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“Soooo, these are your strains?” I ask. “Like... yours yours?”
“Some are,” he says, still yanking on the tube. I admire his strong jaw-line, evident because he’s clenching his teeth. He pulls his arm out of the cabinet and turns to face me, shocking me again with his beauty. He leans his hips against the counter. I have to force my eyes to stay on his.
“Most of our strains started in California. But we’ve been cross-breeding long enough that we do have our own stuff now.” He shuts the cabinet door and nods at the one leading back into the hall. “Come this way.”
I follow him back into the hall, marveling that such an amazing grow room is attached to such a normal-looking house. He steps over to a door on the other side of the hall, then pauses to fish his phone out of his pocket.
He hunches over it, his face bathed in blue light.
“Just a second,” he says tightly.
“What’s the matter?”
A few long seconds later, he stuffs the phone back into his pocket and pushes this new door open without meeting my eyes. “Dealer drama.”
HE STEPS INTO THE ROOM, and I follow, so close I can feel his body heat. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I let it out. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I’m relieved to find this room looks much like a stock room—and it’s empty, save us.
Floor-to-ceiling plywood shelves line all four walls, and another row of shelving splits the room in half. The shelves are stacked with large, blue plastic bins. Two cement aisles running long ways down the room are dotted with tables and weird-looking iron machines. For chopping up the crop and weighing it and stuff?
I look at Kellan, who’s still clutching his phone.
“This is the stock room. Pretty straightforward,” he says, without looking up.
When it seems he isn’t going to say more, I turn away from him, drifting slowly down the aisle.
He seemed so solicitous before we got here, but since we walked into the house, he’s been acting “off.” So maybe his mood took a turn. So what? What’s bothering me? I try to think, but all I can come up with is the gnawing feeling that I don’t really know what he wants. Yes, he wants to get rid of the competition—if I could even be called that. Yes, he seems to want my body. Those things, I understand. But I’m still not sure why he wants me to live with him. Why he wanted it enough to offer to pay me so exorbitantly. His reticence about the dealer drama underscores what truly bothers me about Kellan: his secrets.
The double life he’s living is... really double. He’s Chattahoochee College’s golden boy, but he runs dealers and was able to lift a gun off me. Why is he paying me to live with him? He said it was so we could learn to work together, then later acted like it was more for sex. But is it really? Why pay me so much? Why, why, why? What am I missing here?
I fold my arms and inhale deeply. Exhale slowly. I imagine I can feel his eyes burning my back. I stand there another moment, trying to decide if I should mention my concerns and ultimately deciding not to. I do need to stay with him for at least a night or two, after all. Until I can see if Milasy will cool down about the brick. And so I have a little time to try to figure Kellan out.
After that, if I still feel like there’s too much I don’t know, I’ll figure out a new solution to my homelessness. If there’s any way I can feel okay—or even good—about this weird thing between him and me, I’ll stay. Because I’d really like that money, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’d like to find out more about him, too.
“Cleo.” He touches my shoulder. “You’re jumpy.” His fingers squeeze as his blue eyes search the waters of my own. “Tell me why.”
I bite my lip. Because you make me feel unsteady. Because I don’t know if I can trust you. Because I want to find out all your secrets. I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Do you hide weed in teddy bears?”
He gives a raspy laugh. His lips twitch, like he wants to smile—but by now I know he won’t. “Is that what’s bothering you, Cleo?”
Sensation tingles under his hand, trickling hotly through my torso like the first wave of anesthesia. I take a small step back and try to pin down my racing thoughts.
Ah, hell. “What’s bothering me is... I don’t know why you trusted me with this. Enough to bring me here.” It’s not all that’s bothering me, but it’s something tangible I can lob at him.
He tilts his head, not blinking as he looks at me.
I press my lips together, mirroring him. “I guess I just don’t understand. Why get this involved with me at all? Don’t get me wrong,” I add, “I’ll deal your stuff, but I don’t see why you need me to know so much about your business. Or to live with you. Like, why you want me to.”
He blinks, owlish and unreadable.
“You’re paying me so much...” I exhale. “It can’t just be for sex. I guess I just... feel weird about it. I don’t get it.”
I let my breath out.
“I don’t either,” he says, low. “I don’t think I should, but I’m going to anyway. Do you know why?” He lifts his brows.
I shake my head.
“I don’t either. If I dismissed you now, and you never stayed at my house, would you keep this place a secret, Cleo?”
