“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.