“Holy crap.”
This place is big. Yeah, this renting out a room thing is definitely not for the money.
With that thought in mind, I grab my gun from the glove box and slip it into my shoulder holster under my denim jacket.
I’d rather not have to shoot anyone today if I can help it—I’m wearing my favorite jeans. But if I find out there is a torture chamber with my name on it, I’m going to get very trigger-happy.
I climb out of the truck and walk toward the house, climbing the three steps up to the large oak door.
I knock before taking in the pots lining the porch, filled with an array of flowers, and feel a stab of envy at someone’s green thumb. I was apparently born with a black one. Given who I grew up to be…seems somehow prophetic.
The door swings open, so I plaster a smile on my face, only for it to slip right off when I see who is standing there.
“You.”
I stare at Graves’s face and see zero recognition. Typical. Jesus, how many women does he accost in restrooms?
“We’ve met?” It’s not a statement but a question. A slight inflection at the end of the word, followed by a frown, and his eyes widen.
“Right, sorry, my head.” He touches his temples.
“I was in a car accident a few years back. My brain got a little banged up, and, well, my memory is horrendous. That’s something you should probably know now.”
He looks sincere enough. In fact, he looks really fucking stressed out about it, which makes me feel like a grade-A bitch.
“Crap. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just not every day you get tackled to the restroom floor and tongue fucked by someone you’ve known for like three-and-a-half minutes,” I joke, and now he’s going an alarming shade of red.
“Whoa, it’s okay, I promise. You were a good kisser. Great, actually, and you didn’t hurt me or anything. Just surprised me.”
“But I could have, though?” he growls. It has me softening further. If he were intent on hurting me, he wouldn’t look so damn distraught about it right now.
“No, you really couldn’t. I’m tougher than I look. Promise. If I had wanted you off me, you’d have been. Trust me.”
He doesn’t look one hundred percent convinced, but at least he doesn’t look as tense.
“Look, if you’d rather not come inside, I’ll understand, but I’m not dangerous or anything. I just forget things and lose track of time and shit.”
I shrug. “I forget things and lose track of time too. At least you have a valid excuse. I’m just a hot mess.”
His smile is small, cautious, but genuine. “Well, you’ve got the hot part right.” He steps back to show me inside, so I walk in, pointing my finger at him.
“Oh no. Nope. No. If I stay here, then there will be no flirting. No innuendos and absolutely no sexy looks.”
“I think I can handle that. What about the clothing being optional rule?”
I splutter until I realize he’s joking.
“Clothing stays on for both of us. No walking around in a towel. I know how this plays out. You accidentally trip. You reach out to steady yourself and accidentally grab my chest, which is, of course, when your towel falls to the ground, leaving you naked. Then I trip and land on your dick, and every time I try to get up, my legs slip out from under me over and over and over until…” Jesus, is it hot in here? My pulse is racing like I’ve run a marathon.
“And she watches porn,” he mumbles. “When can you move in?”
I narrow my eyes on him. “I didn’t say I was going to yet. Not until you agree that we keep our nether regions to ourselves.”
“What if my region wants to invade your region?”
My eyes widen. “There will be no invading. Consider my pussy Switzerland. Neutral fucking territory, mister. There will be no invading, even if I have to make you sign a penis treaty.”
He is full-out grinning now, which makes me think about being invaded. Oh boy, this is not good.