The Man Cave Collection: Manservant, Man Flu, Man Handler, and Man Buns

by Ryan, Shari J.

I yank myself up by the dark runner lining the opening of his car door and smooth my tight as hell dress over my thighs. Dammit. “I’m fine. It’s just really dark, and I stumbled over a hole in the pavement.”

  “My lips do that,” he says with a wink. Dear God, I must leave now. I reach into my purse for my car keys and pull them out, tripping myself on the way to my car. Of course, I trip. Why not? “Drive safe,” is the last thing he says before I close him outside of my car door.

  Sometimes I wonder if anyone taught me how to walk or if I just sort of figured it out on my own. The number of times I end up hurt in one day is a little unreal for a grown woman. I’m not sure I can fall under the definition of a klutz anymore. There needs to be a new word to describe the challenges I face to survive each day in one piece.

  I’m seriously pressing my luck here. It’s like five before midnight, and I’m sneaking into this house like a teenage girl who’s out past curfew. Apparently, everyone is asleep, so at least there’s that. I slip off my shoes and pick them up to avoid any sound as I tiptoe up the first step.

  “How did it go with Long Horn?” I nearly choke on own spit as his voice pierces through the dark, silent room. Long Horn?

  Somehow, I manage not to fall back down the one step I’ve already taken. Instead, I clutch my chest. “You just scared me half to death. What the hell are you doing down here in the dark?” Really, why is he sitting in a dark room? What a weirdo.

  “Waiting up for you so I can lock up the house.” I can only hear the sigh spilling from his mouth, but I’m sure there’s a matching look of annoyance to accompany the sound.

  “Well, I’m here on time for my curfew, so, you can lock up now.”

  I see Liam’s dark shadowy figure stand up from the couch and walk toward me. “Thank you.”

  “What is Long Horn?”

  A laugh rumbles in Liam’s throat. “The boy toy you were out with—that’s the nickname he’s earned for himself around here.”

  “And why do they call him by that name?” I’m rolling my eyes, but he can’t see, so it’s pretty much for my sake of annoyance.

  “Oh, come on, a pretty girl like you should know what Long Horn means.” I could take some guesses, but that’s what Liam wants me to do, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

  “Whatever, I’m going to bed.”

  “I’ll see you at seven, then, so I can teach you what an infant child instinctively knows how to do immediately after birth.”

  I huff a quiet laugh at his insult. “I don’t need you to teach me how to swim, Liam, so don’t flatter yourself.”

  I head back for the steps and gasp when Liam’s hand tightens around my wrist, pulling me back toward him. “I do need to teach you how to swim. I don’t feel like being responsible for saving your cute ass from big bad waves every day this summer, so meet me outside at seven. Got it?”

  His words, the growl in his voice, the warmth of his hand pressed into my wrist—combined with the demands and mention of my cute ass . . . I think my heart is beating so hard he might be able to hear it.

  It isn’t like me to buckle at demand. I like to be in control, but something inside of me instinctually folds my hand of cards, sprawls them out on the table face up and shows him how easily I cave. “O—okay,” I spit out, even adding a little stutter to my weakness.

  His hand releases from my wrist, leaving behind a warmth only in the spot he was touching. I grip the railing tightly and pull myself up the steps, trying my hardest not to trip.

  I close myself into my room and flip on the lights, finding my bed turned down and a mint on my pillow. Turn down service? If what just happened downstairs didn’t happen, I might consider this to be a peace offering, but he’s totally trying to screw with my head.

  I take the piece of chocolate from my pillow. The small silver wrapper crumples in my hand because there is no chocolate, just an empty wrapper shaped like chocolate. I should have expected this.

  I carefully pull down my sheets, now scared for what else I’ll find, as I should be. I let out a sigh of relief when I don’t find any surprises under the covers. It seems I’m in the clear, for the moment. I slip into my cotton shorts and Indiana State t-shirt then head into the bathroom to wash up.

