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But the look on his face is just so weird. I don’t believe him. “Are you like... frustrated or something?”
He glances at his cell phone, cradled in the palm of his big hand, then looks back up and me. His cheeks are sucked in as he shakes his head. “No.” He loosens his jaw, so he looks a little less uptight. “Come on.” He smiles wanly as he nods at the house. “Let’s go in.”
“You’re really doing this? You’re going to let me see a grow house?” I’m both excited and nervous. Excited because forbidden things are always exciting. Nervous because I’m hopping off the fence now. Going into Kellan’s grow house will put me firmly in his camp. His illicit, dirty-monied camp.
I wonder again what a work relationship between the two of us will look like as I watch him stride around the car’s hood. His button-up shifts over his chest and shoulders as he moves. My eyes search his face. The pretty lips. The deep blue eyes. The scruffy jaw. What kind of guy is he? Where did he come from? What’s his family like? As if he’s seeking to reassure me, his features gentle as he peers into my window.
I smile a little while my stomach flutters.
Then he pulls the door open and before I have a chance to swing my legs out of the Escalade, he lifts me out and sets me down beside him on the dirt drive.
His eyes roll up and down me, settling on my Armani boots.
“You’re in it for the money, aren’t you?” He smirks.
I put a hand on my hip. “What does that mean, pray tell?”
“I can spot expensive leather.” His eyes crinkle as his lips curve into a funny smile.
“It takes a greedy cow to know one.”
He laughs. “A greedy cow?”
I shrug as we start moving toward the porch. “I see it as a cow. A hungry cow, gobbling down green grass. That’s me, at least. I’m new money. The newest.”
“The first in your family with means,” he says as we approach the wide porch.
“The veeery first.”
As we climb the stairs, his left hand hovers behind my elbow. Protective? Possessive? Whatever his intentions are, they’re throwing me off my game.
“Unlike you,” I say belatedly as I step onto the brick porch. I’m fishing for personal information, eager to confirm my guess that Kellan was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. But he’s focused on something else. Something on the roof over the porch. I’m about to ask if he’s having a seizure when the door swings open, revealing a short, skinny, ginger guy who looks like he stepped right out of the halls of my old middle school.
“Manning,” Kellan says warmly. I glance at the spot I think Kellan was staring at, and after a second I spy a discreet security camera. Of course.
Kellan clasps the guy’s upper arm in some kind of dude hug, but the ginger guy isn’t paying attention. He’s sizing me up. It’s as if he’s trying to let his facial expression and his body language alone tell me he doesn’t like me.
“Why is she here?” the ginger asks. He’s got one of the deepest drawls I’ve ever heard, the kind of voice I imagine basset hounds would have if they spoke.
“Manning, this is Cleo. She’s getting a tour. I wanted to make some space for the teddy bears and check on the Silent Stalker.”
I frown, looking from Kellan to the guy he calls Manning. Teddy bears? Silent Stalker? I could not be more confused.
“Whatever you say, bro.” Manning takes a step back into the foyer. I notice he’s wearing big, clomping work boots. And ratty jeans. And a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt.
Kellan’s hand finds mine. I look down. Our fingers tangle, and he squeezes lightly.
His eyes are on his friend, who reaches over to a coat rack in front of a flight of stairs and grabs a Crimson Tide baseball cap. He fits it onto his head. As he adjusts the bill, Kellan’s eyes never leave his face.
“Don’t worry, dude. Cleo’s on the D-team now.”
The D-team?
Manning shrugs. “If you say so, bro.”
“He does,” I interject.
Manning quirks a brow at me, and I flash him a winning smile. “If Kellan trusts me, you should too,” I point out.
