by A. D. Ryan
He laughs, and I feel my heart quicken as I take in the way his eyes sparkle and how the outer corners crease when his smile reaches them. “My mother may have influenced a few of my decisions.”
“Meaning she made them for you,” I quip playfully, a wide smile forming.
“Essentially, yes.”
As we make our way through the rest of the main floor, my eyes continually find their way back to Greyston. His messy hair, the cut of his jaw…but mostly his ass. I can’t help it. I blame whoever designed the jeans he’s wearing. In fact, I am currently trying to devise a way to check out the tag on his pants so I can send an angry note…or a thank you letter; I’m still not entirely sure.
I have to get myself back under control, because if I do decide to live here, things could get awkward. I don’t want awkward. I have awkward at my parents’ house.
“The basement is just through this door. It’s finished, and the laundry room is down there.” He pauses briefly, seemingly nervous. “I’d show it to you, but I can imagine that leading a girl that responded to an ad I placed in the paper down into my basement might seem a little daunting.”
While I feel like I can trust him, my logical inner voice does kick in…and it sounds an awful lot like my father. “Not a problem. I’m okay. Thanks, though. It’s always good to know.”
The kitchen is open with a small dining set near the patio door. Through the glass, I see a sleek stone deck that looks out toward the desert. It's absolutely stunning, and I'm suddenly very aware that there's no way I am going to be able to afford this place. Yes, it probably shouldn't have taken me this long to figure that out, but it did.
I’m just about to say something when Greyston speaks up. “Come on. I’ll show you the upstairs.”
“O-okay,” I stammer.
Leading the way back through the kitchen and to the main entry, we turn left toward the stairs and begin our ascent. We walk down the hall, peer first into the study and then the washroom before Greyston shows me which room is his. He’s got his own bathroom, which means I won’t have to worry about sharing…
Apparently, I’ve fallen back into thinking I’m moving in here, regardless of obviously not being able to afford it.
“And this is the available room,” Greyston says, opening the door across the hall from his and next to the study. He doesn’t enter, instead standing in the hall while I step through and then following me inside. There is a queen-sized bed, which beats the single in my room at Mom and Dad’s as well as the one at my old dorm room, and it’s dressed in basic white linens, probably to showcase the pale Caribbean blue color of the walls. There is also a tall white dresser against the wall next to the door, and a shorter, longer dresser on the opposite side of the room.
“There’s an ensuite bathroom here too, so you’d have complete privacy,” Greyston says softly from behind me. “And here”—Greyston goes to one of the two doors in my room and opens it—“is the closet.”
Curious, I poke my head in, only to inhale a breath when I see it’s quite possibly larger than my current bedroom. “This is incredible,” I say quietly, taking a step back and away from the closet. It’s then that I notice the floor-to-ceiling drapes that must be hiding the window. Turning to Greyston, I point at them. “May I?”
In response, Greyston crosses his arms and leans against the wall, smiling brightly. “Be my guest.”
The size of the closet shocked me, but what I find behind the curtains quite literally takes my breath away. I push the white drapes back, but instead of finding a basic window, I find French doors that lead to a balcony. The fact that I can see the desert means we’re right above the kitchen.
The ad isn’t wrong; this room has a view, and it’s unbelievable. I open the doors and step out onto the balcony. Not only can I see the desert, but when I look down I see there’s a pool too. Living here would be incredible.
“So,” Greyston says, stepping into my peripheral view, “what do you think?”
“It’s amazing,” I reply breathlessly. “But, I’m afraid to ask how much it is.”
“Why don’t we head back down to the kitchen, and we can discuss that there,” he suggests.
Sadly, I know that no matter how much we discuss it, there is absolutely no way I’ll be able to afford it. I really should just tell him, but for some reason when I try to speak nothing comes out.
When we reach the stairs, I notice a closed door at the end of the hall. Of course, I’m curious, but when I look to Greyston, he’s halfway down the stairs. Realizing it’s not my place, nor is it likely my business, I push the curiosity to the backburner and follow Greyston to the kitchen.
“Can I offer you something to drink? I could put on some water for tea, or I’ve got fresh lemonade in the fridge,” Greyston offers, pulling out one of the chairs at the table for me.
This chivalrous act catches me off guard, but I recover quickly, smiling. “Thanks. Um, lemonade sounds lovely.”
“Coming right up.”
Greyston returns moments later with two glasses and sits in the seat across from me. “So, Juliette,” he begins, “tell me a bit about yourself.”
“Well, I’m an only child and a student in my sophomore year at Arizona State. I work at Mama Java’s Coffeehouse… Um, what else do you want to know?” I ask.
He seems to be perplexed about something, but before I can ask, he voices whatever is on his mind. “I apologize if this comes across as rude, but if you’re a student, why aren’t you staying in on-campus housing? I mean, that would seem to make the most sense.”
I smile, though it’s not an overly happy one. “I was staying in a dorm, but the girl I bunked with had…less than desirable traits that one might look for in a roommate.”
It seems like Greyston understands without my having to say much more. “Ah. She couldn’t respect boundaries.”
