Grayson (7 page)

Tuesday morning I pulled on my jeans and an old T-shirt and went to the house. I was nervous walking through the door. My insides felt as unsure as a dry twig trembling in a breeze and just as brittle. I’d been thinking about Grayson all weekend. I hadn’t been able to see his face in the shadows, and my mind turned over image after image, wondering what he might look like.
What had he been thinking? How long had he been following me? Had he been watching me while I worked in the house?
Why did he hide away?

I took the back stairs and tried the door. It was locked. I wasn’t surprised. I took a deep, long breath.

“Grayson?” I waited an empty minute, standing rigidly still. I knew he was there. I could sense him. “Thank you.”

As I was heading back down the steps, I heard a door slam. I frowned, turning into the main room. I saw it from across the room. It was taped to the door. I realized it was the door to the other staircase that led up to the second floor. The words became clearer as I drew closer. They were scrawled in black across plain white paper.

DO NOT ENTER

Well then. In case I didn’t get the memo, this was loud and clear. Annoyance rolled down my spine.
Was it time to jerk off again?

I stood for a moment, then a smile pulled the corner of my lips. I turned around and headed for my backpack and returned to the door with a black sharpie. I put a line through the word: NOT

I stepped back and smiled.
That was much better.
I don’t know why, but that simple communication, even though it was a negative directive, warmed me from head to toe. I weaved my way to the painting and stared into the riveting sky blue eyes. My fingers move over the textured surface, stopping at his lips. I don’t know what overcame me, but I leaned in and pressed my lips to the canvas.

“Thank you,” I whispered, and stepped back.

I don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped Mark. Part of my emotional tumult was my corrosive self-blame. I couldn’t believe I’d allowed myself to be in such a vulnerable position. I wasn’t a naive virgin. I knew what men were about. But I’d used poor judgment Friday night and was hating myself for it. I hadn’t heard from Mark and didn’t expect to. His face had been bloodied, his nose probably broken. I hope it took him a long time to heal.

My gaze moved to Grayson’s face again. I wasn’t a psychiatric nurse, but I’d done a psych rotation when I was in school and spent a semester at Bellevue hospital. There’d been many patients admitted with schizophrenia. Admittedly, I saw them at their worse, when the disorder had become so consuming they needed to be hospitalized. I squeezed my eyes closed at some of the disturbing memories. My heart always broke seeing the effects of this mentally fracturing disorder.

Most of the patients I nursed could not discern reality from fiction. I remembered one man who saw a constant parade of green dinosaurs marching down Second Avenue, and another who insisted on wearing a helmet made of tin foil to prevent aliens from reading his thoughts. It was truly heartbreaking because in their minds these events were very real and very frightening. One of my patients had repeatedly tried to commit suicide because he could no longer stand the riot of voices in his head. One of the voices had told him to jump off the roof of an eighty story building in the middle of Midtown, and he’d obeyed, finally putting an end to the clamor—and his life.

Charles had said that Grayson got worse and stopped taking his medication after his mother’s death. Experiencing trauma, or certain stressful situations could throw a borderline schizophrenic into full blown, florid psychosis. I wondered about Grayson’s relationship with his wife. With his son.

The man who’d come to my rescue Friday night did not appear psychotic. If anything, he’d seemed wary and had been able to accurately assess that I was in danger. From what I read online about him, he’d been a shark in the banking industry and a prominently successful business man. His mental condition could not have been that impaired by the disorder. Although, I knew the public persona was not always representative of what really transpired in one’s personal life.

I pivoted and looked around the room, taking inventory of the stifling debris and the shamble. I recalled how dilapidated it was upstairs.
Would someone in his right mind live like this?

With more questions circling in my head, I got to work. My little oasis was growing and I was setting more and more bags aside for garbage. Soon I would need to have Charles send someone to remove them. Unfortunately, I had to do the dusting by hand because the vacuum stopped working. I didn’t know what happened to it. It had been brand new. It probably seized and self destructed when it saw the amount of dust in the house. This slowed my pace, but I was glad I was still making progress. The monotony of the work somehow soothed me, the rhythm an internal lullaby.

Looking for another flat surface to work on, I spotted an unassembled table. The parts were stacked against a far wall. Later in the week I’d clean it and tackle the assembly. It would do nicely for some of the smaller items I needed to wash and dry. I worked for several more hours, emptying one of the barrels I’d found. It was filled with delicate pieces of china that looked to be handmade. Unfortunately most of the pieces were shattered and ended up in the garbage pile. It saddened me that such precious beauty had to be discarded simply because of neglect and improper care.

