“Probably five thousand or so.”
My jaw drops, quite literally.“What?”
He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Like I said. I can make you anything.” And with those words, I realize he’s probably speaking for himself rather than for me, which makes me feel a little better.
“Pancakes?” Guilty pleasure food, and I never ate Cynthia’s, which makes shame sit heavy on my shoulders.
“Chocolate chips?”
“I usually like them plain but?—”
“Plain for you, chocolate chips for me. And they’re not coming out of a box.” He opens his door, the locks releasing on my side too as he does. “Let’s go.”
I don’t know what I expected of his place, a bachelor hockey star, but it’s not…this.The inside of his castle smellsclean,and not like air freshener he just haphazardly sprays, but like a place he deep cleans regularly. And taking in the sheer size of it, that’s saying something.
Briefly, eyeing the polished coat rack, the gilded mirror in the entranceway from the garage, the art hanging on the walls, and the stone table beneath the mirror that looks like it’s used for keys—considering he set his there—I wonder if he pays someone to clean his place.
It’s just so…neat.
But it isn’t boring.
The fact the entry hall from the garage is so immaculate surprises me, too. I think of garage entrances like backdoors; not meant for company. But just beyond the coat rack, the mirror, and all the rest, there’s a polished wooden bench with shoe cubbies beneath it, and on the opposite wall, golden hooks lined up for coats. He has a few hanging already, all pristine and expensive looking, and he’s got more pairs of shoes than I would have suspected. Between him and Sylvan, he seemed like the more casual dresser. I think that may be true, but it clearly doesn’t mean he doesn’t have style.
“You can take your shoes off there, put them wherever you want.” He nods toward the bench, and I realize he’s turning off an alarm behind me when I hear the electric beep of the keypad and turn to glance over my shoulder.
Captain of the Drayton Dragons. Castle darling. Of course he has an alarm system. He might want to consider investing in a security guard too.
I sit down on the bench and unzip my deep brown platform boots. My eyes find the art hanging opposite the mirror. It’s gorgeous, and Cyn would know what it is, but I have no idea.
A triptych, I realize. Three panels, animals and water sculptures and people, earth theme all throughout. The last panel is darker, like there’s war coming.
Interesting.
I shrug out of my coat after tucking away my boots. But before I can stand to hang it up, Faust takes it out of my hands
He doesn’t say a word as he places it on a hook by itself, then removes his own coat and hangs it next to mine.
Standing before me in an earth-toned sweater, fitted dark pants, and socks with Snoopy on them, my neck arched to meet his eyes, I feel out of my depth.
What am I doing here?
It’s not that I don’t believe I’m capable of hooking up with boys like this. I did it all the time. But a week or so ago, I didn’t know Faust Darling existed, and now I want to fuck him, unearth him,discoverhim.
Even though he said he wasn’t interested. My toxic trait is I want to prove him wrong.
Get yourself together, Neve.
Maybe I do need to eat. My brain seems to be starved of nutrients and common sense.
“Pancakes?” he asks softly.
“Please.” It’s the best answer I can find.
I hear his sharp intake of breath at my low word, then his throat rolls, drawing attention to his chains, and I wonder why he mixes his metals. Gold and silver, then that silver Casio watch, too. It works for him, no doubt, but it’s not common.
I don’t ask anything about it though, and when he gestures ahead, to go deeper into the house, I stand from the bench and cautiously prowl inside.
There’re a few steps up, then a spiraling staircase to my right which I assume is not where we’re going, and up ahead, the kitchen to the left, the dining room to the right, and right in front of me, glass cabinets full of liquor.
