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“I can’t stay there! They’ll be returning from Vegas tomorrow and be all honeymoon-ish. I won’t be a third wheel on their honeymoon, Sammy. That’s just gross.”
“Well, then I’ll call Jensen and Kathryn. They have all those rooms in her big place,” he counters, pulling his phone back out.
“Didn’t they just start the second-half of a remodel? I thought they were taking down more walls on the second floor and updating the bathrooms. And there’s no way I’d be comfortable taking Max’s room, which you know as well as I do, that’s what they’d offer me.” I sigh, my shoulders sagging in defeat. I could call my work friend, Claire, but I know she’s in a one-bedroom apartment too. Her place isn’t big enough to have me underfoot for the next few weeks. “There’s only one option left.”
He looks up from his phone, and his face already gives away his uncertainty. “What?”
“I’m just going to have to stay with you.”
He swallows hard, but doesn’t say anything.
“The way I see it, Sammy, you’re about the only person I know who has a guest room available. You won’t even know I’m there,” I assure him.
Samuel reaches down and picks up a pair of wet panties. He holds them up and gapes at them, as if the sight of them horrifies him. “I find that very hard to believe, Freedom.”
He tosses them into the nearest clothes basket as Rhenn and his big truck pulls up to the building. Samuel takes off his suit jacket and carefully hangs it over the back of the driver’s seat in his car. He unclasps his cuff links, shoving them into his pocket, before rolling his sleeves up to his forearms. And holy shitballs, what amazing forearms they are. What is it about guys in dress shirts? The moment they roll them up a little, they’re like a bazillion times hotter. And considering Samuel is already hotter than the sun, that’s saying something.
I gather up my measly belongings and take them to Samuel’s car while they place my dresser, bed, nightstand, and loveseat in the back of his truck. “Where’s your TV?” Rhenn asks, glancing around.
“I don’t have one,” I answer.
He looks horrified. “You don’t have a TV?”
Shrugging, I tell him, “I watch streaming on my phone.” I don’t tell him I’ve never owned one. It’s not like we could have them easily at the compound when I was younger. I mean, they were more of a make love and music kinda group. Sure, my grandma had one when I lived with her, but she always watched her soap operas. There was never time for cartoons or those teenage dramas all the other kids watched. And when I got older, I just didn’t see the point of purchasing one if I wasn’t going to use it.
When Rhenn goes to load my radio, I hold up a hand. “No, that goes in Sammy’s car.” His eyebrows pull together as humor transforms his face. He knows I’m the only person to use the nickname and that it’s done in spite.
“You got it,” he says, taking my radio to the back seat of Samuel’s car.
“Thanks, love,” I holler, picking up the last bit of my discarded belongings.
The back seat of Samuel’s car is loaded, and I can tell he’s already starting to sweat when he sees the water pooling on the leather. I pat him on the cheek, just to piss him off more, and say, “Let’s go, Sammy, before your seats are ruined.”
With a deep sigh I feel all the way down to my lady bits, he heads over to the driver’s side and gets in. He has no idea what he’s in for, or that I’m about to turn his perfectly organized little world upside down.
***
After we got the truck unloaded at Mary Ann’s, we make our way to Samuel’s home. I’ve been here before, but never actually inside his place, so I’m anxious to see how the oldest Grayson lives. If I had to guess, I’d say white walls, bland oak furniture, and not a speck of dust in sight. I’m pretty sure his shirts are hung by color and material content.
He opens the door and waves me in. The moment I step inside, I burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, glancing around at his immaculately clean house.
“This is exactly as I pictured it, Sammy. I bet your socks are color coordinated in your drawer too, right?” I ask. When I glance his way, his ears turn red, quickly followed by his cheeks.
“I like clean,” he grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“And white, apparently.”
Samuel sighs. “Let’s get your things into the guest room. We can start with some of your laundry so we don’t have standing water anywhere,” he says, turning and heading back out to the car.
For the next fifteen minutes, we unload my belongings, including our luggage, and bring them all into the house. The guest room consists of a full-sized bed with basic blue and green bedding and a single dresser and nightstand combo. There’s plenty of room along the closet wall to stack my stuff, which is what I do as we bring it inside.
“Feel free to use the dresser and the closet,” he says. He glances around the bare room, void of any knickknacks or pictures on the wall or…well, personality. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to unpack and start to reheat the vegetable pot pie Mom sent home for us.”
For me.
She put it together as soon as her son called and asked to store my things in the garage. She loaded it with carrots and celery, corn and potatoes. Mary Ann was pulling it from the oven when we finished unloading my furniture, wrapped it in a towel, and sent us on our way. Man, I love that woman.
