Shacking Up (Shacking Up (Shacking Up 1)

“Want to take a break from entertaining Francesca?” he asks.

“Sure.” I toss him the ball, which he catches underhand with a quick step to the side thanks to my poor aim.

Francesca scampers over to him and tries to scale his leg. Instead of throwing the ball, he scoops her up. “I can order dinner while you’re getting cleaned up, then we can go over the house rules.”

“House rules?” I raise a brow. “You mean like no boys in my room after nine?”

Bancroft frowns. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment.” But I’d sure like to be friends with whatever’s hiding behind the fly of those cargo shorts he’s wearing. I do a half bridge and roll up to a stand. “Does this mean I have to cancel the kegger I was planning for tomorrow night?”

Bancroft’s eyebrow lifts.

“I’ll just remove that post I put up a couple hours ago. I think only, like, two hundred people responded.”

He cracks a grin. “Only two hundred?”

“Tomorrow I was planning to take an ad out in the Times, pass out a few thousand fliers, that kind of thing, but I guess I’ll just cancel those. I was thinking to charge like twenty dollars a person, but now I’ll just have to settle for cable TV and chilling with Franny and Tiny.” I brush past Bancroft on my way to my temporary room, enjoying his wide-eyed uncertainty.

“You are kidding, right?” he calls after me.

I just laugh and close the door, leaving him to wonder.

Once I’m in my room I survey the boxes, glad I had Amie’s help packing, otherwise I’d have no idea where anything is. Thankfully the box labeled bathroom is close to the top of the stack, so it’s easy enough to get to. I carry it into the bathroom and then realize I have no idea how the shower works. There are seven-hundred buttons and levers and I don’t know what belongs to what.

I make a guess and press one of the buttons in the middle. Cold water shoots out of a jet in the wall at face level. I scream and try to hit it again, but I manage to hit the wrong one, activating yet another jet. So of course, I scream again. The water goes from freezing to scalding in a matter of seconds. I back away from the jets, into the corner, instead of out the open shower door. Now they’re alternating scalding spray from all six jets. It’s like a very hot game of Whack-A-Mole, except no one’s hitting me over the head with a mallet, I’m being blasted with fiery sprays of water.

There’s a knock in the middle of my yelps. It sounds like it’s outside my door. Bancroft’s muffled voice follows. “Ruby? You okay in there?”

“I think I need some help!” I call back.

“Is it okay if I come in, then?”

“Please!”

“Ruby?” Bancroft’s voice is closer now, inside my room but outside the bathroom.

“I’m in here! I’m trapped in the shower!” I call out.

“Trapped?” Worry makes his voice a little deeper.

“The jets are shooting scalding water at me.” I yell back. “I can’t get past them.”

“Can’t you just turn them off?” Now it sounds like he’s trying to stifle a laugh.

“I did try!”

“Are you—” there’s a brief moment of hesitation, followed by the clearing of his throat. “—decent?”

“I’m being cooked in your shower and you’re worried about my state of dress?”

The door opens slowly and Bancroft’s dark hair appears, followed by his eyes, which dart toward the shower. His brows come down and then pop up. Crinkles appear in the corners of his eyes. He pushes the door wide. “How’d you end up in the shower fully dressed?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed. It was an accident,” I snap.

“Geez, there’s water all over the floor. Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going? Don’t leave me in here!”

“I’m putting Francesca in her cage so I can save you, give me a second.” He disappears, but he’s back again quickly.

It takes him all of three seconds to figure out the timing of the intermittent jet spray before he reaches in and hits three buttons. The water stops. The only part of him that’s wet is his forearm. I, on the other hand, am soaked head to foot.

My tank top, which is pale blue, sticks to my skin, and its soaked state renders it transparent. Which means Bancroft can see the darker blue bra underneath. My shorts are drenched as well, showing off my panty-line. There isn’t much of one since I’m sporting a thong.

Bancroft’s gaze seems to get stuck on my chest.

“Can I have a towel, please?” Now that I’m no longer being pelted with scalding water the air-conditioning is doing its job, making my skin pebble, among other body parts. My nipples are particularly obvious thanks to the lack of padding in my bra.

“Right. Yeah.” He grabs one from the rack and hands it to me as I step out of the shower.

“Thank you.” Since the danger of being burned by water has passed, I’m now appropriately embarrassed. As I should be. Especially with the way Bancroft looks like he’s trying to hold back his smile. “Do not laugh at me.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, his cheek ticking. “I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t wait until tomorrow to shower or you would’ve been stuck in there until the hot water ran out.”

“It was like being blasted by a volcano.”

“It’s not that hot. There’s a sensor that won’t let the temperature get too high. I’m not sure why you didn’t just run past the jets and save yourself, but I’ll take white knight status.”

“I have sensitive skin and I panicked,” I reply.

“Too bad you didn’t panic after you were naked. I didn’t even get to see anything good.”

My mouth drops. “So much for being a white knight.”

His grins widens. “I still saved you from my molten lava shower.”

“Only because you thought you were going to see me naked, apparently.”

His eyes drop again, slowly perusing my body until he reaches my feet, where a puddle has formed. “I can be a white knight with a dirty mind, can’t I?”

“You know what would be really nice?” I pull the towel tighter around me.

“What’s that?” It takes a while before his gaze finally reaches mine. There’s heat in it. The kind that makes me want to drop my towel and strip out of my clothes. The kind that begs the question, what kind of dirty happens in that mind of his? I’d capitalize on that hungry look he’s wearing—if I wasn’t relying on this man for a place to live while I sort out my messed-up life.

I clear my throat and try to come across as affronted, rather than turned on. “It’d be nice if you’d stop making fun of me and show me how to use your space-age shower.”

“You’re a little high strung, aren’t you?” He’s still smiling. It’s as sexy as it is infuriating.

I just give him a look, more because I’m worried about what might come out of my mouth right now if I don’t keep it shut.

Bancroft shows me what each button is for. It turns out I can actually set the temperature. This is a crazy high-tech shower. He adjusts the spray to rainfall and I tell him when it’s the right temperature for me.