Sugar on the Edge(16)
Her hand drops from the door in surprise over my words, and I slam the door in her face.
I walk through Gavin’s house, surveying the damage that has been done since I was here last Thursday and realize, without a doubt, that this guy is a certifiable slob. The kitchen is a disaster… the sink full of dirty dishes, the garbage can overflowing, and a jar of mayonnaise that was left out on the counter for God knows how long, because it now has a green layer of fuzz across the top when I open it up to inspect it.
His bedroom is no better. He apparently doesn’t know how to put his discarded clothes in the hamper as they are scattered all over the floor. The sheets and lightweight comforter on his bed are twisted around one another and kicked almost all the way onto the floor. The man must not sleep very well.
His bathroom isn’t so bad with just an open tube of toothpaste and some deodorant lying on the counter, and about five towels laying on the floor.
The rest of the house isn’t messy, just in need of general dusting and vacuuming. He appears to limit his time to some select areas… his kitchen and bedroom, and I’m guessing his office on the third floor, since he told me that’s where he’d probably be when I came over. I haven’t seen him since I got here fifteen minutes ago and familiarized myself with the house.
Luckily, I brought all my cleaning supplies with me, including my vacuum cleaner and mop, because I assumed, rightly so, that he wouldn’t have any forethought to provide that stuff. I even brought laundry detergent because I doubted he had that either, and immediately start a load of his laundry after stripping his bed sheets.
After putting in my ear buds and dialing up some Black Eyed Peas on my iPhone, I decide to tackle the kitchen first because it’s the nastiest. It takes me a good twenty minutes to wash all the dishes because Gavin didn’t even bother to rinse them when he stuck them in there. It appears the man subsists on canned ravioli and ham sandwiches. After scrubbing down the counters, I go ahead and dust the entire house, top to bottom, and then scrub the bathrooms. When I finish that, I creep up to the third floor and see that his office door is closed. I put my ear against it, and I can hear the faint clicking of his fingers on a computer. I hadn’t known if he was even here or not until now, but decide against disturbing him. I’m absolutely certain I’d be treated to a whole lot of cranky if I did that, so I carefully creep back down the stairs.
After changing out another load of laundry, I go ahead and start vacuuming the house. All of his floors are hardwood and tile with some scattered rugs, but I find it easier to run the vacuum cleaner rather than use a broom on the hard surfaces. After giving the first floor a once-over, I move onto the second-floor bedrooms.
While I am generally not a fan of house cleaning in general, for some reason I enjoy vacuuming. I think it’s the gentle push and pull of the machine that lets my brain seem to lull and my mind to wander, allowing me to escape into a lovely daydream. Sometimes I’ll fantasize about an epic romance, where a handsome man with an amazing body sweeps me off my feet and tells me he will adore me for all time. Sometimes, I even let my fantasies stray to the bedroom, where said handsome man with a rockin’ body will give me pleasure beyond my wildest imagination.
I’m betting Gavin Cooke knows how to do that for a woman. Sure, he’s brash, arrogant, and a jerk, but deep within those eyes, you can tell that part of his ego is what would make him undoubtedly a fantastic lover. I bet he doesn’t know how to do a poor job at anything.
Shaking my head with an internal smirk, I try to banish those thoughts. While Gavin may be well equipped in the bedroom, that’s about as far as his talents would take him, I’m betting. He absolutely screams “loner,” and you can tell he probably has no concept of what a loving relationship would be about. At least in my limited experience. Yup… need to keep his gorgeous face completely segregated over into the sole category of “pornographic fantasies” and keep waiting for my dream man that will hopefully resemble someone of Hunter or Brody’s caliber.
Suddenly, something grabs ahold of my upper arm and I scream at the top of my lungs, releasing the handle to the vacuum cleaner and thrusting my elbow upward and back in self-defense. It cracks into something hard, and I leap forward a few feet, spinning to face my attacker.
Gavin is standing there, looking pissed and holding his hand to his jaw while he flexes it back and forth. He says something but I can’t hear him, so I hastily pull the ear buds loose and scramble forward to turn the vacuum cleaner off.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says as he fingers his jaw. “What the fuck did you hit me for?”