  Ohh, okay. Super funny. So goddamn funny. Knowing there was nothing here when I settled in, considering Liam’s recent behavior, I’m only slightly shocked to find a silver tray lined with an assortment of condoms situated next to a bottle of hand sanitizer. Then there’s the mouthwash I didn’t bring or place on the sink. There’s a big sharpie-marked circle around the words, “Kills 99% of all bacteria.” Now fuming, I brush my teeth quickly, wash my face, leave the bathroom, and pace back and forth for a good minute before my anger gets the best of me.

  I poke my head into the hall, looking for any sign of Liam, who’s probably waiting for his next chance to pop out of some nook to scare the shit out of me. The thought of this just infuriates me more.

  I pad down the hallway and burst into his room without knocking. I should have knocked. Always knock before entering. You never know what’s behind closed doors. It could be a man with a body fit for a fitness magazine cover, covered in a tan and tattoos, wearing tight black boxer briefs. My breath has gone missing, and I just shake my head in frustration. Why the hell am I surrounded by the exact type of men I do not want to be around? He doesn’t even flinch when he sees me standing in the doorway.

  Of course, I’m gawking, just to make it worse. I’m seriously acting like a sleaze. This has to stop.

  I just made out with one guy, and now I’m staring at Liam’s junk. I admit it is impressive junk. Does he have a boner or is that his “relaxed” stance? I should be able to tell the difference, right? What if that isn’t a boner? Why am I envisioning what his boner would look like? That thing is so long, it would puncture my freaking kidneys. Maybe there’s a sock in there. Why would he do that, though?

  “Mind closing the door? I don’t need any other prying eyes.”

  Doing as he asked, I close the door, staying on the inside, and I quickly realize he might not have meant for me to come in further.

  I grab the door knob to undo what I’m doing, ready to get the hell out of here, and he casually leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, then crosses his legs. “Do you need something?”

  “I—ah.” I close my eyes since it’s the only way to prevent myself from staring at him, and I pull in a much-needed deep breath. I’m in here because I’m pissed off at him. I came to let him know.

  I have to let him know it’s not okay to do what he did. My eyes flash back open, finding him in the same position my eyelids briefly closed out. Wow, he’s not shy. I would think most people might try to cover up or something, but nope, it’s like he’s telling me, “Go ahead and look around a bit. Make yourself at home while you’re at it.” No, he’s not saying that, but he’s not, not saying that either. Okay, now. Say it. Say what you need to say. “Why did you put a plate of condoms, hand sanitizer, and mouthwash on the vanity in my bathroom?” There. That’s all I needed to say. Now I wait for his stupid answer, tell him to leave my crap alone, and go back to my room. Easy.

  “I figured you might need it after your night,” he says, nonchalantly.

  “You figured I’d need condoms after my night?”

  “Wow, you’re not just a one-and-done type of girl? Impressive.”

  “What? What the hell does that even mean?”

  “Condoms. That’s the plural of a condom,” he explains his quick accusation.

  “Whyyyy are you torturing me? Just tell me why. Is there something wrong in your life?” I could deal with him if I knew he had some deep-seeded issues that he was dealing with. I’d even have some understanding. “Is it like a filter thing that you can’t control? Are you hurt, or are you mad at the world? What? Just give me something to go on, won’t you?”

  Liam uncrosses his arms and pulls them up and folds them behind his head, showcasing
another layer of tattoos on the undersides of his arms and down the length of his ribs.

  I’m trying so damn hard not to look at his dick, and it’s like just staring at me through his boxer briefs. It’s right under the glow of the hanging light as if it’s on display like a piece of artwork. What the hell kind of material is his underwear made from? Because seriously, cotton doesn’t shine like that.

  He clears his throat, directing my attention, once again, away from his dick. Away, look up, he has eyes and a mouth. I’m just noticing his lips are pale in comparison to his tan. The contrast is . . . okay, I’ve already determined he’s hot. Maybe I could go ahead and move past this stupid thought now.

  “I warned you about Long Ho—Sterling. I was just trying to be helpful. Some might say thank you, but I can see that might be expecting a little much from you.”

  “You want me to thank you for going through my underwear drawer and leaving me a note earlier, then decorating my bathroom as if I were some kind of prostitute?”

