud?

  I avoid everyone’s eyes and push my food around my plate with the tines of my fork, occasionally stabbing at a broccoli floret. It feels like forever before anyone speaks again—even though it’s probably only been less than a minute. This, if you ask me, is far too long to think about the double meaning behind my words…not that you really have to think to get it.

  Greyston clears his throat and starts talking about sports again, easily distracting my father. I chance a look across the table to find my mother smiling sympathetically at me. “It’ll be okay,” she mouths, and I shake my head in disagreement.

  I don’t speak for the rest of the meal—even when someone directs a question my way. I’m always sure to put a forkful of food into my mouth or take a drink, limiting my responses to a headshake or a nod, and, occasionally, an agreeing hum.

  With dinner finally out of the way, my mom brings out a homemade apple pie. Greyston looks like he’s about to drool a little before telling my mom that apple pie is his absolute favorite.

  “Oh, Greyston,” she says humbly. “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, I’m really not,” he assures her, accepting the plate she’s holding out to him.

  She finishes serving the pie before taking her seat, and is just about to take her first bite when she looks like she’s forgotten something. “Juliette, honey, would you be a dear and grab the whipped cream? I didn’t have the chance to whip it myself, so just grab the can out of the fridge door.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I agree, pushing my chair from the table and heading for the kitchen. I take the time away to give myself a stern talking-to about sticking my foot in my mouth. When I�
�m sure I can control myself for another hour or so, I return to the table and offer the whipping cream to Greyston first.

  It would be an outright lie to say that watching him accidentally get a bit on the tip of his index finger doesn’t do unspeakable things to my body. God. I’m biting the inside of my cheek to keep from making an embarrassing noise—and crossing my legs beneath the table to quell the dull tingle that has started to spread between them—when he licks his delicious-looking digit clean.

  I’d have traded my soul to wrap my own lips around his finger…

  “Juliette?”

  Blinking, I let my eyes wander from his fingers to his eyes. It’s then that I realize he’s offering me the whipped cream, and I’m staring like an attention-starved puppy. Apparently, I don’t need to speak to embarrass myself completely.

  “Sorry. Thanks.” I take the canister from him and shake it before turning it toward my plate. My hands tremble as I push on the nozzle, causing the whipped cream to spray somewhat messily. I, too, have gotten whipped cream on a couple of my fingers, so I quickly lick them clean and cut a huge bite of my pie with my fork to keep anyone from asking me a question.

  To my left, Greyston’s fork clangs on his plate, and I can see through my periphery that he’s just picking it back up.

  After dessert, I take everyone’s plates and load them into the dishwasher. I’m just putting the last fork into the basket when a deep voice startles me.

  “Are you sure you want to leave this behind? Your mom is a pretty amazing cook,” Greyston says. “I have half a mind to ask if I can move in here.”

  I laugh nervously, closing the dishwasher and turning it on. “Believe me, less than a week in this house and you’ll be Googling lobotomies or the best household chemical combination to make industrial-strength brain-bleach.” Greyston eyes me curiously. “Just trust me. You don’t want to know.”

  Greyston smiles, his blue eyes locking with mine. “Well, I just hope you realize I’m not nearly as good a cook as she seems to be. I’d hate to disappoint you.” This time, it’s his cheeks that turn a bright shade of crimson, and he chuckles nervously, tousling his hair and looking at his feet. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for suggesting this meeting. I had a really great time tonight.”

  It’s hard to hide my disappointment that the night is coming to an end, so I look down at the towel as I dry my hands. “Good,” I tell him, trying to mask the sadness in my voice with a forced smile. “I’m glad you had a good time. I think my parents really liked you. Thanks for agreeing to this.” I hang the dishtowel on the oven handle and look up at Greyston.

  Silence hangs heavy and awkward between us before he glances at his watch. “Well, I guess I should head out. I have to be up early for a few errands. If I’m late, Callie will have my head.”

  It doesn’t seem to matter that I just met him and I’m fresh out of a relationship, my stomach clenches and my heart aches when I’m reminded that Greyston is in a serious relationship. I must be hiding it well, though. “Of course. I’ll walk you to the door.”

  After he puts his jacket on, I open the door for him. “I’ll see you this weekend?” I remind him.

  He nods once. “Definitely. Remember to call if you need a hand moving…or anything else.”

  Anything? I wonder silently before slapping my presumptuous inner-monologue into submission. “I will. Thanks.” Greyston turns and takes the first couple of steps away from me. “Greyston?” He faces me once more, curious. “Have a good night.”

  His smile widens. “You, too, Juliette.”

  After standing in the doorway and watching Greyston drive away for a change, I close and lock the door before retiring to my room for the night.

  Chapter 9

  The sunlight streams through the windows, drawing me from a content sleep. Slowly, I open my eyes, squinting against the bright light that bathes my room. At first, I find myself confused by the pale blue walls and fluffy white duvet I’m nestled under, but then I smile and prop myself up on my elbows as I look around my new digs. Even from my bed, I can see a portion of the desert through my balcony doors, and I still can’t believe this will be what I get to wake up to every morning.

