Shacking Up (Shacking Up (Shacking Up 1)

“Did you hear Bancroft? I bet you miss him like crazy.”

I go back to my groceries and unload my glorious booty. I locate the graham crackers and tear open the box. Arranging four on a plate, I top each with a marshmallow and put it in the microwave. I hit the start button just as the phone rings again. I pause in my quest for a s’more breakfast to listen to Bancroft’s sexy voice again.

I think he’s supposed to call soon, but I can’t remember exactly what time we agreed upon today. He was wearing a suit with the tie hanging loose when we talked yesterday, speaking words and all I heard in my head was Take off all your clothes, Ruby, and I’ll let you take off mine. I’m pretty sure he made no mention of clothing removal this time, but my imagination has been working overtime since the night I was rolling around in his bed, in a camie and shorts.

The message plays again, and in my mind, I change the words to something more along the lines of:

You’ve reached the voice mail of Bancroft Mills. I’m too busy orally pleasuring the gorgeous woman living in my condo, so don’t bother leaving a message because I won’t be able to get back to you for at least another week, maybe two.

My daydreaming is brought to an abrupt end when a high, nasally female voice cuts in:

“Hi, Banny! It’s Brittany. I know you’re away on business, but since you’ll be back soon I wanted you to know that I’ve been thinking about you while you’ve been gone and I’m really hoping we can go out on another date when you’re back in town.”

“Date?” I scoff. “Like Bancroft wants to date you.” I pick up the jar of Nutella with the intention of throwing it at the machine, but then I consider the vintage-ness of it, and its sentimental value, along with the probability that replacing it will either be expensive or impossible.

Brittany rambles on about how it’s so nice to spend time with someone so grounded and in control of their career and how she really hopes next time he’ll be feeling better so they can find out if their chemistry’s compatible.

“Bancroft is not interested in your chemistry!” I fire a marshmallow at the machine, then another and another. It’s not nearly as satisfying as the Nutella jar would’ve been.

A huge pop startles me and I drop the bag of marshmallows on the floor. “Oh shit!”

The ones in the microwave have exploded like the Stay Puft marshmallow man in Ghostbusters. It appears I set the time for two minutes instead of twenty seconds. I hit end but it’s too late. Marshmallow coats the window of the microwave. That’s going to be one hell of a mess to clean up.

“ . . . Okay. Well, I’ll talk to you soon, Banny. Byeee!”

“His name is Bancroft, you stupid cow,” I grumble.

I give the microwave a few seconds to cool down before I open the door to check the damage. Oh, yeah. It’s marshmallow carnage in there. I swipe a finger across the plate and yelp because it’s burning hot.

As if there isn’t enough going on, my cell rings. Except it’s not a phone call. It’s a video chat. And it’s Bancroft. I don’t know why I don’t let it keep ringing. It’s a lot smarter than what I do, which is answer the call.

“Hey! Hi! Hello!” I’ve covered every possible greeting.

“Hey. Did I catch you at a bad time?” He’s wearing a white dress shirt and a black tie. It’s pulled loose and his hair is a little messy, like he’s run his hand through it recently. He’s yummier than s’mores.

“Oh no. Not a bad time. I’m just making breakfast and having some play time with Francesca.”

“How’s my girl? Where is she? Can I see her?” The my girl part makes me all swoony. I think it’s adorable how much he loves his ferret. And that’s not even a euphemism.

“Of course you can. Hold on and let me get her.” I leave the phone on the counter and call for her. I find her over by the answering machine, nibbling on a marshmallow. “Oh, no, Franny! Those aren’t for you!”

She jumps off the table, scattering mail all over the floor as I confiscate the treat. An envelope opens and a pile of twenty dollar bills flutters across the tile floor. I don’t have time to manage the sudden money storm because Francesca is going after another marshmallow.

“Is everything okay over there? Did she get into something she shouldn’t have?”

“It’s fine! I just dropped a couple of marshmallows on the floor when I was unpacking groceries.” I scoop up the marshmallow bombs before Francesca can get her paws on another one. They’re a little goopy, as if she’s tried to taste them all. I dump them in the garbage so she can’t get to them. I carry a slightly disgruntled Francesca over to the phone, wiping marshmallow bits off her whiskers on the way.

“Here we are!” I pick the phone up while awkwardly trying to hold a squirming Francesca. She’s not having it, though. She wants to explore the grocery bags I’ve yet to unpack.

“Let me set this up better.” I rearrange the phone on a bunch of bananas so I don’t have to hold it and reclaim Francesca. “Say hi to Daddy!” I wave her little paw at him and mumble a high pitched. “Hi, Daddy.”

The smile that breaks across Bancroft’s face could light all the panties in the world on fire.

“Is she making mischief on you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I figured. How’s Tiny?”

“She’s good. Ate a big fat cricket yesterday for dinner and she’s been chilling out ever since.”

Bancroft laughs. It’s probably one of my favorite sounds ever. “What about you? How are you?”

“I’m good.” I glance at the bills scattered over the floor. Now that I’m not so discombobulated and marshmallows aren’t exploding in the microwave, and slutty Brittany isn’t whining into his answering machine, I can see that it’s not just twenties. There are fifties and hundreds on the floor as well. Who sends that much cash in the mail? “So . . . I have a question for you.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows rise. “What kind of question?”

“Not a dirty one, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Mmm. That’s unfortunate. Is everything okay?”

“I think so, but I was moving the mail around and there’s a pile of cash on the floor. Can you explain that?”

He frowns. “A pile of cash?”

“Yeah. Francesca knocked the mail on the floor and all of a sudden it was raining large bills. I thought you might want to know, just in case some crazy drug dealer shows up here looking for his brick or what have you.”

“Can you show me?”

“Sure.” I hold the phone over the pile of mail and money.

“Can you find the envelope it fell out of?”

“Give me a second.” I prop the phone against the answering machine, drop to the floor, and gather the letters and cash. All the envelopes are sealed, apart from one, which has my name and #2 scrawled on it in what looks like Bancroft’s writing. It’s not sealed, and there are a few lingering twenties still inside. I hold it up so he can see it. “Why does this have my name on it?”

Bancroft’s brow furrows. I don’t know how a brow furrow can be so sexy, but it really is. “Shit. Because I left it for you. It was in the notes from the morning I flew out.”