Down By Contact - SR Grey

by Grey, S. R.

  “Ooh, that’s nice,” I say, peering up.

  Zane sits back down on the floor with me and sighs. “You’re also going to need some plates, utensils, and cookware in addition to the food.” He eyes me suspiciously as he asks, “What have you been eating, anyway?”

  I confess, “Um, mostly potato chips and cheese crackers. Oh, and one of the workers left an unopened candy bar on the kitchen counter last week.” I smile at the memory. “That was really good.”

  Zane rolls his eyes, and I notice they’re a neat shade of blue. Steel blue like in the picture I saw in the paper, but more warm than cool in person.

  “You need more nourishment than that,” he says concernedly.

  To make him feel better, I tell him, “Hey, if it’s here, I’ll eat it. I have a fast metabolism, and I’m not picky.”

  I gesture to myself, and his eyes travel down my body.

  Is that appreciation I see?

  Yes, I think it is.

  But he looks away quickly when I catch him.

  Hmm, knowing Zane is attracted to me in some way makes me feel better about lusting over him. I mean, crap, he’s gorgeous. How could I not? His face is beyond stunning, and his body is powerful. I feel strength radiating from him.

  He’s just so very, very male.

  I like that.

  Oh, do I like it.

  I let out a long sigh, and he asks, “What?”

  “It’s nothing.” I wave him off, snickering a little. And then, so he doesn’t press, I quickly add, “Is that it for the ground rules?”

  Breaking out in a big grin that lets me know he’s about to joke around some more, he says, “There is one more.”

  I play along. “Oh, no, what?”

  Unsuccessfully suppressing a grin, he states firmly, “No parties.”

  “Ha ha ha.” I roll my eyes at him. “Seriously, though, your rules aren’t too bad.”

  “I told you they wouldn’t be.” Quirking a brow, he asks, “What did you expect?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe that I’d be arrested after all. Or at least relegated to the basement if you did let me stay. You know, after, uh, hiding in here illegally.”

  Softly, he says, “I wouldn’t do that, Morgan. It may have been misguided, but you had a good reason. And like you said, you didn’t cause any harm. Let’s just keep you safe and concentrate on getting you back on your feet, okay?”

  I nod vigorously. “Okay.”

  Damn, Zane is freaking amazing.

  I can’t believe he’s this nice.

  But I’m glad he is.

  The alternative—being thrown out—would be frightening.

  Where would I live?

  In the woods?

  Eek.

  I decide then and there that I will somehow make this up to him.

  I will repay him this kindness.

  But for now, all I can say, once again, is “Thank you, Zane.”

  Curve Balls

  I must be nuts, letting this stranger, no matter how pretty she is, stay in my house.

  But then I ask myself, Really, what harm can she do?

  There’s nothing of value in the place, at least nothing she can easily take off with.

  Yeah, somehow I don’t see tiny Morgan absconding with a load of copper piping.

  The thought makes me laugh out loud, right in the middle of freaking Walmart.

  As I turn down a new aisle, a little old lady with a white-as-snow bun gives me a weird look.

  I don’t think she knows who I am; she’s probably just wondering what’s so funny.

  Oh, lady, if you only knew.

  This big ole football player is enchanted by the intruder in his house.

  I even asked said intruder what she needed, besides food, before I left her alone…in my house…again.

  Okay, maybe I am crazy, seeing as here I am getting exactly what she requested and more.

  After balking at first, Morgan finally told me quietly that she could really use some toothpaste and shampoo. Apparently the ones she grabbed from her apartment before she left are running low.

  Recalling that, I detour to the dental health section and grab two tubes of Crest off the shelf.

  Shampoo is next.

  And then I’m on to the food departments.

  Damn, I really must be losing it. I’m smiling my ass off again, thinking about Morgan’s pretty face.

  Stop, my semi-rational side commands.

  Shaking my head, I toss a couple of different bottles of salad dressing into the cart to go along with the fresh greens I picked out earlier in the produce department.

  While I’m on the subject of food, I wonder if Morgan likes boneless, skinless chicken or steak.

  The girl looks like she could use some protein.

  I head to the meat department—hope she’s not a vegetarian—and pick out some prepackaged meat and poultry. I then cruise over to the pasta aisle and grab several jars of spaghetti sauce and a few boxes of various types of noodles.

  A quick detour over to housewares finds me adding a box of assorted pots and pans and a dinnerware set with plates and utensils to the cart. I pick out some drinking cups and glasses too.

  Damn, my cart is getting full.

  Still, I have room to throw in a pack of dishwasher pods before I drop my house key off in the hardware department to have an extra made.

  While that’s being done, I stroll over to Electronics and purchase a simple flip phone and have it activated.

  I add minutes and program my number in, just in case Morgan needs to reach me.

  I know it has to be boring in that house with no TV, so I pick out a couple of paperback books. I don’t know what she likes, so I go with a mystery and a romance novel.

  Women like those, right?

  There’s a hot-looking dude on the cover.

  I hope Morgan is into that.

  With that bit of shopping done, I head back to Hardware and pick up the key.

