The Shacking Up Series Read online

  “Only when we were touring for games and tournaments. I like my space.” He does that finger tapping thing.

  “Yeah. Me, too. Well, what little of it I had. At least it was mine, though, right? I could only bitch at myself if there were dishes left in the sink for days.”

  “Are you a dishes - in - the - sink - for - days kind of woman?”

  “Last week I was.” I don’t tell him I was also that woman the week before, and the month before that. He’s not going to be around to witness my poor housekeeping skills, thankfully.

  It takes a little more than half an hour to get to his place in Tribeca. No traffic.

  The building he lives in is exclusive and gorgeous. All windows and mirrored glass. With the help of two men who work in the building—who address Bancroft as Mr. Mills—we get all of my belongings into the service elevator. When I attempt to follow my things, Bancroft puts a hand on my shoulder. My nipples react immediately. They’re so slutty when a hot guy is around.

  “They’ll bring everything up, we’ll take the other elevator,” he says.

  The other elevator has a black marble floor and mirrored walls, which allows me an incredible view of Bancroft from all angles. The socks are still really distracting.

  When we reach the penthouse floor Bancroft ushers me out. The hallway is wide, walls painted champagne, and more black marble leads us down the hall. The doors are spread far apart and I assume it’s because these condos are much larger than my little apartment.

  At the end of the hall Bancroft keys in a code, opens the door with a somewhat nervous smile, and ushers me inside.

  I step past him into the foyer and come to a halt. My apartment could fit into this space ten times over. Bancroft crashes into me from behind. I stumble forward and his arm, his thick, well-defined, muscular arm, wraps around my waist, preventing me from face planting into the gorgeous, gleaming hardwood floors.

  His hard chest presses against my back for a few brief seconds. I’m almost positive I can feel the ridges in his abs. Too bad this didn’t happen when he had his shirt off. It’s also too bad my shirt is on, along with the rest of our clothes. Sadly, he’s quick to set me back on my feet. “Whoa. Sorry about that.”

  “My fault.” I take a few more steps inside. “This is really nice.”

  “It’s all right,” he mumbles.

  “I think it’s a little better than all right.”

  Bancroft’s condo is huge. This is the kind of place I should be accustomed to, but having lived in my apartment for the past five years, I’ve grown used to small spaces and crappy appliances that don’t work well.

  To the left is a kitchen. A big, beautiful kitchen full of shiny, stainless steel and granite countertops. To the right is a hallway with a set of double doors at the end. Directly in front of me are floor-to-ceiling windows providing a gorgeous view of the East River, rather than a view of a brick wall—which was what I had.

  The living room boasts a huge leather couch and a massive chair covered in a funky pattern that doesn’t seem to match Bancroft’s personality at all. Although I don’t really know him well enough to make an astute, informed opinion yet.

  I kick off my shoes and head straight for that chair, flopping down in it. The space is so open. It’s not particularly warm or welcoming. There aren’t any knickknacks or little things that tell me anything about who Bancroft is as a person.

  Across from the chair I’ve thrown myself in is a floor-to-ceiling wall unit, and that’s really saying something since it appears I’m looking at twelve-foot ceilings. A gigantic TV takes up the middle of the wall unit. Square shelves hold a variety of neatly stacked books. A rugby-playing reader, now that’s sexy.

  I glance past the wall unit. “Holy crap! Do you have a home gym?” I bounce out of the chair and rush across the open space, barely containing the urge to do a few spins on the way, because I have the room.

  On the other side of the wall unit are a series of workout machines. There’s a treadmill, a recumbent bike, a Pilates machine, and a variety of weights, as well as a bench for lifting.

  “Wow, no wonder you look like this.” I motion to his athletic form, then to the elaborate home gym setup. “Do you use this every day?”

  He runs a palm over his chest. “I try to.”

  “This is fantastic.” My gym is probably a half-an-hour from here and that’s on a good day when the subways are running properly. It’s a busy gym, so sometimes it’s hard to access the equipment I want. Bancroft’s treadmill is set up so it overlooks the river as well. The view is spectacular.

  Opposite the gym is an office, a very neat office with a very nice desktop computer and a monitor large enough to watch movies on. To the left of the office, against the wall is a terrarium. “Oh! Is this where Tiny lives?”

  “It is.”

  I tiptoe over, I’m not sure exactly why. It’s not as if I’m going to frighten her and she’s going to come flying out of her glass enclosure. I drop down into a crouch so I’m at eye level with the terrarium. Long, fuzzy legs appear over a small stone as she comes into view. “Holy crap. She’s huge,” I whisper.

  Bancroft’s reflection appears in the glass. My stomach tightens as he drops down in a crouch behind me, his chest brushing my shoulder. My gaze locks onto his mouth, which moves in close to my ear. His breath is warm when it breaks across my neck. For a second I think maybe I’m going to get to feel those lips on my skin again.

  Until he whispers, “She can smell your fear.” Then he makes this weird noise that reminds me of horror movies. I shudder and he laughs, pushing up to stand. “Relax. She’s really harmless.” Bancroft lifts the lid off the tank.

  If I turn my head to the left I’ll be looking at his junk. It’s a real challenge not to follow through on that. Instead I stay where I am as he slips his hand in and taps Tiny on the butt, making her scamper forward.

  She’s a gigantic spider, her legs spanning Bancroft’s massive palm. God, his hands are huge. I wonder if the rest of his assets match.

  I give in and side eye him. He’s wearing basketball shorts, which are loose, so I’m unable to confirm or deny whether his unit size is directly related to his hand size. And he’s still wearing those damn socks.

  “Would you like to hold her?” Bancroft asks.

