Rm w/a Vu Page 3

  “How was work?”

  “Good.”

  “Did you get your paper done?” she asks, lying on her side as I affix my loose ponytail into a bun to keep the hair off my neck before it sticks, and I turn my fan on the highest setting.

  I shake my head. “Nah. I got a good start on it, though, so I should be able to finish it in plenty of time.”

  “That’s good.” Behind me, I hear the crinkle of paper and turn around to see her picking up my ads. “What’s this?”

  Scrunching my nose, I cross my arms in front of me. “I was looking through the classifieds for a place. Daphne can’t get me into a new dorm room so late in the year, so I figured I would look into renting a place.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

  I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I have to be honest with her; she knows when I’m not. “Mom, you and Dad are clearly enjoying having the house to yourselves. I really don’t want to intrude on that…and not just because it’s absolutely horrifying.” She gives me the “Mom-look,” and I roll my eyes in response. “Let me put it in a way that you can understand: could you go back to living with Grandma and Grandpa if—”

  Mom’s hands quickly fly up to cover her ears, and she clenches her eyes shut. “Okay! I get your point!”

  Satisfied, I smile. “Then I rest my case. Come on, I’ll make us some dinner.” I take one of her hands and pull her to her feet. She snatches the paper up and brings it with her.

  While I cook dinner for the two of us, Mom sits at the table and looks at all the ads I’ve circled and laughs at the ones I’ve eliminated. “You know, this one guy might not be so bad.”

  I shoot a glance at her with an arched brow. “You mean the hot chicks guy?” Mom nods. “Mmm, no thanks. I’ve had my fill of self-righteous assholes to last me a lifetime.”

  Bypassing the fact that I just swore—something I don’t do much of at all, let alone in front of my parents—my mother continues. “I bet he’s cute…”

  I laugh dryly. “There isn’t a doubt in my mind,” I tell her as I cook the chicken for our salads.

  “Juliette?” I turn my head to see she’s now leaning over the counter that separates the dining area from the kitchen. “I know that living off-campus, even with a roommate, can be quite expensive.” She’s not kidding; I’ve already decided to take on more shifts at work so I’ll be able to afford it and food. “Your father and I are going to help. If you find a place, you let us know how much it is and we’ll pay half.”

  I shake my head; it’s far too generous an offer. “Mom—”

  She doesn’t let me finish. “You still have to keep your grades up, but I don’t want you to have to work even more just because you can’t afford to live. That’s how people wind up quitting their education. We want what’s best for you, and we’re just so proud.”

  I rush around the counter and wrap my mom in my arms. “Thanks, Mom. This really means a lot. I’ll try to find a place that’s reasonably priced.”

  She laughs, rubbing my back lightly as she embraces me back. “That’s all we ask, dear.”

  After dinner, I tell Mom I need to work on my paper, but as soon as I’m on my bed, my laptop open in front of me, I can’t seem to focus on it. So, deciding I need to take a break already, I grab the paper and my phone and start to make a few phone calls.

  The first place I call sounded great when I found it earlier, but as soon as I start talking to the woman, I realize it isn’t for me. While the idea of a house with three appliances and access to a personal laundry room sounds great, the fact that the woman was charging close to fifteen hundred dollars a month did not. That is more than my entire month’s salary. There’s no way I can afford that, even with help from my parents.

  I call a couple more, and either they’re taken or the person renting it sounds like a total crack addict. Honestly, I don’t fancy taking care of some junkie’s screaming children while they cook meth in the shared basement and blow us all sky-high. Nah, I’m good.

  I blow through all the ads on Craigslist and most of the ones in the paper. I’m starting to lose all hope that I’ll find a place and contemplate not calling the one ad I have left for fear of being disappointed, yet again. I look at the ad left in the paper and read it again:

  Rm w/ a Vu

  Looking for roommate

  to share 3 bdrm house in

  Phoenix.

  Must be tidy. No pets.

