He Will be My Ruin
Page 70

A knock sounds.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door. “Hey.”
I have always found his piercing hazel eyes attractive. Actually, he is, in general, a good-looking man. If he put more of an effort into himself—maybe trimmed his hair and shaved the stubbly beard, invested in something besides jeans and sneakers—he’d have a girlfriend, and he wouldn’t be paying for sex.
And how can he afford it? I still don’t understand. We didn’t really talk at all that night, and I didn’t think it was appropriate to ask.
“Got your text about the fridge. I’ll see if I can fix it.”
“Great. Thanks.” I feel a blush creep into my cheeks and immediately back up to make room for him. A shadow passing under Ruby’s door across the way tells me she’s awake and listening. She’s always listening.
I shut the door and follow Grady as he heads straight for the galley kitchen at the far end. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror on the way by, and immediately begin smoothing my hair down. But why? I’m not attracted to Grady; not enough to want more from him. He’s nice and smart, and that accent makes me swoony sometimes, but he’s not very ambitious. I’m looking for someone driven and successful.
Someone like Jace.
Who I haven’t heard from since that day on the elevator. I guess it was all just lip service.
“When did it stop working?” Grady turns the temperature up all the way and, tossing his tool bag onto the floor, grabs the fridge by either side and shimmies it away from the wall.
“Umm . . .” I can’t help but spy the muscles straining in his arms. He has a nice upper body—I know, I’ve seen him naked now. “I’m not sure. I came home from work around five with groceries and thought it wasn’t as cold as it should be. But it was still cool.”
“Have you heard it running at all?”
Now that he mentions it . . . “No, I don’t think so.”
With a screwdriver, he adjusts something on the back of the fridge, and stops to listen. “It’s got to be your compressor. Lucky for you, we have the same model in every unit here, and I keep a few parts in the basement.” He pulls a cylindrical part out of his tool bag and begins working on the metal grate at the bottom of the fridge.
“So it’s an easy fix, right?”
“Won’t take me long at all.” He glances up to meet my eyes, and I’m brought back to the Langham, with him looking up at me then, too. I hate admitting it to myself, but I actually enjoyed that night. A lot.
And I’ve been forced to replay my night with Grady—or “Jay”—inside my head many times since, if only to try and erase that other night the following week, with that disgusting pervert that Larissa set me up with. It was the last client date I’ve gone on, the one that made me tell her that I’m finished with that line of work.
Even thinking about it now makes me shudder. I should have known—when the guy told me to get on my hands and knees and face the TV, when I felt the first trickles of lube running down my backside, when the home video came on and girls who were nowhere near eighteen filled the screen, running and laughing in their bathing suits.
Once I realized what was going on, it was too late.
It hurt to sit the next day.
I’ve spent quite a few nights over the last few weeks thinking about this man now on his knees in my kitchen, just to erase that awful experience.
I can feel my cheeks redden further. I should wait in the living room until he finishes. “All right. Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”
“How have you been?” he asks, trapping me here in conversation as he works.
“Fine.”
“You sure?” His tone, soft and low, carries with it a hint of something else. Like he knows I’m lying.
I hesitate. “Not really. My mom is sick. Dying, actually.” My voice cracks with the admission. Only Dani at work and Ruby know so far.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” He doesn’t look up, and I appreciate that. It allows me to wipe the stray tear that slips out.
“Yeah, actually I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. I’m leaving to go back to San Diego in early December and then I’m going to sublet to my friend and her fiancé beginning in January, until I come back.” Once my mother is gone.
He shrugs. “Okay.”
“Okay? Doesn’t the landlord need to approve it?” Some guy named Dean who I’ve never met.
“Don’t worry, he’ll approve it if I tell him to, and I will. I mean, I assume you know and trust your friend to pay rent on time.”
“Oh, definitely.”
“Then . . . Okay. Great.”
God, Grady’s so easygoing. I wish I could be that easygoing.
“And how is everything else?” Again, there’s that hint, making me wonder if he knows that the last few weeks have been especially rough. But before I can answer—and lie—I hear a motor start running.
“There. That should do it.” He sits back on his heels. “Just try not to open the door at all for a few hours.”
I sigh. “That’s awesome. Thank you. I really can’t afford to throw fifty dollars in groceries out.”
He climbs to his feet, wiping his hands on a rag. “Money’s tight?”
“A little.” I blush, realizing what he’s insinuating.
He steps closer, forcing me to take a step back until I’m pressed against the counter. “How often do you meet men in hotels, Maggie?” His voice is low and calm and unreadable. He can’t possibly disapprove given our own encounter, but there’s nothing particularly lighthearted about that question.
“How often do you meet women in hotels, Jay?” I throw back, but my stomach does a nauseating flip.
A small smile curls his lips. “That was the first time.”
He says it so convincingly, I almost believe him. “I’m not doing it anymore.”
“Really?” He frowns. “Why did you stop?”
“I had a bad experience recently.”
“Not three weeks ago, I hope.”
I smile. “It wasn’t you. You were fine. Really good.”
His eyes trail over my face, settling on my mouth. “Good enough that you’d be willing to do it again?”
“Can you really afford this?” I blurt out.