The next day I walked into the house carrying an envelope. I walked up the back stairs and stopped at the still locked door. I pulled a roll of tape from my bag and tore off a strip with my teeth, then taped the envelope to the door. It was a thank you note. If I couldn’t thank him personally, at least I could convey my gratitude in writing.

I bit my lip, thinking for a moment. On impulse, I pulled out my sketch pad. I ripped out the two drawings I’d completed in the park, folded them, and stuffed them quickly into the envelope before I could change my mind. I almost took back the second drawing. The thought of it made a blush fan over my skin, but I decided to leave it. I went back into the main room and approached the door that still had the sign taped to it and stopped. I smiled, wondering if Grayson had seen my editing.

I was able to come for about an hour each day that week, and each day I checked the door and saw that my envelope was still there, taped like derelict mail at an abandoned house. I knew he’d seen it because I saw subtle signs in the kitchen that he'd been there. Even with all the clutter, I noticed that things had been moved or used. Charles texted me a few times to see how things were going. My answers were always short and direct. He made several attempts to draw out our dialogue, but I always cut him off with an excuse to get off the phone. He called several times, but I never answered. I had no desire to speak to him.

After class on Friday, I found I had some time on my hands. I was itching to sketch, but wanted to get in some work hours at the townhouse. I had shifts at the hospital for the next three days and wouldn’t be able to come. I wanted to get as much cleaned out as possible. I entered the house and as usual checked the door at the top of the stairs. My body froze when I noticed that my envelope was gone and had been replaced by a different envelope. It was taped to the door in the same spot where mine had been.

My breathing picked up and my fingers shook as I removed it. I was so shaken up I couldn't bring myself to open it. Instead I stuffed it in my bag, then numbly made my way back down the stairs and out the front door. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I wanted to open it in private. I needed to clear my head and prepare myself for whatever was in the envelope. I delayed because part of me was afraid. I was afraid it would be a note like the one on the door warning me away.

In my room, I locked the door and sat cross legged on my bed. The envelope lay reverently in my lap like it held a sacred scripture. I watched my knees bounce nervously. My palms were clammy and my heart threatened to burst out of my chest. Those deep, piercing blue eyes flashed in my mind and I sucked in a breath as a shudder moved through me and raised the hair all over my body. I scolded myself.
What the fuck was wrong with me? Why was I acting like this? Why did I feel like everything rested on what was in that envelope?

With a grunt of disgust, I snatched it up and ripped it open, mentally preparing myself for the worse. After all, I’d given him a drawing of himself masturbating.
Oh God…

My hands stilled and I stared down in disbelief.

A ticket to see Maroon 5.

I let out a squeal and hugged it to my chest.

CHAPTER FOUR

I couldn't wait to get back to the townhouse on Tuesday. I practically ran up the back steps when I got there. I gritted my teeth and growled in frustration when I discovered that the door was still locked. I knocked and waited. And waited. And waited.

I heard slight rustling behind the door. He was standing close, probably just on the other side.

“Grayson.” I smiled. “I know you’re there.”

Nothing.

“Thank you for the ticket.” I waited. Still nothing.

Frustrated, I sighed loudly. “I just thought you should know I signed up for a class on breaking and entering. They teach how to pick locks. Yeah, they focus on breaking into banks and sneaking up on naked, unsuspecting men.”

Nothing. Okay. After that wisecrack, he probably thought I was nuts. I gave it another minute and then plodded back down the steps. I walked into the main room and my gaze immediately flew to the sign on the door. It was different. I strode to the door and stood in front of it. He’d added ‘N'T’ to the ‘DO’ so that the sign now read: DON’T ENTER.

Wiseass!

I snickered loudly and shifted my weight onto one foot. At least we were communicating. Well, kind of.
Hmmm….

I went to my bag then came back and wielded my black Sharpie, then stood back and smiled.
There!

I’d brazenly put a line through all the words and written:

JUST OPEN UP ALREADY!

I was never one to beat around the bush.

The sign stayed like that for two days. On Thursday when I came back, I noticed something strange about my oasis. On the small table was a tall paper cup I knew I hadn’t left there. I touched it, then frowned, surprised to find it hot. I pulled open the lid. Coffee. Gasping, I took a quick sip and smiled.

My gaze alighted on the sign as I turned toward the door. There were so many words with lines through them that I had to get closer to make any sense of it, but I could tell there’d been a change. I stood in front of the door, still holding my coffee, feeling the warmth of it in my palm.

All the words I’d written with my black Sharpie were crossed out. All except one: OPEN.

