Shacking Up(74)

I pick the phone up.

He barks out a laugh. "What's going on over there Bo Peep?"

I ignore the jab. "My hair looks awful."

"Want to tell me about this?" He motions to my face.

"Performance makeup. So how soon are you going to be home? Tonight?"

"Probably in about an hour, depending on how bad the traffic is."

"An hour?" It's a shriek. A loud, almost ear-piercing noise denoting very clearly my panic. "But you're not supposed to be home for two days. I'm not ready for you!"

Bancroft's smile turns downright lascivious. "All you need to do is wash your face and you're perfectly ready for me, babe."

Sweet mother of vagina tingles. If I wasn't in complete panic mode I might've been able to appreciate the low baritone, and the hot look in his eyes. But I'm 100 percent panicking because his room is a sty and the rest of the condo isn't much better.

I roll off the bed. "I gotta go. I gotta tidy up." 

"Hey, are you in my bedroom?"

"Uh-" Fuck. Fuck. What do I say to that? The answer is clearly yes. "I fell asleep playing with Franny last night while I was watching TV. See you soon! Safe travels." I hang up. I hope there's so much traffic walking would be faster.

"Oh my God!" I yell to the room. I throw off the tank top wrapped around my head and then run around, trying to figure out where to start. My clothes are all over the floor. I've gotten lazy over the past few days, and the bathroom is loaded with my things. I need a bulldozer to manage this mess. The cleaning lady will be here in a couple of hours, which doesn't help me now.

Okay. Maybe it's not quite that bad, but it's still not good. Cleaning this room is priority number one. I grab one of the empty laundry baskets and get to work on picking up the dirty clothes from the floor. There are a lot of them.

I strip the sheets and pillowcases, cringing at the black smears left from my excessive mascara. I can barely see over the top of the laundry basket it's so full by the time I'm done.

I dump it all in the machine, drop in a detergent tab, and rush back to Bancroft's room with the basket again. I sweep all my crap off his vanity, grab all my things from the shower, including my body poof and all my used towels, and sprint back to my room with it. I'll worry about putting it away later.

I make up Bancroft's bed, clean his vanity as best I can and then rush to the kitchen to tackle the mess there. It's not terrible, but it's definitely not awesome. There are a lot of little things lying around, and from what I witnessed on my first day here he's pretty tidy. I don't want him to come home to a messy house.

I do the best I can with the little time I have. Which turns out to be less than an hour. I'm in the middle of trying to fit the last of the mugs from the sink in the overfilled dishwasher when I hear the ding of the elevator from the hall. I freeze and hold my breath, waiting. The code being punched in spurs me into action.

I still look like a hooker clown. On crack. I leave the dishwasher open and sprint through the kitchen and down the hall. I slide across my bedroom floor, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me as Bancroft's deep, sexy voice travels through the condo and resonates in my happy clit-along with the rest of me. Oh God. He's home. I am way too excited about this.

I slap all the buttons in the shower, having forgotten how to use it since I've been using Bancroft's for the past four-point-five weeks.

"Ruby?" his muffled voice comes from somewhere in the condo.

"Hey! I'll be out in a few minutes," I yell over the rushing water.

I take the fastest, most violent shower of my life because I can't figure out how to stop the jets until I'm almost done. I scrub the makeup off my face, run a brush through my hair, and step out into my bedroom-with the boxes still lining the walls-wrapped in a towel.

Of course, that's the exact moment Bancroft chooses to pass by. He's carrying Francesca, cooing at her, looking adorable and sexy in his dress shirt and dress pants, and, sweet Lord, I'm mostly naked, and he's here.

Bancroft's gaze starts from my toes and moves up, slowly, all the way to my face. "Hi." It's only one word, but there are a million questions in it.

He's so gorgeous, absently petting Francesca while he stands there, staring. I stare right back, eating up the visual beauty. He's rocking sweet stubble and his shirt is wrinkled. He's a little disheveled. It makes him even sexier.

Anxiety makes my heart race. I want to run across the room and throw myself into his arms. I want him to cross the room, pick me up, and throw me down on the bed. I want his mouth on mine. I want it everywhere. I say and do none of these things. Instead I go with, "Hi."