  I feel like all this should be enough to help Morgan start living a somewhat normal life. I mean, as normal as one can live in an unfinished house.

  I still wish she’d taken me up on my offer of a hotel room, but I understand her concern about her ex. She knows the asshole better than I do.

  Once I’m back in the SUV, I leave messages for the lead contractor and my interior designer, letting them both know what I expect to be done in the house tomorrow.

  For the contractor, I want a door with a lock installed in the master bedroom.

  With the decorator, I request a big bed with lots of pillows and soft bedding.

  I tell them both that someone will be staying in the master bedroom so they’re not surprised by Morgan’s presence.

  “It’s just a temporary situation for a, uh, friend in need,” I relay in both of my messages as explanation.

  Not that I owe anybody anything.

  Still, I like to be honest.

  Though Morgan’s not my friend—hell, I don’t even know her—she is in need.

  There’s no doubt about that.

  It’s pretty late, so once I return to the house, I let her know I can’t stay much longer.

  As we stand in the kitchen, me shoving things into the cabinets and fridge, I stop and turn to her. “Hey, I hate to drop this stuff off and run, but I have an early practice tomorrow morning.”

  “No worries,” she says. “I didn’t expect you to stay.”

  “Yeah, I guess not.”

  I look at her, and she smiles.

  I just smile back.

  I’m happy to see she looks more refreshed now that the air has been on for a while. I let her know she can adjust it however she sees fit.

  “Thanks, Zane,” she murmurs, lowering her head. Gesturing to the phone on the counter, the piece of paper with the code to the alarm written on it, and a few bags we didn’t get to, she says, “You didn’t have to do any of this. I know that. You’re being enormously kind and understanding, and I really freaking ap
preciate it.”

  She looks really down, so I try to cheer her up. “Hey, I don’t mind. I believe in paying it forward, you know? You’re down on your luck, but things will improve. If I can play a little part in that, well”—I shrug—“it’s the least I can do.”

  “Still…” She peers up at me through her long dark lashes, making her look positively beautiful. “I’m going to think of some way to pay you back.”

  “Totally not necessary,” I tell her, waving my hand.

  It’s not.

  I really just want to help someone clearly in need.

  I guess, in a way, I welcome this opportunity. I’ve known for a while now that I really need something other than football to focus on.

  I guess I don’t have much of a life, huh?

  Hey, you were thinking about how it’d be nice to have someone to share your house with, right?

  I did think that, but this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

  But life does like to throw you curve balls.

  I find the best thing you can do is just roll with it.

  And I’m rolling, baby.

  I’m rolling.

  Living the Good Life

  That night, after Zane leaves, I enjoy the best sleep I’ve had in a long time.

  I guess not living in fear of getting caught makes for a calm and peaceful mind.

  Oh, and can you believe Zane bought me books?

  This man is a keeper.

  Too bad he’s not mine to hold onto.

  Alas…

  Anyway, I started the romance novel, the one with a sexy dude on the cover, last night.

  I didn’t want the bright track lights on, but there’s no lamp in the bedroom, so I ended up reading with a flashlight I found that a worker had left behind.

  Good thing Zane didn’t find it first. He would’ve discovered my space before he found me, and may have called the authorities.

  And then there’d be no good rest for me, not in a jail cell.

  In any case, for as good as last night’s rest was, it’s about to get a hundred times better.

  You should see the awesome bed that was delivered this morning.

  It’s huge!

  There’s some lady in the master now, messing with it. She’s Zane’s personal decorator or whatever.

  Anyway, last I checked she was tucking in some nice crisp white sheets and fluffing out a big down comforter that looked freaking to die for.

  There were several pillows in there as well, many lying in packages on the floor.

  Yay, no more hard wooden floors and folded towels for pillows for me!

  And no more reading by flashlight, as I also took note there’s now a small table next to the bed with a lamp on it.

  Woohoo!

  “I’m about to be living the good life,” I murmur softly from where I’m standing in the middle of the room where my hidey-hole is located.

  I’m trying to stay out of the decorator’s way, as she’s already given me more than a few curious looks.

  Ah, hell, fuck it.

  I have nothing else to do, so I head back out into the hall and, leaning on the door frame, peek into the master bedroom.

  “That bed looks amazing,” I declare as I watch the decorator fluff and place the pillows that were on the floor before.

  Eyeing me up and down, she frowns as she takes in my shorts and crummy gray T-shirt.

  “Hmm, yes,” she says, at last, “though it would look much better if Mr. Tinsbury had been willing to wait till his custom bed came in. I had to utilize a simple metal frame for now.” She shakes her head, tsking. “It’s a shame he insisted the bed go up today.”

  I can tell she’s dying to ask who I am and what my role is in this rush for furniture, but she doesn’t press.

  I bet because “Mr. Tinsbury” wouldn’t be too happy to hear she interrogated his mysterious house guest.

  I can’t help but chuckle.

  And then, because I’m intrigued, I ask, “What does this custom bed look like?”

  Her tone turns warm as she gushes, “Oh, it’s lovely. The bed is crafted of the finest oak and is in the style of what we call a ‘sleigh bed.’”