I laugh and take a sip of my drink. “Something like that,” I tell him. “And now I’m back at home with my parents.”
“And that doesn’t work for you either?” he inquires.
“Mmm,” I hum, somewhat uncomfortably. “Not so much.” It’s time to admit that I can’t afford this place, so I inhale a deep breath and say, “Look. The house is great, and the room is unbelievably beautiful…but the truth of the matter is, I just don’t think I can afford it. I want to—believe me, I do—but with my being a full-time student and working whenever I’m not busy studying…well, it’s just not feasible.”
Greyston chuckles again, and I begin to wonder if it’s possible to miss something you’ve only been briefly exposed to.
My guess would be yes.
“Juliette, I haven’t even told you how much the rent is.”
Wrapping both hands around my lemonade glass and feeling the cold beads of condensation on my palms, I shake my head. “I can’t imagine it to be cheap. I mean, the mortgage alone on a home like this has to be—”
“Surprisingly lower than one might expect with a large enough down payment,” Greyston says, cutting me off before I can completely turn him down. If it had been anyone else interrupting me, I probably would have gotten annoyed, but not him. Not in this moment, anyway.
“Listen, Juliette,” he continues, “I’m constantly on the road for work—sometimes for weeks at a time—and am in need of someone to watch over the place while I’m away.”
“Still—”
Again, he doesn’t let me finish. “You’d really be doing me a favor,” he says as I bring my glass to my lips. “Five hundred a month.”
The number shocks me, causing me to choke and sputter on the drink I’ve just taken. “What? You can’t be serious…Are you saying that because I basically just told you that I’m poor?”
Greyston’s laughter fills the kitchen. “Not at all. I just figured that since I was basically asking you to house-sit whenever I’m away that it would be unfair of me to ask an unreasonable amount for rent.”
I don’t know what to say—a first, to be sure. Her
e I am, sitting in a gorgeous home in a beautiful new community—which is coincidentally not too far from school—and it’s actually affordable without my parents’ help? It’s all just too good to be true. The fact that my potential landlord is easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt, either.
The kitchen is silent, save for the soft tick, tick, tick of the clock over the doorway. Greyston is watching me, waiting for my answer. He doesn’t look annoyed that I’m taking my time—and I’m honestly not sure why I am, because I basically want to say yes to anything he might suggest…and I do mean anything.
Finally, I find my voice. “I only have one more question.”
Greyston nods once, slowly and carefully, as though he’s afraid of what my question might be. It’s really pretty adorable.
“When can I move in?”
Chapter 5
I don’t regret the question, but the minute it leaves my mouth, I realize I should probably know more about the man sitting in front of me. Besides how gorgeous he and his home are.
Before I find the opportunity to back-pedal and ask about him, Greyston smiles and responds to my question. “Whenever is good for you. I know we’re just over three weeks into November, but feel free to bring your stuff by any time. Perhaps over the Thanksgiving long weekend, but after the actual holiday?”
“Really?” Greyston nods and takes a sip of his lemonade. When he licks his lips afterward, I find it hard to focus on anything else. The way I’m feeling really is ridiculous, and I momentarily question my sanity.
When I realize that Greyston is staring at me as I continue to gape—probably slack-jawed—I try to recover. “Okay, well I can probably stop by the dorm and start bringing some things over a bit at a time… You’re sure it’s not too soon? I’d hate to be an imposition in any way. I mean, if you’re busy…”
“Juliette, relax. It’s fine,” he says with a smile, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up before walking around to the other side of the island counter. After rifling through a drawer, he returns to his seat and holds out his hand, palm up. In it is a small silver house key.
I still can’t believe this is happening. There’s no way I should be able to afford a place like this, but it seems I’ve hit the jackpot—and I’m not just talking about the house.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the key from him. The warmth of his skin causes my breath to hitch and my stomach to flip-flop. I even think my eyes flutter. “So, is there, like, a lease or something you want me to sign?” I ask, trying really hard to control the light waver of excitement in my voice.
Greyston laughs almost nervously, running his hand through his soft-looking hair, and I expel a soft breath. “Actually, I haven’t had time to draw one up. I only just got back into town yesterday, and I was just walking through the front door when you called. Give me a few days?”
“Oh, yeah…sure. I can sign it when I start bringing my things over.” I find myself feeling more and more giddy each and every time I make mention of the fact that I’ll be living here.
“Perfect.”
I can’t agree more.
As we sit here in a brief moment of silence, I start to obsess about just how little I know about the man I just agreed to move in with. While I don’t need to know every little detail about his life up until he opened the door for me, the basics would probably be a good idea. Especially since I’ll have to be able to assure my dad this guy isn’t a psychopath.
“So,” I say, breaking up the quiet in the room, “you said you travel a lot…for work?” Greyston nods, so I continue. “What is it that you do?”
“I’m a sports agent, actually,” he explains with an air of pride lacing his voice. “It’s why I’m out of town so much. I’m often away signing and recruiting new talent.”
My dad is going to love this guy. Possibly more than me… Wait…um…
“That sounds really cool. Have you been doing it long?” Yes, I am aware how the question sounds, but it’s too late to take it back. Maybe he won’t notice. I’m sure it’s just me because my mind has been in the gutter since I first got here, and my mentality is now mirroring that of a twelve-year-old boy.
