Wrecking Ball (Hard to Love 1)
“Yup.” I watch my father take a small sip of his red wine, his face unreadable. “What are you thinking, Dad?”
Without missing a beat, he says, “That I just became a Titans’ fan.” That’s saying a lot. Dad has been a diehard fan of the other NY team all his life.
Chapter Five
“Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
Mr. Etiquette is standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips, wearing a white t-shirt so completely soaked in sweat I’m surprised he’s not leaving a puddle. I look up with displeasure and watch a deep v carve itself into his forehead. Between the black slashes of his eyebrows and his bunned up hair, he reminds me of a Samurai warrior––or the Prince of Darkness.
My gaze does a cursory slide down the length of his body. The pictures really don’t do this guy justice. He looks much more imposing in person. Especially this close. When my eyes climb back up to his face, a narrowed eyed, gray glare is bearing down on me. Nothing has changed. As soon as I’m around this guy, my hackles give me jazz hands.
He barely steps aside to let me in. His nipple is practically poking me in the eye, a clear sign that he’s standing way too close, but does he step out of my personal space? No. I swear everything he does is orchestrated to irritate the shit out of me. Forced to squeeze past him, I scrape by shoulder blades against the doorjamb in an effort to avoid touching him in any way. For that cordiality, I reward him by sniffing the air for body odor and even though I get only soap and deodorant, I still make a face. Practically on cue, he volleys back his most menacing glare––no doubt meant to give me frostbite. All this transpires in the span of ten minutes. If this is any indication, I’m pretty sure I won’t be here long.
“That’s everything,” I say, shrugging. Should I antagonize him? Probably not. However, something about him brings out the worst in me, couple that with the fact that my tolerance for bullshit has been reduced significantly, for men in general but especially for entitled bullies, and you get me behaving badly.
His eyes swing from the suitcases back to me. His brow is wrinkled and his eyes watch me expectantly, like he’s waiting for me to elaborate. Which of course I don’t. All this guy needs to know is my name, where to wire my money, and that I have a clean record. Finally, he snaps out of it.
“Follow me.” Before I can reach for them, he grabs my seemingly weightless suitcases and leads me through the empty house.
“Who’s your decorator? Love what she’s done with the place.” His reply to this is a half-assed grunt. Without pausing, he continues upstairs to a large bedroom.
Wow. I mean…wow.
It’s beautifully decorated in neutral tones. The king size bed is swoon-worthy. Add to that the elegant furniture and the large flat screen television on the wall, and I’ve just moved into the Ritz. This, I can get used to––how long I get to use it is yet to be determined.
“Where’s Sam?”
“In the playroom down the hall. Do you want to get settled, or see him now?” After placing my bags down, he walks to the doorway and hovers. I don’t fail to notice how uncomfortable he seems. What a weirdo.
“I’d like to see him now, please.”
As I follow Shaw down the hall, we pass another doorway and he points and says, “My room.”
Like I care. The only reason for me to know which one is his is if he goes missing and a smell of decomposing organic matter drifts out. And even then, I’m not sure I’d care. Before we enter Sam’s playroom, I tap him on his gigantic sweaty tricep. Yuck.
“Listen, I forgot to mention that I don’t have a car.” I meet him gaze to gaze. The insufferable ass looks at me like I’m a cockroach scuttling across his kitchen floor. Holding steady, I don’t look away––high-fiving myself for that one. Only fifteen minutes have passed and I’m already exhausted.
After an agonized sigh, he says, “You can use one of mine. I’ll call the insurance company in the morning.”
Inside, Sam is kneeling in front of another intricate Lego creation. I walk over and drop to the floor close to him. Without looking up, he hands me the instruction booklet to the village he’s building. Shaw’s eyes are all over me. I can feel them burning a hole in my back. Stealing a glance over my shoulder, I find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed in front. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s staring. Jerk. My attention returns to Sam, and for the next hour and half, we work without speaking.