  “Ah, yes, I’ve seen those. They’re really cool,” I lie.

  I have no idea what a sleigh bed looks like.

  Guess I’ll find out.

  Well, maybe.

  I probably won’t be in this house long enough to see it.

  I sigh.

  I don’t know why, but that makes me feel a little sad.

  It’s my reminder to not to get too comfortable here. Zane is being nice and all, but it’s only because he’s a decent guy. I could be anyone in this situation and he’d do the same.

  He’s just sweet like that.

  Feeling dismayed that there’s absolutely nothing special about me in particular, I go back to the spare room and plop down on the floor, where I pass the time listening to the workers.

  There’s not a lot of conversation today, as everyone is really busy.

  Speaking of busy, after the decorator leaves, a worker comes upstairs and installs the door on the master bedroom.

  He leaves with a parting glance into the spare room, frowning when he sees me lying on the floor with my bare feet up on a wall.

  “Hey, I don’t have on shoes,” I want to snap.

  But, of course, I don’t.

  Still… After he’s gone, I lower my feet and check to make sure I haven’t left any marks on the snowy white wall.

  Zane probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

  Phew, we’re good.

  My stomach lets out a protest then, and I realize I haven’t eaten all day.

  Since the workers are heading out, I decide to go downstairs and whip up a little something.

  Once I’m in the kitchen, though, I’m not sure what to do.

  I have so many choices that I feel overwhelmed.

  I ultimately decide on something simple—spaghetti.

  After breaking open the cookware box, I select a big pot and fill it with water.

  “Finally I get to try out this awesome stove,” I murmur. “I’ve never seen one with eight freaking burners.”

  I only need one, though, to heat the water.

  Then again, I could brown some ground meat to add to the sauce. I think I saw a package in the refrigerator.

  “Yes!” I exclaim when I check and see that I’m in luck.

  Within minutes I’m using three burners—one to boil the pot of water, one to brown the meat in, and one to heat up the sauce from a jar.

  I chose the one with peppers and onions.

  Yum.

  My stomach is already growling.

  Despite how hungry I am, I’m probably making too much food.

  I eye the box of pasta I just added to the boiling water and know there’s no way I can eat all that.

  Just as I’m contemplating what to do—stuff myself or save some spaghetti for another day—I hear Zane coming in the front door.

  I know it’s him because the alarm starts beeping but is quickly silenced after he keys in the code.

  I call out to let him know I’m in the kitchen.

  A few seconds later, my sexy new kind-of-landlord is standing in the doorway, dressed in blue jeans and a tight black T-shirt that shows off his sculpted upper bod.

  I think all his shirts do.

  Or so it would seem.

  “Hey,” he says, shooting me a million-dollar smile. “I decided to stop by and see what work was completed today. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  I snort.

  Is he kidding?

  Stirring the meat that’s browning nicely and almost ready to drain and add to the sauce, I retort, “You’re not disturbing me in the slightest. It’s your house, Zane.”

  “I know, I know.” Chuckling, he rakes his fingers through his raven hair, mussing it up slightly. “Nevertheless, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I think you’ve had it rough enough lately.”<
br />
  Softly, I murmur, “That’s very kind of you. But it doesn’t feel too rough at the moment. In fact…” I smile over at him. “I was just thinking earlier how I feel like I’m living the good life now.”

  That makes him laugh.

  And then, since I have so much food and it’s almost ready, I ask, “Do you want to eat dinner with me? I have more than enough spaghetti. I went a little overboard on portioning.”

  He raises a brow, looking surprised, but pleased as well.

  “Actually,” he begins, “I am hungry. I’ve only had a sandwich since this morning. Practice was grueling today too. I worked up an appetite. So yeah, sure, I’ll join you.”

  “Great!”

  My face falls, and Zane asks, “What’s wrong?”

  “Uh, it’s just that we’ll have to eat on the floor. There are no chairs.” I gesture around the room.

  “Ah, wait, hold on a sec.” He holds up one finger. “I have that covered. I’ll be right back.”

  Zane disappears, returning two minute later with two tall wooden stools in hand.

  “I grabbed these from my apartment before I left,” he explains. “I brought two so we can sit when we’re talking in here. But eating together is even better. We’ll put them right here.”

  He places the stools at the kitchen island, and I reply with a word that fits Zane and all his thoughtfulness to a tee—“Perfect.”

  Delicious

  Morgan and I eat at the island in the kitchen. I sure am glad I thought to bring those stools. Otherwise, we’d be chowing down while seated on the floor.

  Mostly, though, I’m just happy she invited me to join her for dinner.

  “This spaghetti is delicious!” I exclaim between bites, because it is. “I like how you added ground meat to the sauce. It really adds flavor.”

  “Thanks,” she says, twirling noodles around her fork like an expert. “I agree. It makes it heartier.”

  “For sure,” I mumble around another big bite.

  “So how was practice?” Morgan dabs at her mouth with a piece of paper towel.

  Damn, I forgot to buy paper napkins. The workers must have left a roll of paper towels.