  If this is you, please call (480) 555-1367

  I don’t know why I do it—habit at this point, maybe?—but I dial the number and hold the phone to my ear as it rings. The fact that it goes on ringing leads me to believe that no one will answer, but just as I am about to remove the phone from my ear, I hear a light click.

  “Hello?” The voice shocks me at first, mostly because it belongs to a guy. So far, all the ads I’ve responded to have been females. I’m not sure how a male/female roommate situation is supposed to work, and I’m also not sure I’m entirely comfortable with the idea either.

  “Damn it.” The irritation is clear in his voice, and I realize that I haven’t spoken.

  Before he can hang up, I jump off my bed and begin to pace the floor before I speak up. “Wait. Sorry… Hi.” I run the fingers of my free hand through my hair and take a deep breath.

  There’s a light chuckle from his end of the phone, and there’s something about it that forces me to sit back down on my bed, the hand in my hair dropping into my lap. “Hello. Sorry, I thought you’d hung up.”

  The corners of my lips turn up into a smile, and I exhale a relieved half-sigh-half-laugh. “Oh. No…uh, I’m still here.” I can’t help but let the smooth sound of his voice envelope me like a warm blanket. I find myself feeling kind of dazed.

  “Can I help you with something, Miss…?”

  “Oh! Yeah, sorry,” I say, slapping my hand to my forehead. “My name is Juliette, and I was calling about your ad? For the room? You know, the one with the view?” He laughs again, this time it’s a much heartier sound, and I imagine him as some blue-eyed man with thick hair, sitting on his couch watching some kind of sporting event while he’s listening to me ramble on like an idiot.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again.

  “No need to be. The room is still available,” he tells me softly, and I’m pulled right back into the velvety sound of his voice. “Would you like to come take a look at it?”

  “Uh huh,” I reply before shaking my head clear of the weird fog that rolls in. “I mean, yes. That would be great. Are you free tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow would be perfect. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you the address and directions, as it’s in one of the newer areas of Phoenix.”

  After jotting down the address and directions, I hang up the phone and hold the paper in my hands like it’s my lifeline to…something. I’m not sure what it is, but there was something about his voice—his energy, even over the phone—that appealed to me. I laugh at myself, because it’s clearly ridiculous; for all I know, he could be some sixty-seven-year-old bald dude who walks around in his boxers and a sweat-stained tank top…

  “Ewwww,” I groan to myself as the possibility of that being a reality actually sets in. “He could be some sixty-seven-year-old bald dude who walks around in his boxers and a sweat-stained tank top.”

  I’m just about to call back and tell him that something came up and I’ll reschedule later if the room is still available, when the front door opens and my dad calls out, “Honey, I’m home for dinner!”

  While I hope to God that there’s no sexual innuendo haloing his statement, I’m finding it hard to believe. It’s when I hear my mom’s giggle from the kitchen just beneath my room that I toss my phone back on my mattress and declare aloud, “I’ll take my chances with the old guy.”

  Chapter 4

  “So, how much is it?” Mom asks as she watches me rifle through the few clothes I had been able to stuff into my bag when leavin
g the dorm last week.

  My hands stop moving over the hangers in my closet. “I kind of forgot to ask, actually.”

  Mom laughs. “Shouldn’t that be the first thing you find out?” she teases lightly.

  She’s right, of course, and I try to remember why I hadn’t even thought to ask. The sound of his voice suddenly invades my head, and I find myself feeling funny again. I have to tell myself that I’m acting ridiculous, because I’ve never even met the man. I easily chalk it up to a lack of sleep and my excitement over the prospect of moving out. Shockingly, it wasn’t because of my parents’ “carnal interludes” for once.

  While I had briefly thought that the man could be an old bald guy, the more I lay in bed thinking about it, the more my mind imagined him the opposite. I like it better that way; it’s way less creepy.

  Don’t get me wrong; I still gave my mom the address when telling her about the place because no matter how pretty this guy might be, people are still kind of crazy nowadays. I watch the news and am the daughter of a Phoenix police officer…I know things.

