You forgot and left the chain on. Sorry. I’ll replace it tomorrow.
Frowning, she mulled that over as she headed out and suddenly recalled she’d been worried since he’d climbed her balcony the night before that he might get hurt if he tried it again. She’d told him to take the key and not climb the balcony.
The vague sense of uneasiness that had been churning in the back of her mind vanished with the realization that he hadn’t simply appropriated the key.
He wasn’t like Lawrence—at all! Well, not beyond being a man. Being bossy seemed to be a natural side-effect of testosterone. He’d been willing to compromise after what she’d told him about Lawrence. She doubted many men would’ve been. They would’ve worried that it reflected badly on their manhood to sneak around as if they were afraid of getting caught, even for her sake.
And she knew he’d only been willing to do it for her—not very happily—but he’d wanted to protect her.
The thought warmed her and by the time she arrived at the school she’d thought of something else that pleased her. He’d come to be with her—just to be with her.
Unless he’d been thrown out of his apartment for some reason?
She dismissed that. He made damned good money if the women screaming and waving bills at him were any indication! And probably even more when he did private parties.
That wasn’t a particularly happy thought, and it was one she’d been struggling really hard not to think about. How much faith could she have in a man that had that much pussy thrown at him?
It was really flattering that he seemed to want her, but why? Was he jaded on caviar and had decided plain old tuna would do?
Not likely, she decided. If he was ninety—maybe. Men that could get caviar never seemed to get tired of it. When they became jaded, they just looked around for kinky caviar.
She struggled with it for a while and finally decided she needed to quit worrying about it. It wasn’t as if figuring it out was going to make a difference. He’d hang around as long as he wanted to and then disappear just like he had before. She could spend all of her time waiting for the ax to fall, or she could enjoy it while it lasted and cry later. It was really stupid not to enjoy it while she could just because she knew somebody else was going to get it later!
It was sound self-advice. She knew it was. She was old enough to know how fleeting happiness could be and to realize how utterly stupid it was to deprive oneself of whatever came along just because it wouldn’t last. Nothing lasted forever! And it was still hard!
Disappointed when he didn’t show up at the end of the day again, she headed home, trying to convince herself he would be there, or that he’d come by later. He wasn’t there, but he was considerate enough to leave her a note on her fridge. Her heart leapt when she saw it and she snatched it down to read it.
Sorry Baby! I’ll be working late tonight at the club. Don’t put the security lock on!
She studied the note with mixed feelings. Obviously he meant to come by when he got off, she thought, feeling abruptly euphoric and then crashing when she realized he was going to be working at the club—which meant waving his dong at a bunch of screaming women! Jealousy twisted sickly in her stomach and dismay as it occurred to her that there was bound to be at least one and probably more than one who’d be trying to coax him home.
She might not see him at all!
Sighing, she studied the note again and fought a round with the green monster. He at least intended to come see her, she reminded herself.
He probably just wanted to hedge his bets if he didn’t get any offers at the damned club, she thought sullenly!
Wondering what he meant about the security lock, she glanced toward the door and then headed over to check it out. There was a stout lock similar to the security bolts at hotels on the door where the chain had been. She studied it for a moment and felt a smile curl her lips as it occurred to her that he’d decided the flimsy chain wasn’t secure enough for protection.
If that wasn’t the sweetest, most thoughtful thing!
She needed to stop questioning his motives and imagining things she had no reason to suspect him of, she realized guiltily. He was working, and it was damned strenuous work to perform as he did, however effortless it looked when he did it. Maybe he had taken advantage of opportunities before and maybe he would again, but that had nothing to do with her. It wasn’t her business—until or unless he made it her business. The present was what counted—not the past and not the future. And even at that, she didn’t have any real rights beyond the right to throw him out of her apartment. She didn’t have the right to make demands or have expectations.
If she couldn’t get that in her head, she was going to chase him off and make it a fact that he was in someone else’s bed, not a figment of her imagination!
“Shaky ground, girl! Get a grip!” She needed to appreciate what she had and what he’d willingly given!
She didn’t know what was wrong with her anyway! She hadn’t acted anything like this when she’d been dating Lawrence, hadn’t felt any of the things she’d felt since Garryk had come into her life—as if she was on an emotional rollercoaster, deliriously happy one moment and hideously depressed the next. Hormones?
She frowned, thinking. She’d never been a clock watcher. Her periods came when they came. It was bad enough just have to deal with it. She didn’t want it to dominate her life! She was pretty sure she was somewhere around mid-cycle, though, so maybe that explained it?
Great! Something wonderful to look forward to! She supposed that might end up being the true test of just how interested in her he really was. If Garryk could stand her in bitch mode—and do without for a solid damned week—he must really, really like her!
It occurred to her when she reached the kitchen that she ought to try to think of something nice to do for him—beyond the bed. She supposed if he was like most men that was pretty much all he needed to make him happy—a steady supply of pussy—and peace when he got home. Of course, even that hadn’t seemed to make Lawrence happy, but then he also hadn’t been particularly pleased with her cooking or cleaning efforts—or anything else—because he was determined not to be pleased about anything she did.