  My voice is escalating, and I’m trying so, so hard to stay calm, especially with Dylan sleeping next door, and Samantha and Daniel across the hall. I can’t control myself. It’s like I’m turning into the Hulk. He’s doing this to me. He’s making me crazy. I breathe heavily out of my pursed lips, silencing my rage.

  “Well, yeah,” he says in response to my prostitute question.

  “I get it,” I laugh sardonically. “The nannies don’t quit. You chase them away, right? Since you haven’t chased me away yet, I must, therefore, be a prostitute? What the hell kind of sense does that make? There is something wrong with your mind. Real wrong. You have an issue you should address, seriously. Wow.”

  Liam smiles in response. “If that’s what you want to think.”

  “I’m not sure what else I could think at this point. You have a huge dick—I mean, you’re a huge dic—asshole. Asshole. You’re an asshole, Liam.” That’s it. I need to leave this room, now. I just said everything he wants to hear. No. Whyyyy? Can I just cry and ask for a do-over? I don’t understand why this is happening.

  I turn to leave and grab the door knob again. “How about a truce?” A truce. Right. I’ve seen this in movies. It’s the exact point in time when the person calling a truce makes his ultimate move.

  “No truce,” I tell him, holding my focus on the back of his door, which of course, has an oversized mirror that shows the reflection of his cocky grin.

  He shrugs his shoulders and pushes away from the wall. “Fine, be that way.” He moves over to his bed then slips his thumbs inside the hem of his boxer briefs and pulls them down.

  My mouth falls open, and I quietly gasp.

  Regardless of feeling this involuntary spasm on my face, I can see it in the mirror, along with his smooth, round, hairless ass that has muscles. Whose ass has muscles?

  He drops down into his bed and rolls over, facing away from me. “Mind hitting the lights?”

  I do. Because every time he tells me to do something, I fucking do it like he’s my goddamn master.

  Now that the lights are out, it’s time to get the hell out of his room before I say or do something stupid. I race down the hall and close myself back into my room, hitting my own lights, and climb into bed to end this confusing-as-hell day.

  It takes at least twelve long, deep breaths before I can steady my nerves. Although, I don’t think there is enough oxygen in this entire world to erase the image burnt into my head. I can’t even get mad at him for that. I was in his room. I entered without knocking or asking.

  Forget about it. Forget about him. Forget about Sterling and whatever meaning is behind Long Horn. Forget about landing in the zone of becoming a born-again virgin due to lack of use. There’s no way to forget any of it; who am I kidding?

  I reach down to the ground and pull my suitcase out from under the bed, reaching into the small compartment inside, ready for some relief from this day.

  I feel around, but it’s empty. It’s empty because someone moved it. It was the very last thing I took from my bedroom at home, the item I made sure to conceal safely beneath all my clothes.

  I want to say he’s gone too far, but he went too far when he touched my panties, never mind Shermanator.

  Back to the idea of crying, it sounds like my only option right now. Otherwise, I might explode. Considering whatever look he must have had on his face, or whatever thought was going through his head as he touched my precious Shermanator makes me want to go back into his room, and junk punch his big . . . junk.

  Nervously, I whip open the nightstand drawer, assuming it would be in a normal place to keep my little personal device, but instead, I find a note. Another fucking note that says, “Dylan likes to go through drawers, so don’t keep anything too private or battery operated in here.” Yeah, that’s why my suitcase was a good place for it. Don’t you think, you goddamn manservant?

  I get out of bed and rummage though the bathroom, feeling my need for Shermanator grow, partly because I don’t know where he is.

  It’s nowhere in the bathroom, not in the drawers, or under the bed. Shermanator is gone. GONE.

  I turn out all the lights again and get back into the bed with rage. I shove my hands under my pillow, feeling something odd touch my fingertips. What the hell? I turn the bedside lamp on and pull out whatever I was just touching, finding my lacy black thong with another note on it saying, “You left this on the bathroom floor.”

  He’s playing war with me. That’s what this is, but he doesn’t know who he’s messing with. I know I come off as sweet, but if you mess with me, it’s all over.