I drew in a sharp breath, not really believing my eyes. My hand moved to the knob. I turned it and the door opened.

Oh, God
… My head swiveled back to the main room and I gulped. As I climbed the stairs, I thought about what Charles had said about Grayson not being well.
Should I be afraid?
There were many emotions scuttling around inside me. Oddly enough, fear was not one of them. Nervous excitement and a strange exhilaration filled my belly like a swarm of humming bees.

The stairs spilled into the wide hall and my knees locked stiff when I saw him. He was waiting for me, leaning his wide shoulders casually against a wall. He was a lot bigger than I’d remembered him from the alley. He looked tall and solid and something warmed inside me. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of faded blue jeans that rode low on his hips and a worn V-neck T-shirt hugged his chest.

His hair hung in long loose waves, the uneven edges just shy of his shoulders. The dark locks were streaked through at the temples with thin brush strokes of silver. He had chiseled cheekbones and lips that looked delicious. His bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top, shapely and enticing. My breath quickened as I raised my gaze to his eyes. They were the same as in the portrait, the same sparkling blue I’d stared into for weeks. Stunning. In fact, his face was the same, except aged with lines that made him look distinguished and handsome. He gazed at me with slightly raised brows. His blue eyes were cautiously guarded—suspicious.

“Thanks for the invitation up,” I laughed lightly, nervously. “Guess I won’t need that lock-picking class after all.”

“You can always use it for robbing banks.”

I chuckled, but his expression remained shielded. We stood quiet for a minute.
God!
For weeks I’d wanted to talk to him. Now jitters were breeding under my skin like sand flies. Another moment ticked by, and flustered, I thrust the cup of coffee in his direction.

“Thanks. It’s really good. Hazelnut is my favorite. And—and thanks again for the ticket. I love Maroon 5. I didn’t think I’d be able to go.”

He stared quietly and I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, fighting the urge to step closer. A strange giddiness scrambled my thoughts and made me light headed.

“I figured since I’m working downstairs, I should introduce myself. I’m Angie, but—but you probably already know that since you’ve been following me. And thanks for what you did for me on Friday night. You saved me. I don’t know what would’ve happened had you not been there. Oh, and about the other day… I’m so sorry I spied on you. I hadn’t intended to. It’s just that… that I saw you and… I… I couldn’t help myself.”

My eyes widened at the implication. “I mean, I’m not a pervert or anything. I don’t usually go around spying on naked men. Really, I don’t—not that I mind doing it. It’s just always been consensual when I’ve done it.”

Oh God…what the hell was I saying? Change subject. Now!

“I’ll try not to bother you while I’m working downstairs. I promise. I’ve been trying to be as quiet as possible, well…” I lowered my lids, “except for the times I yelled through your door and banged on it repeatedly. But I’d just wanted to say thanks.”

I pushed the words out as one sloppy verbal run-on…
Ugh!
I was rambling. I sighed apologetically.

“I’m sorry. I’m going on and on. You must think I’m crazy.”

I gasped.
Had I just said that?
“Not that there’s anything wrong with being crazy! I have lots of friends who are crazy! In fact, I think the
whole world
is crazy!”

I looked away, biting my tongue. Anything to get the damn thing to quit wagging.

Dear God, please create a hole big enough to swallow me up right now.

I was mortified. Here was my chance to finally talk to this man, and I was making a total ass of myself. I’d probably just insulted him in a million different of ways.

I chanced a look at him through my lashes. He’d remained remarkably quiet throughout my bout of verbal diarrhea. His expression was still cautious, but something like a smile played on his lips and the fine lines at the corner of his eyes crinkled.

He pushed off of the wall and folded his arms across his  broad chest. He was tall. Maybe just over six feet. I had to adjust the trajectory of my gaze.

“You already said thank you in your note.”

I noticed he didn’t mention the drawings.

“I thought a thank you note was a bit impersonal. I wanted to do it in person.”

A skeptical brow shot up.

“Okay…maybe not so impersonal,” I muttered, my face growing hot.

“You’re welcome.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” I said quickly. He angled back to me with the same brow raised. I shifted my gaze around the hall, not ready to end our conversation.

“Since I’m cleaning up downstairs. Maybe I can clean out some stuff up here, too.”

“I like it the way it is.” His voice was suddenly harder.

Oh. Okay. I frowned.

“Then maybe just a little dusting.”

“No.”

“How about I just straighten up the books on the floor? Are the books downstairs yours, too? You must love to read.”

He turned to me fully and sighed heavily, his tolerance obviously waning.

