“Let’s make another deal,” I say quickly. He raises an eyebrow at me. “Can you cook?” He nods. “Stay here, sleep here, eat here, do your laundry here. This will be your home for as long as you need it to be. And in return, you do the cooking and cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping and meal planning and prep. I help you out, you help me out.”
There’s that smirk again. “Yes, this place is a mess. I think I saw a magazine on the coffee table that was sideways.”
I smirk back. Little shit. “You staying or what?” I try not to give away how desperate I am for him to say yes. If he leaves, I’ll spend every second of every day worrying about him and every spare minute I have driving around trying to find him and make sure he’s okay. “If it’ll make you feel better I can be more of a slob to give you something to do.”
“Can you?” A smile graces his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest.
No, probably not. Just leaving the mess out on the counter after breakfast was killing me. “If it gets you to stay I can.” I don’t miss the way his cheeks flush, and he bites that plump bottom lip. God, he’s pretty. Such delicate features, and I never noticed how long his eyelashes were until I was closer to him, or the freckles on his adorable ears.
“Trial basis,” he says, and I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ll stay for one month under those conditions and we’ll see how it goes. If either of us is unhappy at the end of the month, I’ll leave.”
I smile. “And if we’re not unhappy?”
He flushes again. “Then we’ll go from there.”
“A few conditions first. While you’re here, there are some rules.” He narrows his eyes and I hold up my fingers. “No drugs, no alcohol, and no selling yourself to earn cash. You need anything, you tell me.” I hold my hand out to him but then make sure his gaze is locked with mine before I repeat, “Anything.”
He hesitates, but then nods, and takes my hand. We shake. His hands are significantly smaller than mine, and his skin is so light and fair, the contrast between us is a little surreal, but there’s something about it that feels right, good. And I can’t wipe the smile from my face, because he’s staying.
There’s a pause before he speaks again, his gaze darting to the floor. “I’m not a junkie, you know. I know I was stoned last night but that’s just because…” he swallows and his voice is softer when he speaks next. I notice his hands are trembling slightly and he tucks them into the sleeves of his hoodie, wrapping his arms around himself. “I only did it when I was getting fucked. It made it easier.”
Fuck, what was this kid going through at home that the better alternative was life on the streets and prostitution?
ChapterFour
CHARLIE
I’m staying. For a month, anyway. We’ll see what happens after that. He might regret his decision in twenty-four hours, let alone a month. But I’m determined to do my part around here. If there was one thing my parents did do well it was teaching me to cook and clean, so I’m confident I can handle it. Since it’s only my second night here and my first night with our arrangement, we ordered pizza, and he said I could start with cooking tomorrow. It’s only dinner since he said he’d be in charge of his own breakfast as he gets up pretty early a lot of mornings and doesn’t want me to have to do the same. Apparently he also has smoothies for breakfast most mornings. Shock and awe. And he says they are a little complicated so he’ll make them himself. Apparently the waffles this morning were a special treat for me. I think he’s trying to fatten me up.
We’ve finished the pizza, and the old man even splurged for soda. It’s been ages since I’ve had either and I ate so much, I don’t think I’ve ever been this full. I let out a loud belch from where I’m sitting across from him in the living room and he chuckles.
He’s got the electric fireplace going, so it’s giving the room an incredibly cozy vibe and I’m loving it. He even grabbed a blanket for me from his stash next to the couch and I’ve curled up under it, my legs dangling over the side of the oversized plush armchair I’m in. There’s a small side table next to me with a mug of hot chocolate on it, complete with marshmallows. He was making some for himself and asked me if I wanted a cup. I don’t think anyone’s ever done that for me before.
His living room is small but cozy. The brown leather sofa and this chair are the only places to sit, but they are decent sized. There’s a coffee table where the magazines rest, immaculately stacked and organized. There’s a few photos and some fake plants on top of the mantle, and not a speck of dust can be found up there, which isn’t surprising given the level of organization and cleanliness that is the rest of his house. Above the mantle is a giant clock. The curtains over the window are a soft beige and match the throw pillows.
Paul gave me his wifi password and I’ve spent some time on my phone browsing the internet, but I’m bored now and the magazines on his coffee table do not look appealing, unless I want to read about building muscle strength and endurance, how to have the best sex at age forty, or the symptoms of an erectile dysfunction. No thanks.
“You got anything to read besides these?” I ask, and he glances up from his book, pulling his glasses down his nose. I can’t help but chuckle because he looks like the quintessential old person that way. An old person who is in incredible shape and sexy as fuck in glasses when they aren’t perched on the edge of his nose like a little old librarian. You know, if you’re into that sort of thing.
“What?” he says.
“You got something else I can read?” I repeat.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he apologizes. “I should have offered. I have a bookshelf in my bedroom you can take a peek at and see if anything sparks your interest.”
I get up and head down the hall towards his room. When I step inside and turn the light on, my breath catches in my throat. Holy fucking shit. I was picturing a little bookshelf stashed in the corner with maybe ten books on it, but this bookshelf is gorgeous and it takes up an entire wall in his room. Fuck, it is the wall. I blink as I step closer. There must be a couple hundred books on here. And he’s got them categorized. Of course he does.
I shake my head and laugh a little as I peruse the shelves. He’s got everything from biographies, to nonfiction, fiction, historical, mystery, poetry, fantasy, science-fiction, a couple of westerns and even some romance. It’s straight romance though, which isn’t really my thing, so I grab one of the westerns with the sexy cowboy on the front and bring it back to the living room.
“Find anything you liked?” he asks as I take my seat back on the chair.
“Um, maybe, we’ll see.” I show him the book and he nods.
“It’s a good one,” he says. “If you do like it, it’s a series, so there’s three more after that.”
I sigh. “Great. Does it end on a cliffhanger?”
He chuckles. “Read it and find out.”
