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He’s not what I expected, I expected someone younger but instead he seems to be seven or eight years older than me (I’m twenty-two). He’s dressed in a dark green Adidas tracksuit, leather sneakers and a thin chain necklace around his throat.
His face is both serious and playful, with acerbic cheekbones, highlighted by his undercut hair that’s a mix of light and dark brown. And strangely his eyes are the color of angelite, a rare bluish crystal. He’s handsome. A little mysterious.
He reaches out a tanned hand with a chain bracelet around his wrist.
“Amber Abbey?” He smiles, showing perfect teeth. “I’m Stanmore Sadler.”
“Hey,” I murmur, feeling a little flustered at the touch of his palm against mine, “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
Shrugging he replies, “The plane I was supposed to take got cancelled so I had to take an earlier one.” He frowns, clearing his throat, “If that’s a problem, then I can...”
“No,” I interrupt quickly, giving him a rapid smile and something flicks in his eyes that makes me feel like the clocks just stopped, “it’s not a problem, not at all. Come in.”
Obviously I can’t be rude and I hope I wasn’t but for a second there, he hesitates. Looking at me as if thinking,are you sure you want to do this?
Is that a warning...?
I throw him another glance and this time, he looks completely normal, making me think I must’ve imagined. I turn to the side to not block his way, lowering my head as my cheeks heat when his body comes in contact with mine, making me prickle with electricity.
Combing a couple of fingers through my hair, I anxiously throw my tresses over my back, trying to pretend like I’m not bothered by his presence. His presence that suddenly seems to have taken over my whole house.
I’d say it’s pretty spacey but with Stanmore here, it feels like it can never be big enough, his energy so tangible, so carnal that I can almost taste it. He looks out of place amongst the dark, antique wood and the floral wallpapers. Like his natural habitat is a tad more brutal.
Licking my lips, I try to make small talk.
“You didn’t bring that much with you,” I say, nodding at his luggage. “You’re not planning on staying here for just a little while and then bail on me, are you?” I smile, noticing just how broad shouldered he is and how narrow his waist is, his chest as wide as a smaller football field.
“Never.” He looks at me like that was an outlandish question. “I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to bail on you.”
Oh, then he should see my history of managers and representatives.
“We’ll see if you feel the same after a couple of weeks,” I joke, letting out a laugh and he laughs with me. Humorlessly. Like he doesn’t like the idea of leaving this house.
Maybe he really, really needs a place to stay.
I rub my palms together, trying to calm the flutters in my gut and lead him farther inside. He walks in a way that I’ve never seen a man walk before. Smoothly like he’s stalking through water, like a predator and yet his energy is soothing.
As we pass the living room, he jerks his head at my instrument. “Are you a cellist?” He doesn’t say in the way that other people say it, which is usually surprised.
“I am,” I nod. “So far at least, but things haven’t been that good lately.”
Tensing he asks, “Anything I can do to help?”
Looking at him in amazement because he offered so quickly, I shake my head. “No, but thanks though.”
“Just tell me if you need anything.”
“Okay...” I say, feeling a little awkward at the sudden intensity, “Sure.” Pointing at the staircase I add, “Your room is up there by the way. Follow me.”
We walk under silence and the hush between us is pressuring. Too loaded, too intimate too soon. I’m not sure why I’m having this reaction to him. He’s not even touching or talking to me but it still feels like he’s all up in me, whispering words he shouldn’t in my ear.
Swallowing, I open the door to his bedroom and croak. “Ta-da! All yours.”
He snaps a glance my way, a suddenly possessive one and it makes my body break out in small tremors.All. Yours. I swallow again, leaning against the wall as he inspects the room. It’s clean and tidy, white walls, black and white sheets on the bed and small frames with photos of different streets.
I watch his reaction carefully and he seems to like it. Definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of roommate who would bail on me. And he doesn’t look messy or like a douche, who’s used to getting everything he wants.
He looks like the kind of man who works to get whatever he wants. And judging by the powerful but still relaxed way he holds himself, I have a feeling he knows exactly how to get everything he desires.