“Don’t you have some cleaning to do
downstairs
?”

I pursed my lips, a little piqued at his quick dismissal.
What a charmer.

“I would vacuum, but the vacuum cleaner broke.”

“I disabled it.”

“
What?
” Had I heard him correctly?

“I disabled it.”

“Why?” I frowned, perplexed.

“The noise. It bothers me,” he said simply. “Drives me crazy.”

He raised his finger and twirled it in circles next to his head.

I couldn’t tell if he was simply mocking me or if he was serious. Finally his lips tilted up in a small smile. He shook his head and regarded me like I was a giant inkblot. That stingy smile made warm honey pour through my veins and a sweet longing settled low in my belly.

“I think you should go. I have work to do,” he said.“Work?”
What could he possibly be working on up here?
Obviously, not the decor.

“Yes,” he said patiently. “I work on my computer.”

“Oh.”

“Goodbye, Angie.” He turned to leave again.

An idea suddenly popped into my head.

“Um…I could use your help with something.” I called after him and he stopped again and pivoted.

His brow lifted, but he didn’t look eager to hear what I had to say.

“I have a table downstairs that needs assembling.” I laughed lightly when he frowned. “It’s the least you could do for breaking my vacuum.” I couldn’t believe I was being so pushy, but I knew that as soon as I left, the door would be locked again.

“It’s not broken. It’s disabled. There’s a difference.”

I stared back at him, wondering if he was talking about more than the vacuum.

“Okay,” I intoned slowly.

His blue eyes locked on me for a moment, his gaze scanning my face, evaluating, judging.

He didn’t trust me. I could tell.

“I’m really not good with stuff like that. All thumbs.” I put my hands up and wiggled the digits in question.
I grinned, trying to tear my gaze away from his handsome face. I was sure that staring at him like he was a yummy dessert with all the toppings wasn't helping my case. “I’m bound to lose a limb or something…or take out an eye…sever an artery…”

Shoving his hands back into his pockets, he sighed, seeming to have come to some decision.

“bust a gut…stump a—” I continued slowly.

“Fine.”

Huh?
“Great.” The way he’d looked at me, I didn’t think he’d agree to help me. He probably just wanted to shut me up.

I turned and headed back down the steps with a secret smile tickling my lips. Grayson was behind me and my skin prickled in response to his nearness. I led him to the table pieces I’d already dragged to my oasis. Immediately, he sat down on the floor and, without a word, he got started. I walked over to the debris where I’d found the table and started picking around, noisily knocking over an umbrella stand in the process.
Oops!
He stopped working and looked over at me.

I grinned apologetically.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for the instructions.”

“Don’t need them.”

“Says every man.” I dusted off my hands and returned to where he was sitting.

A beam of sunlight cut through the dark waves of his hair, highlighting the side of his face and the slope of a broad shoulder. I tried not to stare, but was enthralled with the way it kissed the angles of his face and caressed the curve of his shoulder with  glowing affection. I was very aware of his presence, the way his muscles flexed as he moved, the determined tilt of his head, and the even rhythm of his breathing as he worked diligently on the table.

I felt as if there was static electricity charging the air between us and wondered if he felt it too. I thought of the gorgeous body I’d seen naked, and immediately, my nipples drew tight and my breath hitched, locking high in my throat. An erotic image filled my head. I imagined his fingers strangling his thick shaft along with the gritty drag of his moan when he came. Arousal flickered through me and I bit back a groan. His long, dark lashes lifted and he caught me staring.

Blushing, I swung my gaze away, looking for an escape from my naughty thoughts. My sight darted to the pieces of wood and metal laid out in front of him, then it focused on the screws…
no, no…not the screws!
Don’t think about screws…screw…screwing!
My train of thought was shot. Shit, how long had it been since I’d had sex? Six months? It was amazing how my body reacted to him.

I cleared my throat and tried to concentrate, certain I was losing my mind. “You sure you don’t want me to look for instructions?”

“Don’t need them,” he repeated without looking up.

“Well, okay.” I plopped on the floor across from him, awareness still buzzing through me. I cocked my head and looked at him, watching his long fingers work.

“But if I end up with a one legged table or a three legged chair, you’ll have to answer to me.”

He didn’t respond. He kept his head down, but I noticed a hint of a smile curve up his beautiful lips and I forgot to breathe again.

The following day, I arrived at the house later than usual. I’d had a morning class and then had to complete a few tutorials in the anatomy lab. Spring Break was in two weeks and I couldn’t wait. I relished the thought of a whole week off from school.