“About five years now,” he tells me coolly. Apparently it is all me.
“Did you always know that’s what you wanted to do with your life?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation rolling because I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing his voice. Yup, I’ve definitely gone crazy. There’s no longer a doubt in my mind. It’s okay, though; I think I can make peace with it.
“Yes and no.” Greyston laughs and takes another drink. “I was pretty into sports in high school, and even went to college on a football scholarship.”
I never much cared for football…until now.
“It was in my senior year of college that I was approached by an agency. It wasn’t to sign me, though.” I half-expect this to be upsetting for him, but he sounds surprisingly happy about it all. “They wanted to recruit me to work for them.
“My college team was good…and I mean we were good.” I’m not sure why—because normally I would be repulsed—but the cocky tone in Greyston’s voice sends a shiver down my spine. I’m basically fighting the urge to launch myself across the table and straddle his thick, football-playing thighs.
While I inwardly struggle with this, he continues speaking…not that this helps my situation any. “The agency had heard that I’d played a big part in scouting the players, and they thought I’d be an asset. So I looked over what they wanted to offer me, and I couldn’t pass it up,” he finishes explaining. “It’s been pretty great.”
I laugh, absent-mindedly playing with the rim of my empty glass. “You know, I was worried about what my dad was going to think of all of this—my shacking up with a guy I just met…” My eyes snap up to his, widening because I so didn’t mean it the way it sounded. “N-not that we’re ‘shacking up’,” I amend.
Thankfully, he doesn’t dwell on that part of what I’ve said. “And you think he’ll be okay with it now? Knowing I’m a ruthless head-hunter for up-and-coming athletic talent?”
I lock eyes with him and lean onto the table. “I don’t think you understand; my dad is insane about sports. Like ‘teenage-girl-obsessed-with-vampires’ insane,” I explain, gaining another deep chuckle from him. Even though this newly-learned information about Greyston might help me soften the blow, I’m not naïve enough to think my father won’t still be initially upset about everything.
“So, I realize that it’s kind of personal, but the more information I can give to my parents, the better my chances are of not being put into solitary confinement,” I half-kid. Greyston laughs, but I don’t think he really gets that my dad would probably go to such lengths to keep me safe—not that Greyston is really a threat to my safety.
Getting up, Greyston heads back to the fridge and grabs the pitcher of lemonade, topping up both of our glasses before setting it on the table and sitting again. “Well, my full name is Greyston Evan Masters. I’ll be twenty-eight on January twentieth. My parents, Daniel and Jocelyn, live here in Phoenix. My father is a financial analyst. They live pretty comfortably, so my mom was fortunate enough to get to stay home while I grew up, and we wanted for nothing. Once I went off to college, she took an interest in interior design as a hobby.”
“Any siblings?” I ask.
Greyston shakes his head. “Nope. Like you, I’m an only child.”
Greyston and I talk a little bit more about his upbringing in a small town just south of Phoenix before my phone vibrates in my pocket. I notice the time first and realize I’ve been here for more than two hours. It seems only right that my mom is calling.
“Sorry,” I apologize to Greyston before pointing to the patio door. “Do you mind?”
Greyston winks, and I damn-near fall out of my chair. “Hey, it’s your house now too.”
Yeah, I think I’m about to die and go to Heaven.
Trying to calm my now-thundering heart, I stand up and answer my phone
, sliding the door open and stepping out onto the deck. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, baby. How did it go? Did you find the place okay?”
“Yeah, I did. It’s amazing, Mom. You’ll love it.” I look back over my shoulder to see Greyston cleaning off the table. Naturally, my eyes fall back to his ass as he leans over to wipe the wooden surface. I apparently have no sense of morality left. “I’m actually just finishing up, I think. I’ll be on my way home soon, okay?”
I stay outside for a minute after hanging up, looking out toward the desert from the back porch. A breeze picks up, and I inhale the fresh air as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds and warms my face.
“Everything go okay?”
I turn toward the voice and smile when I see Greyston leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah. I didn’t realize how much time had gone by. I’m surprised she didn’t have my dad dispatch a search unit.” Greyston eyes me curiously. “Oh, he’s a cop.”
“Impressive.”
“It kept me from getting into any real trouble as a teenager, I suppose,” I joke, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “I should probably get going, though.”
Backing up into the kitchen and making room for me to pass through the threshold, Greyston nods. “Of course.”
“I’ll call and let you know when I plan to start bringing my things over, if that’s okay?”
Smiling, Greyston walks me to the door. “I look forward to it.”
I let the words repeat over and over in my head, wondering if he’s flirting with me. The idea that he might be is appealing, but the possibility that he’s not is more likely.
“Thanks again for everything, Greyston. It was nice meeting you,” I tell him, holding out my hand for him to shake. Truthfully, I want to hug him, but it’s probably inappropriate—especially since I’m not sure I could control myself enough to eventually let go. Even from a foot away, his scent is intoxicating. I wonder what cologne he wears…