Rm w/a Vu(11)
“This can’t be right,” I mutter to myself as I pull onto the street. Slowing my vehicle down to a loud, rattling crawl, I pick up my iPhone and double check the address of the house I’m looking for.
There has to be some mistake, I think to myself as I pull up to a house that isn’t my idea of an average house. It’s not overly huge, but it couldn’t have been cheap. It’s two stories high with two thick columns that hold up an eave—which doubles as a balcony—over the double front doors. I look at the gold numbers on the side of the house and then my cell phone screen. They match. How can that be? I know I’m going to feel like an ass the minute I get to the door and the person answers, telling me I have the wrong house, but something pulls me from my seat and propels me up the front steps anyway. Probably my desire to leave my parents’ house.
After sending my mom a quick text to let her know I’m here, I ring the bell, pulling my hands back and clasping them in front of me nervously. Through the glass on the door, I can see someone approaching, and I suck in a breath, preparing myself to be shooed away like some door-to-door solicitor who probably knows better than to show up here.
The minute the door opens, I release the breath I’m holding and stare like I’ve never stared before. The man standing before me is…well, he’s absolutely gorgeous. His hair is a disheveled brown mess atop his head, his jawline sharp and covered in short stubble. I find myself wondering how it would feel against my skin, and a blush warms my cheeks. Then…oh god, then I find his eyes. His piercing, dark blue eyes. They’re only made more stunning when he smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly.
“You must be Juliette.” I think my head moves up and down, but if it is, it feels disconnected from the rest of me. There’s an awkward pause between us when his eyes lock with mine.
He’s nothing like I imagined him to be. First, he’s certainly not a 60-something-year-old bald guy in boxers and a sweat-stained tee. While I am thankful for this, it also worries me because how can I possibly live with a guy this good-looking? Standing within a foot of him makes my knees feel weak…not to mention the deep tickle that starts in my belly and works its way south of the border.
What the hell is that? It’s a rhetorical question, because I know what is happening with my body…but to be feeling this over a complete stranger? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—even with Ben—and my cheeks burn like they’re on fire.
We’re still staring at one another, and I honestly don’t know how much time has passed. I know I’m supposed to say something, but my brain and my mouth aren’t cooperating with each other right now.
The man must be confused, because his eyebrows pull together. “Are you not?”
My lips part, but the only sound that escapes is a breathless, “Huh?”
He chuckles. I enjoy the sound even more in person than over the phone. “Are you Juliette?”
“Yes,” I manage to squeak out. “Sorry, yes. I called last night about—”
“The room,” he finishes for me. “I remember. I’m Greyston Masters.” After introducing himself, he offers me his hand, and I take it. The way his warm hand closes securely around my own makes me sigh.
Get a grip! I inwardly scold myself, yanking my arm back and hugging it to my chest while my cheeks continue to flame. He regards me with one raised eyebrow. Clearly he thinks I’m insane and won’t want to take me on as a tenant. I should probably just g—
“Please, come in. I’ll show you the house and the available room for rent,” he offers, gallantly stepping off to the side to invite me in.
“Oh,” I say, somewhat shocked that he hasn’t slammed the door in my face with such force that I stumble backward. “Great.”
Once I’m inside, he closes the door. “Follow me.”
I listen, because I feel somewhat compelled to. It’s strange, this feeling I’m experiencing, but I shake it off because deep down I know I don’t believe in any of it. I even start to consider the possibility that I’m just seeking some kind of rebound.
I bet Greyston would be a great reboun—
I derail that train of thought before things inside my head get inappropriate—er.
We make our way slowly through the main level, and I can’t stop ogling the man. I do hear him; it’s just my eyes that aren’t paying attention. He shows me the living room first, and I’m proud of myself for being able to tear my eyes away from him long enough to admire his ability to decorate his home without it looking like a total bachelor pad.