Rm w/a Vu(25)

“I know that…” Greyston chuckles. “But you sound a little unsure.”

“Sorry. I just thought that maybe you thought I was…someone else.”

Greyston’s quiet for a minute, and I find myself wondering what it is I interrupted him doing. I start imagining him in a lot of naked at-home activities. Laundry, cooking, cleaning…

Okay, so I guess they’re not really supposed to be naked activities, but that’s apparently how my foggy brain likes to think Greyston spends a majority of his time when he’s at home. Naked.

“So what’s up?” Greyston asks, interrupting my perverted thoughts. Again.

I shake my head clear and try to remember why I’m calling him. “Oh, sorry. I talked to my dad, and he thinks tomorrow would be a good night for you to come over for dinner. You know, before I move in full time… Unless you have something already planned?”

“Nothing that can’t be re-scheduled.”

His response shocks me. He hardly knows me, and he’s willing to rearrange all of his plans just to meet my parents? “You’re sure? I don’t want to interfere with work or anything.”

“Trust me, it’s fine,” he assures me. “What time should I come over?”

Thinking for a minute, I try to remember what time Dad will be home from work; I want to make sure I have enough time to prepare Greyston for some of Dad’s usual interrogation techniques. “I have class until four, so maybe around five? That way we have time to talk before my father monopolizes most of your time with his nonsense.”

“Juliette…” Greyston’s tone sounds almost chastising. “His wanting to keep you safe isn’t nonsense. Cut the guy some slack.”

I laugh. “Keep that frame of mind and you’ll have no problems winning him over,” I tell him. “And if all else fails, you’ve still got that sports agent card to play.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Greyston agrees with a laugh, and I find myself remembering how his smile makes the outer corners of his eyes crinkle. “But I think your father and I will be able to find common ground on the issue of providing you with a safe place to live.”

All thoughts of Callie disappear in an instant when he says that. I know I’m likely hearing something in his tone that’s not really there, but I can’t help but let him dazzle me just once more.





Chapter 8



I’m home around four-thirty, and I rush upstairs to put my bag away and fix my hair. I know it’s pointless since Greyston has no interest in me, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t look my absolute best, right?

By five o’clock, I’m pacing in the living room like a crazy person, running my fingers through my hair—and then fixing it because I’ve messed it up—before occupying my hands by biting my nails, which is a habit I thought I’d given up when I was in grade school.

Greyston is set to arrive any minute, and I’m freaking out. You’d think I was introducing them to an actual boyfriend and not my landlord. It really is ridiculous just how nervous I am about all of this.

While I wear a hole in the area rug, Mom is in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. Dad isn’t due home until six, but I know I’ll need the extra time to warn Greyston about his usual scare tactics.

The doorbell rings, and it startles me a little. Gathering my composure, I check my hair in the mirror above the mantle and call out, “I got it!”

When I pull the door open, I see Greyston on the front step. He’s handsome, dressed in a faded pair of blue jeans, a dark blue button-up shirt, and a black blazer. In his hands is a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and my jaw drops.

“Good evening, Juliette,” he says, his smooth voice pulling my eyes up to his.

“H-hi. Thanks for coming. Come in, please. Can I take your jacket?” I offer.

“These are for your mother,” he says, handing me the flowers so he can slip his blazer off to give to me. It disappoints me a little, but I get over it soon enough when I realize he’s just trying to make a good impression on them.

After hanging it in the closet, I lead him to the kitchen where Mom is checking on dinner in the oven. “Mom?” She looks up, smiles, and closes the oven door before straightening up. “This is Greyston Masters. Greyston, this is my mom, Anne.”

Stepping around the counter, Greyston outstretches a hand, smiling wide. “Mrs. Foster. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Juliette’s told me so much about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Greyston.” Glancing between the two of us, Mom smirks, and I know that no good can come of it. “You’re even more handsome than Juliette described. Tell me, are you seeing—”