Page 9 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
He walks past me again, but this time I’m standing in the doorway. His body brushes ever so slightly against mine on the way out. I’m greeted with the scent of soap and masculinity fresh from the shower. I’m so busy admiring his ass, when I shouldn’t be, as he moves down the hallway that it takes a moment for his comment to break through his enticing scent clouding my brain.
“Over my dead body!” I shout, rushing after him, clutching the towel tighter around me.
“That would be a helluva waste with that body,” he murmurs from ahead of me. At least I think that’s what he says, but I can’t be certain and I sure as hell know he can’t be speaking about me.
“What did you say?”
“I said you sure are messy.”
“No, I’m not.” He flicks on the hallway light just as the words leave my mouth. The path of my clothes is visible in all its cluttered glory. I cringe—not because of the destruction, but because he thinks he’s right. When really he has no fricking clue of what’s behind my messy trail. “Look, you don’t get to come into my house—”
“It’s Smitty’s house,” he corrects as he holds up one finger and the face of his cell phone out with the other hand.
“No, mine—”
“Zander.” The phone crackles to life and a voice full of warmth comes through the speaker.
So he has a name.
“Hey, Smitty.”
I open my mouth to speak but shut it instantly when Zander levels me with a look.
“Did you find the key all right? Get in okay?”
“Yeah. Right where you said it’d be. But man, that deck is a death trap waiting to happen.” He laughs again. This time it’s softer, flooded with the same warmth in Smitty’s voice.
“I told you, you’d have to earn your keep.”
“I will. I’m good for it.”
A sudden heavy silence settles on the line. One I don’t quite understand, but it’s obvious at the same time.
“I know you are,” Smitty finally says quietly. “Just as my word to you is good. I promised you I wouldn’t tell them you were there—”
“There’s a problem,” Zander interrupts, unexpectedly changing the subject. And I can’t quite put my finger on it, but whatever Smitty was talking about, Zander obviously doesn’t want to. I can see it in the sudden darkening of his eyes and the tense set of his shoulders.
“What’s up?”
“There’s a woman here. At the house.”
“Did you already forget what to do with one?” He laughs. “I thought you were long past the birds and the bees speech, Zee.”
A genuine smile glances across Zander’s lips, and his eyes flash up to meet mine. “I assure you I know what to do with one. But, uh . . . that’s not what I’m talking about. There’s a woman here. Her name’s . . . ?” His eyes prompt me to respond.
All of a sudden I can’t find my voice and when I do, I’m shy. Hating that giving him my name is almost an invitation for him to get to know me, when I want nothing more of this strange, obviously charismatic man than to see him walk out of the house and not come back.
I clear my throat. “Getty.”
“Getty?” He gives me a curious glance as if he’s questioning if I know my own name. I nod slowly to him because he’s right—it still sounds a little foreign to me too.
New person. New name. New life.
“Smitty, her name’s Getty. She says Darcy—”
“Oh shit.” Smitty laughs into the line.
“Yeah. Oh shit.” Zander’s not amused.
