Page 4 of Learning to Trust

He opened his mouth to protest, and for a moment, I wondered if maybe I had him pegged wrong. Holding up one hand, I said, “I’m aware you don’t know me from Adam, but if you switch off your thoughts and allow me to take care of you today, I promise to help you feel better.” Why the fuck had I offered to look after a man I’d only just met?

Chapter Three

DAVID

My head was starting to ache, the room was spinning, and the stranger standing in front of me—Andrew, was ordering me around like I was in grade school. He promised to make me feel better, and since I could not feel any worse, I decided it would be easier to do as I was told.

My legs felt like jelly as I pushed up from the couch; thankfully, the third time proved lucky, and I managed to stand.

“I’ll make you something to eat while you shower.” The ‘don’t argue with me’ voice was loud and clear.

Leaving—what was his name? Andrew, that was it. I grunted and stumbled upstairs. Once in my bedroom, I stripped off the sweatpants I'd hurriedly pulled on before kicking Tristan out of my home. As I was about to drop them to the floor, I remembered what Andrew had said about tidying my bedroom and tossed them into the laundry hamper as I entered the attached bathroom.

Flipping on the mixer faucet, I waited until the water temperature was hot enough to leave my skin heated and pink. Stepping under the spray, I closed my eyes and allowed the water to pour down on my body. The pounding matched what had already started in my head—not from the alcohol I'd overindulged in because I was still three sheets to the wind. No, this pounding was the product of stress, steadily building since the early morning hours when Tristan confessed he'd been seeing Sebastian and thought he might be in love.

After a few moments, I squirted shampoo into both hands and massaged the creamy liquid into my scalp. The massage served two purposes—it cleaned my curls, which were in need of a cut, and helped relieve some of the tightness in my head. With clean locks, I washed off my body, flicked off the faucet, and stepped from behind the glass screen. Steam curled into the air toward the ceiling. I’d forgotten to turn on the exhaust fan and didn’t care. Once dry, I applied deodorant and padded back to my room, where I pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a polo shirt, forgoing the underwear.

Although tempted to leave the bed and my room in a mess, Andrew's stern words had me do otherwise. I stripped off the bedding, wanting to rid myself of Tristan's scent, padded across the hallway to the closet, and grabbed a set of freshly laundered sheets and a doona cover. I made the bed, ensuring no wrinkles were visible, and set the small designer cushions in place. Satisfied the room would pass Andrew's inspection, I swept up the dirty laundry and headed back downstairs, dropping the pile at the foot of the stairs before going to the kitchen.

Andrew was standing at the stove frying bacon and cracking eggs into a bowl. I took advantage of the fact he was unaware of my presence to check out the man.

Fuck, he was tall. My chin barely reached his shoulders; his hair was surfer blond—natural I suspected, since I couldn't see any dark roots. I'd noted earlier that his eyes were deep sapphire blue, projecting a stubbornness I'd only seen in my aunt's when she was alive. Well-defined muscles rippled beneath his almost too-small t-shirt; his waist was narrow; and he had an ass that was sheer perfection.

What the hell? Not two hours ago, I'd ended a long-term relationship, and here I was, eyeballing another guy.

Clearing my throat alerted Andrew to my presence, and he turned. “Feeling better?”

The deep rumble of his voice had my dick flinching behind the zipper of my jeans. Again—what the hell?

“Yeah, thanks,” I mumbled.

“There’s water and two Advil on the table. Take the pills and finish the entire bottle of water.”

The grade schoolteacher’s voice was back. Although tempted to argue, I didn't. Instead, I obediently sat at the table, took the pills, and downed the water.

Andrew set two plates of bacon and scrambled eggs on the table, one in front of me, and returned to the kitchen, pouring two mugs of coffee and grabbing another bottle of water. Once everything was on the table, and coffee and water were within my reach, he dropped into the chair opposite. He fished his phone out of a shirt pocket, and after he sent a text— for a moment, I thought he was writing a damn book—set the phone down and began eating. Although my stomach was unsettled, I forked in bacon and eggs. Fuck, the man could cook. They were the best I'd ever tasted.

We remained silent until our plates were cleared, and Andrew spoke in his deep, rumbly voice when I reached for the coffee—black gold.

“Drink the water, and then you can have the coffee.”

Good to know—sarcasm, by the way. Who the hell did this guy think he was, ordering me around like a child?

I hesitated with my fingers through the mug’s handle while studying the man. Something in his eyes warned me not to fuck with him, so I picked up the bottle of water and drank every drop.

How inebriated was I, allowing a stranger to dictate to me in my own home?

“Drink your coffee, clear the table, and wash the dishes. After you have done that, take the bedding to the laundry, load it into the machine, and turn it on, then tidy the living room. I’ll start changing the locks.”

“I have a housekeeper who comes in twice a week. She does laundry and tidies the place.”

"She'll be pleasantly surprised when she comes in on Monday to find it done, and I'm sure there will be something else that needs doing."

“But—”

Andrew jammed his fisted hands on his hips, and I had a sudden urge to salute him when he raised his voice slightly. “Are you arguing with me?”

“No.” Damn, what was it about Andrew that had me eager to do as he asked?