Page 8 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
Confusion drifts across his face and his jaw falls lax. “Hold up.” He lifts his hands in the Hold on a minute position, drawing my eyes back to where they don’t want to be. If this whole situation weren’t so unbelievable, it would be comical, and yet as true as that is, I don’t seem to be laughing at all. “I think there seems to be some misunderstanding.”
“No shit.” Sarcasm is my fallback and it doesn’t disappoint me now. A lot of good it does me, though, as I’m still doing the naked dance while trying to react to this surreal situation.
The look of disdain he gives me at my comment earns him no points in my book. “While I’m digging the socks with your outfit,” he says with a smirk, eyes veering down and then back up to my strategically placed hands, “you should cover up.” I catch the towel he tosses me and immediately wrap it around myself. I’m certain my mismatching knee-high socks make a statement about me, but I’m beyond caring, because I’m still alone in my house with a strange man and have no answers as to how this has happened.
With one hand clutching onto the towel at my collarbone, I use the other to motion to him. “You too.”
A lightning flash of a grin glances across his lips. “Sorry, but you just took the only towel left.”
Why is this funny to him? This is not funny. Not in the least. And neither is my procrastination over folding the load of towels currently sitting in the dryer. Shit.
I glance around quickly. Needing to keep an eye on him for safety’s sake and not wanting to look too closely for obvious reasons. Instinct tells me he’s not a threat and yet sensibility tells me he is. So I do the only thing I can, look slyly around for a weapon. Something. Anything.
But I’m in a hallway. Pickings are slim. When I take a step back, the ancient mini-blinds behind me rattle as my butt hits them. The sound clicks my mind into gear and I reach back and pick up the broken wand that opens the blinds sitting on the windowsill. Without thinking, I hold it up in front of me like a swashbuckling sword.
“How’d you get in here?” I demand in my deepest, growliest voice.
“With the key under the frog on the back deck.” He doesn’t even fight the smile on his face or make an attempt to cover himself up. Nope. He just stands there nonchalant as day, like he’s used to women staring at his naked body.
Maybe he is. He said he thought I was here to seduce him. Is he some kind of male escort or something? No. Wait. I have that all mixed up. He would be seducing me, then.
Focus, Getty. Focus.
“What key?” How come I didn’t know there was a key under the frog on the back deck? I jab the wand toward him to emphasize each word. “And the wood on the deck is broken. How’d you climb—”
“How’d you get in here?”
“I’ve been here and I’m the one asking questions.”
That laugh again. Full-bodied. More than amused. Enough to make me wonder what it sounds like when he really means it. “Right. I forgot. You’re one to give orders in a bath towel, socks, and holding that fierce sword of yours.”
I fight back the urge to drop the wand regardless of how stupid I look, because I don’t know this guy from Adam. “Answer. Me.”
“Testy.”
“Now.” I jab the wand to show him that I mean it. The smile again, but this time he bites his bottom lip to prevent it from spreading all the way to dimple territory.
“Smitty gave me instructions on where to find the key. We made a deal. I get to stay here so long as I make some repairs for him.”
What? “There’s some kind of misunderstanding. Smitty messed up. I’m already living here.”
“So I gather by your Custer’s Last Stand demonstration,” he says with an indifferent wave of his hand.
“How do you know him?” I already have a sinking feeling that something is seriously screwed up here and that I’m not going to like his answer.
“He’s like an uncle to me.” He shrugs. “You?”
“Darcy’s like an aunt,” I mimic him in reference to Smitty’s wife.
We stare at each other as the knowledge that we’ve both been given access to this house settles into place between us.
“Well, Smitty must have forgotten that Darcy told me I could stay here, so you’re going to have to find somewhere else to crash for the weekend.” There. I said it. Take that.
“Good one.” He seems unfazed by my comment as he waltzes past me in all his masculine glory and heads into the bedroom to the right of the bathroom. “But I’m not just here for the weekend. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, you are!” I follow him the few steps into the bedroom and whoa, I’m greeted with a full male backside as he bends over to rifle through a duffel bag at the foot of the bed.
“Get your eyeful now, Socks,” he says with a glance over his shoulder as he steps into a pair of boxer briefs and pulls them up. “Because after I call Smitty, I’m sure you’re the one who’ll find out you’ve overstayed the welcome.”