She thought Garryk would appreciate a meal he didn’t have to cook or fetch from a restaurant. There wasn’t much point in cooking, though, when he’d already let her know he would be really late if he came at all. He would’ve already eaten by the time he arrived, she was sure.
Maybe she’d get the chance another time?
Or would it set off alarm bells in his head? Uh oh! She’s getting domestic! Danger! Danger! Run for your life, boy!
Shaking it off, she opened the fridge. There were two long necked beer bottles on the top shelf. Uneasiness slithered through her. Garryk’s father had been an alcoholic—a mean drunk by all accounts.
It was just two beers, for crying out loud! She drank occasionally. Hadn’t she just lectured herself about jumping to conclusions!
She glanced toward the trash can, wrestling with herself. Closing the fridge, she walked to the can and studied the assortment of wrappers and boxes. Relieved when she didn’t find it full of beer bottles, she went back to the fridge and studied the contents again. Finally deciding on an omelet, she grabbed the egg carton, only to discover it was nearly empty.
Ok, so Garryk had an omelet—or a lot of eggs! She decided to settle for an egg sandwich.
She found a single red rose lying on her pillow. Pleasure swelled in her chest. Rushing to it, she grabbed it up and took a deep drag of its sweet perfume and then picked up the note.
Sorry, baby. I ate most of your eggs. I’ll get more. I stole this for you from your neighbor’s garden. I can’t believe they let people keep fucking dogs around here! The little bastard almost bit me on the ass before I could jump back over the wall.
Chelsey clapped a hand over her mouth and laughed until she was breathless. “Oh Garryk! You shouldn’t have! You really shouldn’t!” Making a ment
al note to tell him he shouldn’t have been filching the neighbor’s roses to start with, she headed into the kitchen to find a vase for it.
Despite the note saying he expected to work late, she tried to stay up to wait for him—and ended up falling asleep on the couch. Garryk roused her when he came in, working his hands beneath her. She curled her arms around his neck when he’d lifted her.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Waiting,” she murmured sleepily.
“Poor baby—all tuckered out.”
She thought he was going to leave again when he’d settled her on the mattress. Instead, he headed into the bathroom. She dozed off to the sound of the shower and woke again when he climbed into the bed beside her. He smelled like her shampoo and soap. She smiled at the flowery scent and nuzzled her face against him drowsily. Instead of starting something interesting, he arranged her like a bed pillow, threw one arm across her waist and a leg over hers and settled with a deep sigh.
Mildly piqued, she waited … and waited … and fell asleep.
She was still irritated when she woke up—and confused. If he’d been out half the night screwing, though, why come back to her place to crash? Why not stay with his bed partner? Or head to his own place?
As annoyed as she was, though, she could see his face was drawn with exhaustion and guilt smote her. She was really going to feel like a total bitch if she found out he was just worn out from working!
And that was the only reasonable explanation, she realized after mulling over it a while. He had taken a shower, but it was ridiculous to think he’d done it to hide anything from her when all he’d had to do was not come to her place at all.
It took all she could do to resist the urge to smooth his unruly hair but as badly as she wanted to touch and not just look it would be awfully inconsiderate to wake him when she could see he was exhausted. Sighing, she got up and headed into the bathroom. She was halfway through her damned shower before it dawned on her that it was Saturday and she could’ve slept late!
Dismissing her annoyance after a moment with the reflection that there was no way she could’ve slept, or kept her hands to herself if she’d stayed in the bed, she left the bathroom and dressed as quietly as she could.
“Did you set the alarm?”
Chelsey halted abruptly on her way out. “No. Do you need it set?”
“What day is it?”
Poor baby! She did feel like a bitch! “Saturday.”
“Yeah.”
Saturday was usually her day for her chores, but Garryk slept so lightly she decided to put them off until he left for work. Instead, after a little thought, she decided to cook him that meal she’d considered before. She could always say it was just returning the favor since he’d cooked for her. Heading into the kitchen, she fixed herself a cup of instant coffee and piece of toast, nibbling while she checked the fridge and her cabinets to make a list. If she was going shopping for something special to fix, she decided, she might as well take care of the chore while she was at it and lay in a week’s worth.
When she’d finished, she wrote Garryk a note, in case he woke up before the alarm, and left the house to him. It was unfortunate that she didn’t have any idea what his favorite foods were, but he was a meat eater, a man, and a very muscular man. He needed protein to maintain all that muscle. A roast was out of the question—too much time to cook. He probably ate steaks regularly since they were quick and easy to cook. She decided on lamb chops—elegant—expensive as hell, but it wouldn’t be too heavy for lunch. It should still satisfy his need for protein, and they wouldn’t take long to cook.
She was in no particular hurry. She thought he would probably rest a lot better without her in the apartment, so she finished her shopping in a fairly leisurely manner and loaded up the car to head home, timing her arrival so that she’d have just enough time to prepare the meal before he had to leave.
The apartment was empty when she got back. Dismayed, disbelieving, she searched it. Sure enough, the bed was empty and the shower still dripping. “Damn it!” she exclaimed angrily, flopping down on the edge of the bed. He was like a phantom! Drifting in to arouse her from her dreams and then vanishing with the light!
