Page 4 of Silver

As I stare at the front of it, numerous questions run through my head. I’m only marginally aware of Silver exiting his side of the truck. I startle and jump in my seat when he opens my door.

I guess I seem helpless because he reaches across and unbuckles my seatbelt. It shouldn’t surprise me when he lifts me out of the cab, his hands steady on my hips. He grabs my purse from the floorboard, takes my hand, and hurries toward the front door.

There’s a plaque above the door that reads Brimstone House. It looks old. “Do you live alone?” I ask.

“Nope. I have four housemates.” He pulls out a key to unlock the door and grumbles, “Five now, if you count my damn sister.”

I have no idea what to make of his tone. Apparently, his sister also lives here. That calms me. He can’t be all that bad if he has four roommates and a sister living with him.

It’s dark inside. The place is kind of creepy. I’m picturing a horror film, some sort of slasher movie where the place is haunted because ten people were murdered inside a hundred years ago.

Silver takes my hand and guides me through the living room and down a hallway, where he continues up some stairs to the second floor. He stops in front of a door, pulls out those keys again, and unlocks it.

I’m surprised when we step inside. It’s a regular bedroom. Why does he keep it locked? Maybe he doesn’t know the other guys who live here very well? But then again, I make a different assessment as soon as he turns the lights on. Maybe he’s extremely anal.

His room is immaculate. The bed looks like it was made to military specifications. “Are you in the reserves or something?” I ask.

He turns to me and smirks. “Definitely not.” He takes his keys and locks the door from the inside.

I flinch. A key is needed to leave this room. I’m locked in.

When he pockets the keys, he shrugs and says, “I have quirks.”

Ya think? I’m trembling as I turn around and face the bedroom.

It’s large. Either it’s the master bedroom or all the rooms in this house are huge. There are several doors leading off it. I assume the one partly open is a bathroom. One of the others is probably a closet.

To my right is a mini fridge, a small table, and two chairs. Perhaps he eats in here sometimes. Do guests eat with him? Why doesn’t he eat in the kitchen?

A television is mounted on the wall above the table.

A king-sized bed sits opposite the table. Two windows that look out over the backyard flank it. Nightstands sit under the windows. That same wall has an enormous desk with multiple monitors on it. I guess this room has three functions: his office, his kitchen, and his bedroom.

Does he expect me to sleep with him? There aren’t other options. He hasn’t shown me another room. I stare at the bed and bite my bottom lip. I don’t want him to think I’m a prude. After all, he did just pluck me out of a strip club. He probably thinks I fuck everyone with a cock.

The truth is, I have zero experience with men. If I had to choose a man by his physical attributes to pop my cherry, it would be Silver, hands down. But I’m not emotionally prepared to make that sort of decision tonight.

This entire scenario is surreal and unexpected.

Silver marches across the room to one of the mystery doors to my right. He swings it open with a flourish. “I suspect this was originally used as a sitting room or an office. It’s small, but big enough for a bed. It’s yours.”

My heart races as I shuffle across the room in the ridiculous platform heels. I’m only five-four, but with the heels, I’m standing about four inches taller. That still makes me short compared to Silver.

I glance into the strange room. Sure enough, there’s a twin bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. It even has a window that also looks out over the huge backyard. By the light of the moon, I can see that there are several mature trees back there. If I were the sort of person who cared about architecture, I might think this creepy place was a dream house.

I’m both relieved and disappointed to discover he doesn’t intend to sleep with me. It’s absurd. Of course I don’t want to share his bed. I just got through telling myself that seconds ago. Yet, the fact that it wasn’t even his intention makes me feel a bit let down.

Is he letting me sleep here tonight simply out of some altruistic sense of kindness? Or is he interested in me? I’m not even sure what I want the answer to be.

I have nothing with me. No clothes. Not even a pair of panties. He wouldn’t let me grab anything from my car before we took off.

He points toward the other side of the room. “Bathroom. Take a shower or bath. There’s a spare toothbrush in the top right drawer. Towels in the linen closet. Hang it on the left hook on the back of the door when you’re done.”

He barks these orders like a drill sergeant. I’m frozen in my spot.

“Silver,” I manage to mumble. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

He rolls his eyes as if my comment is ridiculous before striding across his room toward a dresser. He opens a drawer, pulls out a T-shirt, and turns around to hand it to me. “You were going to strip in front of hundreds of strangers tonight, but suddenly you’re feeling modest?”