  “And the woman you’ll be renting from? She seemed nice?” I freeze as I reach for my brown v-neck shirt, unable to meet her gaze. It’s true; I may have withheld a thing or two. “Juliette?” She drags out my name, using the tone that mothers use when they know you’re keeping something from them. It’s like a superpower.

  “The, uh…landlord seems great,” I tell her quickly. I’m a little terrified to tell her that this person is a guy. While my mother is a pretty open-minded person, she’s also very loose-lipped. If she were to tell my dad, well, he’d activate the GPS I know is in the cell phone they bought me for my last birthday and have me followed. Cop, remember?

  I know it’s stupid and irresponsible to keep this from them, but I still don’t even know if I’m taking the place. Why upset them—well, mostly Dad—if it doesn’t work out?

  With a laugh, I pull my shirt down over my face and turn to Mom. “Definitely not someone in the boyfriend-stealing market…not that it’s really a concern since I don’t plan on having one for quite a while.”

  Mom rolls her eyes, probably because she doesn’t believe I can refrain from having a boyfriend. Well, I’ve got news for her; I went without almost all the way through high school…I could so do it again. I’ll show her.

  “Do you want me to come with you? Your father is working all day, so I would be happy to tag along,” she offers.

  I admit, it’s probably not a bad idea, but that whole “her telling dad I went to look at a place that some guy was renting through the classifieds” thing keeps me from accepting. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I try to quickly work out how to let her down easily; I know she likely just wants us to spend the day together.

  I meet her eyes through the mirror to find her perched on the edge of my desk while I go about brushing my hair. After securing a ponytail at the back of my head, I set the brush on my dresser in front of the mirror and turn to her. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. You should stay home in case Dad stops by for lunch. You guys haven’t had much alone time since I’ve been back.” Not that this has stopped them, and I’m pretty pleased with myself for not cringing or gagging when my brain is suddenly plagued with the horrific sounds.

  Once I’m ready, we head downstairs where we eat a small breakfast of eggs and toast. After I do the dishes, I kiss Mom on the cheek and grab my keys so I can take the first step toward moving back out. I’m sure to promise that I will text her when I get to the house and again when I am heading home.

  “Good luck!” Mom calls after me as I bound down the three porch steps and into the sun. It isn’t terribly hot, definitely a little more seasonable than it had been yesterday, and I am glad I had chosen longer sleeves as opposed to the tee I’d been contemplating.

  My beast of a car seems to take a little more effort to start, which only worries me that it’s going to conk out on me sooner than I’m ready for. There’s a very good chance I’ll be bussing to and from school in the days to come. Awesome.

  Having watched Dad fiddle with all the little gadgets and whats-its under the hood, I want to assume it’s the alternator causing me grief. Or maybe the starter? Okay, I really have no clue. I should have paid more attention.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” I whine, turning the key once more, pumping the clutch a little more forcefully before something clicks and my car roars to life. As I pull out onto the street, I make a mental reminder to tell Dad to have a look at the engine when he gets home.

  I grab my phone from the seat next to me and search for directions. The address is in one of the newer areas of town that I’ve never been to. I start to imagine the style of house, and if there’s a yard—not that I need one; it’s just a passing thought. The ad also said that it was a three-bedroom home; did that mean it’s just a basic one-story house? Honestly, I’m not quite sure what to expect.

  Throughout all my musing, I almost don’t realize when I’ve come to the street I need. Or at least, I think it is; I have to look at the address on my phone several times to be sure. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve lived in Phoenix, I always seem to get lost whenever navigating one of the newer areas. And I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that this is not one of the areas I’ve ever been to; I’m pretty sure there’s some kind of cover charge just to look at these houses.

  Of course, the minute the street sign I’m looking for comes into view, I catch a glimpse of a few of the homes along the block, and my jaw drops. These houses are stunning, multi-level homes with balconies above large front porches.

  “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.