Sighing, she went out to haul the damned groceries in and put them up. Spying the note she’d left him still on the counter, she picked it up, wadded it, and tossed it into the trash. It had no sooner landed than her brain assimilated the image she’d glimpsed when she’d snatched it off the counter. She dove for the trashcan and dug the note out again, smoothing it.
I’m sorry as hell, baby. I got called in early. Don’t lock me out. I’ll make it up to you. I swear!
Sighing again, wondering if all she was going to get anymore was hastily scribbled notes and somebody to take up most of the bed while she was trying to sleep, she tossed the note in the trash again and set about doing the chores she’d put off to let him sleep.
At least he didn’t snore—not that she’d noticed, anyway. Lawrence snored like a grizzly bear. She’d gotten so used to tuning it out she thought that was probably why Garryk hadn’t woke her up when he’d broken her security chain—probably also why she hadn’t noticed whether he snored or not.
The bathroom hamper, she discovered, was full of his dirty laundry. She stared at the pile of clothes irritably for several minutes and finally piled them in the basket with hers, reflecting that it wasn’t going to take any longer to do his than it would to do her own when she had to go to the laundry-mat anyway.
She was thoroughly confused about the entire situation, though. Every time she left the house and came back, it seemed, she found a new item he’d left at her apartment. Was he just so busy rushing around he had no idea where he left things? Or was it his idea of moving in by stealth?
And, if he was moving in with her inch by inch, how did she feel about having Garryk as a roommate? It didn’t take long to figure that out—unhappy if it didn’t include benefits—very unhappy if it meant he might be bringing dates home!
She was just going to have to get up on her hind legs and tell him that was completely unacceptable! She didn’t mind helping him out if he needed it, but he was not going to install a revolving door on her damned apartment!
Chapter Seven
Chelsey didn’t even try to wait up for Garryk that night. It was Saturday and she was sure he would be performing at the club until all hours. And didn’t it just figure that the moment she gave up, he decided to come early?
She’d barely settled in the bed when she heard him at the front door. Sitting up, she listened intently for a moment until she heard the door open and then lay back down, debating whether to pretend she was asleep or not. She never actually decided. He made so much noise coming in she began to wonder if it was deliberate. Surely, even if she had gotten in the habit of tuning out loud noises to sleep, nobody could sleep through that?
He practically slammed the front door and she could distinctly hear the locks as he set them. Then he strode directly to the bedroom and dropped the heavy duffle bag he was carrying just inside the door.
He flicked a look at her. “Did I wake you?”
She stared back at him a moment, trying to decide if he seemed angry and that explained his entrance and finally shook her head.
His gaze moved over her face as if he was trying to decide the same thing—if she was angry. “I need a shower. I’ve still got oil all over me,” he said. He didn’t make any move to head that way, though.
“I got you some body-wash and shampoo while I was at the store this morning,” Chelsey volunteered finally.
He seemed to relax fractionally. He even smiled faintly. “Thanks! The guys have been looking at me funny for the last couple of days and I keep forgetting to go by my place to pick mine up. I’ll give you the money.”
Chelsey shook her head, but he’d already turned and headed into the bathroom. She lay staring into the darkness, listening to the shower and trying to decide what to make of what he’d said and
the way he’d been acting. She really didn’t think he was in the habit of making quite that much noise, but he hadn’t seemed angry—maybe tense? Maybe he hadn’t been certain the little note he’d left was enough to smooth things over and had expected a confrontation?
So, either he knew her better than she thought he did or she was more typical of women in general than she’d thought she was—because she had been working herself up to a confrontation, she realized. The only reason she’d decided to go to bed instead of waiting up was because she’d been working just as hard to talk herself out of making waves.
She was disappointed. She was also confused and uncertain about the situation, wondering just where she fit in to his life, but she didn’t want to do or say anything she might regret—especially when he had a perfectly legitimate reason for ‘ignoring’ her. He was working some outrageously long hours, though, and as much as she wanted to believe anything he told her, was that completely within the realms of possibility? Or probability? She didn’t know a thing about entertaining. She supposed he must have to work out to keep up that build, and maybe he had to rehearse, and she knew they went out into the audience afterwards to give lap dances for tips.
It still seemed like too many hours for that kind of job.
As for taking her for granted—well, he couldn’t do that if she didn’t let him—so if he did, that was as much her fault as his.
The problem was, even if she hadn’t been struggling to be reasonable, or wanted to fight just to get her resentment off her chest, she didn’t feel confident enough in his interest or detached enough about it to rock the boat. If she’d felt either, or better yet, both, she wouldn’t have hesitated to let him know he couldn’t just expect to pop in any time he pleased and find her waiting for him.
He was still damp when he came out of the bathroom and not wearing so much as a towel. Chelsey stared at him as he strode around the bed and climbed in. He’d left the bathroom light on and slightly ajar and the light spilling from the room bathed him in all his glory in light and shadows as he settled on his side, propping on one elbow.
The Visitor: Alien Hunger Special Edition Page 8