“Fuck,” barks the disgruntled male voice. “Ouch!”
Being woken by such loud noises is rude. Though the presence of Nash still in my space is a pleasant thought. I push my hair out of my face and ask, “Was it my suitcase again?”
“Yes.”
“Your poor toes.” Which is when I see the sunlight flooding the room. Forgetting to draw the curtains is one of my many talents. There’s plenty of light to see, so Nash must still be waking up and not watching where he’s going. What this means, however, has only just occurred to me. “Oh, shit. You’re still here.”
And he grins like the devil he is. “We’re going to be in trouble.”
I don’t mean to smile back at him. This is Grandma’s house and I want to respect her wishes. My head and my heart are just sort of stupid when he’s around. It’s like my vagina seizes control and off we go.
“You might as well come out,” shouts Grandma, from the house beyond.
Nash stands with his hands on hips. “We could climb out the window. Make a run for it.”
“My purse is in the living room. Do you have any cash on you?”
“I could busk to support us. And we could live off the land.”
“Like eat mushrooms and dandelions and stuff?”
“Sure,” he says with enthusiasm. “Doesn’t that sound good?”
“I want to say yes to be supportive, but it would be a lie.”
I grab a hair tie off the bedside table and make myself presentable. Nash wasn’t lying about me not being a morningperson. The first hour or two or three of the day are damn hard ones.
He, meanwhile, shoves a hand through his hair, gives himself a shake, and cracks his neck. Like a prize fighter does before stepping into the ring. Then he opens the bedroom door and announces, “There wasn’t any sex, Audrey. Everyone’s pants stayed on. No one should get in trouble just for sleeping.”
The error in letting him lead is now obvious to me. Though it’s too late to do anything about it. However, investing in a muzzle for the man might be a good idea.
I follow him down the hallway and into the kitchen, where Grandma is seated at the table while Charlie is cooking something on the stove. Pancakes by the smell of it. This guess is backed up by the syrup, eggs, and bacon already waiting on the table. And the side eye Grandma is giving her new guest is mighty. She seems nervous for some reason. Like he’s shaken her world up good and proper.
Nash was right about there being something between them. I hope Charlie doesn’t hurt her again. The obvious depth of feeling she has for the silver fox is something else. Nash and me sharing a bedroom clearly isn’t the only issue on her mind this morning.
“Why is he allowed to cook?” asks Nash.
“Because he knows how to do so without setting my kitchen on fire. So, you two are together now, are you?” says Grandma in a clipped tone. “Or is this some casual dalliance most likely to end up hurting one of you? And you damn well know which one of you that would be.”
My throat is so dry. This is as stressful as being called to the principal’s office. “I, um…we’re just friends. Yeah.”
Which makes it Nash’s turn to side eyeme. No idea what that’s about. “June and I haven’t actually discussed our relationship status.”
Charlie narrows his gaze on us. “I thought you two were faking it to help hide his identity.”
“It’s complicated.”
“The couch hurts his back,” I say.
Charlie snorts.
And Nash shrugs. “I’m more delicate than I look. The muscles are misleading.”
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” asks Grandma.
“I wish I could say June clawed it off me. But the truth is it was too warm to sleep in one.”
The look I give him is pure pain. Because him opening his mouth continues to not be helpful.
