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I shake my head, then nod. “You look terrifyingly beautiful,” I answer him honestly. He is. Beautiful. Scary and beautiful.
“I’ll take that.” He kisses me quickly before trotting up the stairs. I follow him with my eyes, a smile spread across my face. When I saw him the first time, I thought he was beautiful. He scared the shit out of me when he put a gun to my back, but still, beautiful. But I never would have thought he’d be like … this.
He’s scary and dangerous and sexy and hot as fuck.
And for two weeks, he’s mine.
I think about turning the television on but I don’t want to see anybody from Reverdale crying over me. I don’t want to see my mother pretending to love her queer son when she all but disowned me. I don’t want to get any more bad news about sightings of us when we’re supposed to be in a bubble.
Instead, I reach for the folder that’s been on the table for the past week. I open it and see a beautiful house. It’s white with terracotta roofing, blue shutters, and a big black door. I flip through the pages and look at the large sitting room that has an amazing skylight, sunlight streaming through the furnished room. The next picture shows a master bedroom with a large bed that almost looks like the one that’s in Rax’s room now, but the headboard is square posts, not wrought iron.
Still plenty of places to attach handcuffs.
I jump when I hear Rax’s voice. “What do you think?”
“Sorry,” I say, putting the folder back on the table. “I was curious, I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine. Not like there’s an address on it. What do you think?”
Rax sits beside me and pulls my legs onto his lap. For someone who says they’ve never dated and can scare the bejesus out of me when he wants to, this comes naturally to him. I wonder why he never dated.
Getting back to his question, I turn to him and grin. “It’s beautiful. I love the design. The rooms are gorgeous. I also love the trees around it. Reminds me of here, but less …” I pause, trying to think of the word. “Less isolated. Is that your new house?”
He stares at me for a full minute and it’s hard, but I don’t break eye contact. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I let him look his fill.
Exhaling, he asks, “Can I trust you? I mean, really trust you. We have a deal, but can I trust you to keep your mouth shut without me having to threaten you?”
I start to answer right away, but that would be a mistake. Answering without thinking will guarantee he doesn’t trust me. “Is this something that would hurt you if someone found out?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Yes.”
I nod. “You can trust me, but don’t tell me anything about the house you can’t stand for anyone to find out. I don’t want to accidentally say something. I might think it’s harmless, but it could be bad for you. So, to answer your question, you can trust me, but don’t tell me anything that could hurt you.”
His lips tip up and he nods. “Okay.”
“In any case, I love it.” I pick up the folder again and flip through the pages. “See here?” I point to the blank space in the sitting room. “A nice watercolor would be perfect there. The way the light is streaming in would really make it pop.” I flip to the dining room. “A shrunk would be perfect there.”
“A what?”
“A shrunk,” I answer, looking at him. “You’ve never heard of it?” He shakes his head, eyebrows raised. “It’s like … a clothing wardrobe, but for the kitchen.”
“Like a china cabinet?”
“Yes!” I exclaim. “Just like that. But larger and you can fit more shit in there.”
He laughs, his teeth flashing and that chip making my heart pitter patter in my chest.
“Tell me,” Rax says, pointing to the pictures in my hand, “if you lived here, what would you do with it?”
Turning around so I can lean against him, I hold up the pictures and chronicle all the things I would do. In my mind’s eye, I can see myself adding the things I want in this house if it were mine to give it a homey feel, while also adding some color and flair.
After I decorate the house to my liking, I sigh. “Get you a good decorator when you move. Or I’ll write down everything I said and you can think of me while you’re gone.” I freeze, thinking about how that sounds. This isn’t deep. This isn’t about him remembering me. It’s about me fulfilling a fantasy and him exploring whatever this is with me. Not about him thinking of me.
Instead of giving me shit, he kisses my head. “That’s not a half bad idea,” he mutters into my hair.
“It’s how I think of decorating my condo when I move to St. Louis. Remember I said I wanted to go there when …” I trail off, thinking about my fear while we were driving to Tennessee. I remember the cold pressure of the gun in my back, and how I felt like I would piss my pants.
Rax knows what I mean. “Yes. You were serious?”