  Kicking my blankets off, I twist and climb out of bed, stretching tall as I make my way past the three boxes I decided not to unpack last night in favor of sleep after a long day. I open the French doors, letting the warmth of the morning sun wash over me as I step out onto the stone balcony and breathe in the fresh air. Just as it was the last time I was standing in this very spot, the desert is breathtaking.

  Of course, then I look down, and I truly understand the meaning of that expression.

  Greyston is swimming lengths in the pool, his sinewy muscles move with each stroke of his arms. Unable to look away, I lean on the railing and continue to ogle him from afar.

  I’m not naïve enough to think that our arrangement won’t be a little awkward in the beginning. Not necessarily for him, but for me. I’ve got a huge crush on him, and I can’t do anything about it except maybe wait to see if it passes.

  Until the day that happens, though, I’m going to enjoy the view my new room comes with to its fullest extent.

  I straighten up quickly when he reaches the side of the pool and looks up to find me gawking. I’m hoping he can’t see just how hard I was staring. However, considering the second level isn’t that far up, I’m extremely doubtful.

  “Hey!” he calls up, offering me a wave. “There’s coffee downstairs. Why don’t you grab a cup and come on out?”

  I dash back into my room and pull on a pair of jeans and a fitted tee before brushing my teeth and hair and washing my face. I grab the check for first and last month’s rent from my dresser and head downstairs. Down in the kitchen, I find a fresh pot of coffee and pour myself a cup while I read and sign the rental agreement Greyston had left on the counter. After placing the check on the agreement, I head outside to find Greyston.

  As I wander out from beneath the shade of the eave overhanging the dark stone patio, I see Greyston standing by the edge of the pool, running a towel over his head to dry his hair. His face is blocked by the blue terrycloth, but I’m not really focused on that part of his anatomy anyway; my eyes are far too interested in his strong arms, his chiseled chest and abs, and his muscular legs.

  I’m pretty sure I’m going to melt into a puddle or spontaneously combust.

  He drops the towel and begins to wipe the water droplets from his lightly tanned skin. “How was your sleep? Was the bed comfortable enough?”

  Drawing my eyes away from his chest, I nod and walk toward him, taking a seat on one of the poolside chairs. “It was great. Thank you.” I take a sip of coffee and then look back up at him. “Yours?”

  “I slept better last night than I have all week. I tend to have difficulty falling back into regular sleep patterns after returning home from a long trip,” he explains.

  “Well, I’m glad you slept better last night.”

  Greyston sits on the chair next to mine. “You work today?”

  Nodding, I sit back on my chair and relax. “I do. It’s only a four-hour shift, though. I have a test to study for this weekend.”

  “Anything I can help you with?”

  While I’m certain he’s a very highly educated man, I decide to tease him a little. “I don’t know. I’m not exactly majoring in football.”

  “Funny,” he says with a wicked grin. “I’ll have you know I only went to college on a football scholarship. I majored in English.”

  Looking out over the pool and at the desert, I sigh. “So, do you do this every morning?” I ask, turning my head to Greyston. “Swim, I mean.”

  He nods. “I do. Well, I try to, right up until it gets too cold, anyway. Do you swim?”

  “When I can,” I answer. “Do you have plans for today?”

  “Actually, I’ve got a few things to do for work before Callie gets here.”

  The small smile I’ve been sporting all morn
ing falls, and I stare down into my almost-empty mug. “Oh, she’s coming over today?” I’m both upset by this and mildly curious. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  Greyston stands up off his chair and grabs his towel. “I think you’ll really like her. The two of you will get along great.”

  I won’t lie; there’s a part of me that doubts the “liking her” part, mainly because I’m completely and irrationally jealous.

  “I’m going to go and have a shower so I can get a start on my day. If I don’t see you before you leave, have a good day at work. I’ll see you for dinner?” The way he’s smiling at me used to make me think there was something flirtatious behind it, but now I know I’m just desperate for male attention.

  “Sounds good,” I tell him. “You have a good day, too.”

  Greyston heads inside, leaving me on the patio to stare out into the open desert. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. Back at the dorms, there were always people milling about in the halls, parties across the halls, or random men coming in and out of my room. At my parents’ house…well, there was just the one problem.

  Before I get too lost in my disturbing thoughts, I decide to go inside to get ready for work, also.

  Just over an hour later, I arrive at the café. Katie’s busy serving a short lineup of customers when I slip behind the counter and tie my apron around my waist so I can help prepare the drinks in the queue. Once the line has cleared, Katie and I start cleaning.

  “How’s it been this morning?” I ask, wiping the spilled milk droplets off the counter.

  Katie’s busy checking the levels of all the flavored syrups. “Not too bad. How was your night? You’re moved into your new place now, right?”

  “I am. I just finished moving in last night. Spent my first night there and everything.” I laugh lightly. “I actually forgot where I was when I first woke up. It’s hard to believe I even live there.” My smile turns wistful, knowing that it’s not just the house that had enticed me to move in. “And the owner…"