  Sleep is completely overrated, right? I’m certain I got a solid three hours at some point between midnight and . . . how is it six already? Geez.

  I couldn’t help noticing how unreasonably cold the water was yesterday morning when I had to wade over to Dylan in slow motion, even though the sun had been up for a few hours already. I have a bad feeling the water will be even colder this morning, being only an hour after the sun rises. Of course, there’s also the whole spending time with him thing . . . the issue that’s going to make the experience worse. I had no idea I’d have to endure such torture for a summer nannying job.

  I thrash my hand around until it comes into contact with my phone, continuing to tap and swipe at the screen until the damn sound stops. I need to change my alarm sound and learn to close the blinds before I go to bed. The moment I peel my eyelids apart, the sun’s rays assault me like a thousand tiny toothpicks poking me in the eyeballs. I shield my face from the vibrancy and slip out of bed.

  I can’t complain as I step into the softest carpet I’ve ever felt, as it squishes between my toes. We’ve always had hardwoods throughout our house in Indiana, old hardwoods that don’t absorb much heat in the wintertime. I never enjoyed the first seconds of starting my day by stepping out of bed onto what felt like ice cubes, but I was used to it. I could get accustomed to this warmth beneath my feet first thing in the morning.

  As I’m dragging each drawer open in search for my bathing suit, I find it hard to avoid thinking about Liam’s hands touching every article of clothing I own. That bastard was trying to leave his imprint on my stuff and mess with my head.

  I find my damn bathing suit beneath a small pile of panties and tear it from the drawer. Why am I doing this? Probably a better question to ask myself is why can’t I swim?

  After piecing myself together and pulling my hair up into a messy knot, I slide into my flip-flops and grab a towel out of the linen closet in my bathroom.

  It doesn’t take me the full hour to get ready, so I slip out the front door, finding the first floor one person emptier than I left it last night. Good.

  Maybe some fresh air will clear my head before I get this “session” over with.

  I drop down on the front steps, having a moment like the one I had when I first arrived here. Stillness, peace and quiet, and the scent I want to be burned into my mind. I used to spend an hour in Yankee Candle smelling
all the ocean-scented candles, wondering if the fragrance was accurate. While it came close, there’s nothing that could truly capture the essence and contain this kind of freshness.

  Part of me feels guilty for enjoying this without Dad. Every school vacation and summer, he would say, “Some day, Jelly-Bean, we’re going on a vacation, and we’re going to experience the ocean together.” Dad’s family didn’t have a lot of money when he was growing up either, so he hasn’t been farther than our surrounding states. I’m the first of the two of us to get this experience, and it’s because I lied. It’s such a dumb lie too, but nevertheless, a lie is a lie. He probably wouldn’t have cared about the truth, but after spending so much money on my education, I wanted him to think it was worth a good opportunity.

  The screen door opens and closes behind me, startling me with its clang. “Good morning, sunshine,” Liam greets me. It’s probably the liveliest I’ve heard him sound since we met.

  “I guess you’re a morning person,” I grunt.

  “Or maybe you’re just a little cranky. Why so uptight? Could you not relax last night or something?”

  I glance up at him from the step I’m sitting on, finding him in a different pair of board shorts than he had on yesterday—red with black stripes. His white t-shirt is too tight, or he should think so, anyway, and he has a towel draped over his shoulder. “What would make you think I couldn’t relax last night?”

  He shrugs. “I dunno. You just seemed stressed out, I guess. You know what I do when I get like that?” The scowl on my face melts into a straight line, hiding the fear of what might come out of his mouth next.

  “Act like a jerk? Seems to be something your good at.”

  “You’re close, actually,” he says.

  I stand up from the step and brush off the back of my white beach shorts, hoping I wasn’t sitting in a pile of dirt. At some point, I’m going to be thinking straight. I don’t know when that’s going to happen, but I have never been so airheaded before.

  Still sweeping at the dirt that may or may not be on my butt, I head in the direction of the water. “Don’t you want to know how to fix your problem?” he asks.