Inside, my teammate Nate is in the kitchen, making some sort of green smoothie. He grins when I enter and offers me a glass.
I shake my head and take a seat at the breakfast bar. “You’re never gonna guess what happened.”
He pauses a beat, withholding my smoothie just out of reach. “You tell me right now.”
I laugh then dive into the story. By the time I’m done, we’ve both drained our glasses, and I’m getting antsy to check out this house Robert bought.
“It kind of sounds too good to be true,” Nate comments. “But, hey, maybe my couch will recover from your imprint from the last few weeks.”
“Fuck off, dude.”
I’ve been living out of a bag, so there’s not much I need to collect. Nate reemerges in workout clothes just as I’m loading my car.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he says. “Good luck with your stepdaddy’s house.”
I flip him off. His laughter reaches me just as I slam the door shut and start the engine. I go to my messages with Robert and click on the address, which auto-populates in my maps app. It’s only five minutes from here. And, zooming in, it seems like it’s about a similar distance to the school.
Maybe this won’t be so bad.
I repeat that thought when I pull up to the curb in front of it. The house is two stories, white with dark-blue shutters and a matching dark-blue front door. There’s an attached garage, even. The front lawn will probably look nice in the spring when the grass comes back to life.
The spare key is easy to find. I let myself in and wander around, whistling under my breath. It seems half-furnished…in progress. I imagine whatever’s being delivered today will have the rest of Robert’s vision.
Or whatever assistant he assigned to the job, I should say.
It’s kind of nice, though. Quaint and definitely not my style. Although, as a twenty-year-old dude, my style is, like, black sheets and no headboard. Ha. Maybe this experience will get me over that. I hear headboards are in.
I go down the main hallway that opens up into the kitchen and dining area.
“Damn.”
It’s being renovated. What looks like new cabinets have been installed, sans countertops. They’ve laid plywood across to make due. The stainless-steel appliances are installed, but there’s plastic on the floor. There’s not even a sink.
At least my mom wasn’t exaggerating.
There are two bedrooms upstairs, both furnished.
With headboards, even.
The mattresses are still covered in plastic, and tags hang off the dressers.
It’s like it was all stocked in a hurry.
After examining both rooms, I take my pick and drop my bag on the bed. It crinkles loudly, but that will be a problem for later.
Downstairs, the front door opens. The hinges kind of squeal–probably the next thing on Robert’s to-do list. But it’s weird that a delivery guy would just let himself in…
I tense. My instincts take over, alarms going off in my head. I step lightly, creeping across the room.
Heavy footsteps on the stairs make me go still.
“Shit,” someone swears.
Notthe voice of a delivery guy.
“Damn this heavy suitcase.” It’s a girl, followed by the distinctthump-thump-thumpof something hitting every step.
What the fuck?