  “What? Oh. I don’t know about that.” I scramble back a bit and land on my ass.

  “You’ll be fine. I’ll be right here to save you from her if she gets aggressive.” He lowers himself to the floor and crosses his legs, like we’re getting ready for storytime in kindergarten. Except it’s not storytime. He’s holding a giant spider. After a few seconds of hesitation, I mirror his pose.

  He crooks his free finger. “Come a little closer.”

  God. Why am I turning everything he says into something dirty? If he wasn’t holding that spider, the thought of climbing into his lap, right after I take off all my clothes, would seem rather appealing. God. I really need to get a handle on where my mind keeps going whenever I’m close enough to touch him.

  I scoot a couple of inches closer. He rolls his eyes and slides forward until his knees hit mine. Well, my knees actually hit the middle of his shin, but now our bodies are touching. Not particularly exciting parts, but my nipples don’t seem to understand that with the way they’ve perked right up.

  Of course, then he has to go and hold up his spider hand and all the perking is overshadowed by the fuzzy, eight-legged beast staring at me with all eight of her eyes. “Give me your hand.”

  At my reluctance, he grabs my right hand, which I immediately ball into a fist. “She’s not going to launch herself at you and even if she bit you, she’s not poisonous. How are you going to take care of her if you can’t even touch her?”

  He has a point. I unfurl my fingers and his thumb smooths over my palm. For someone as big as he is, he sure is gentle. And all my important, sensitive parts are responding to that touch as if they’re going to be on the receiving end of it as well. I ment
ally tell my hormones to back off, which isn’t all that difficult when he scoots Tiny from his palm onto mine.

  I shiver at the feel of her legs, then giggle. “It tickles.”

  “You’ll get used to it.” His hand is still cupping mine.

  “What do I do?”

  “Just hold her, no sudden movements, that kind of thing. They’re actually pretty fragile, so you don’t want to drop her.”

  I hold her for a minute. She’s actually not at all scary now that I’m touching her. “How do you feed her? What do you feed her?”

  “I feed her crickets, or grubs, depending.”

  “Live ones?” I glance up.

  “Yes. Live ones.”

  “How often? Every day?”

  “No, only once or twice a week. You’ll need to change her water daily, though. Are you going to be okay with that?” His expression turns serious for a moment.

  I nod. “I can do that. Do I just stick my hand in the cage? Will she attack me?”

  “Just put a pen in front of her first so she doesn’t think you’re food and you can easily change out the water. I’ll show you how to do that later. And I can even show you how to feed her, although she might not be hungry right now, she fed a few days ago.”

  “Okay.”

  I let her explore my forearm, her fuzzy legs tickling my skin. The sound of the doorbell startles all three of us. “That’s your things.” Bancroft scoops her up gently before she can skitter off and puts her back in her terrarium while I run to get the door.

  My luggage and boxes are neatly piled in the hall. It takes the servicemen all of five minutes to bring my belongings into the foyer. My chair is the last thing to arrive. It’s rather pathetic in this particular environment.

  I grimace and look to Bancroft. “Maybe I really should consider getting rid of that.”

  “Why?” he asks as the servicemen close the door behind them. They leave the dolly, though, so we can move the boxes to my room, I suppose. Or the room I’ll be staying in while I’m here. I guess I’m glad I don’t have a lot of stuff, otherwise the unpacking part would be unpleasant.

  “Well, look at it.” I motion to the dilapidated chair. “It doesn’t really fit with the décor.”

  “I didn’t choose the décor in this place, so you’re welcome to put your touch on whatever you want while you’re here.”

  I can think of a few parts of him I’d like to put my touch on, starting with losing those damn socks. And the rest of his clothes. Permanently. Maybe I can just burn his entire wardrobe. Or shrink it in the dryer while he’s away.

  I wag my eyebrows as I look him over. “You might regret giving me free rein like that.” One side of his mouth quirks up, as if he knows where my mind has gone. I look away and gesture to the boxes. “I guess I should get these out of the way?”

  Bancroft gives his head a small shake. “Right. I’m not being a very good host. I should probably show you where you’ll be staying, shouldn’t I?” I get a sense that he’s a little apprehensive, as am I. This is a fairly unconventional situation, and we don’t really know each other, apart from dinner and an accidental kiss. I guess now that I’m in his space the awkwardness is finally starting to set in.

  He loads a few boxes on the dolly and I grab the handles on my wheelie suitcases and follow him down the hall to the second door on the right.

  “I have two spare rooms, this is the bigger of the two. If you’d prefer, we can keep your boxes in the other room, but it’s really up to you.” He pushes the door open and moves aside.

  “Oh wow.” This room is pretty much the size of my entire apartment. And the bed is a queen, which is a serious upgrade from the double I’ve been sleeping on for the past five years.

  “It’s pretty plain, but like I said, it’s yours to do with while you’re here. You can look at the other room as well, if you’d like.”

  “No, no. This is perfect. I love this room.” The walls are a pale, icy blue-gray. The comforter is off white, the bedframe the same creamy color. It’s pretty without being overly feminine. I wonder who did the decorating if it wasn’t him.

  “There’s a bathroom through there, and a walk-in closet. I can store the boxes in there if you want them out of your way.”

  “Just against the wall is good. I can move the ones I don’t need into the closet later.”

  “Sure.” Bancroft wheels the dolly across the room and props the boxes against the far wall.

  I cross over to the bathroom. It’s five-star fabulous. There’s a deep tub I could probably do laps in, and a separate stand-up shower with a huge rainfall showerhead. There’s even a double-sink vanity.

  I have a moment in which emotions swirl to the surface, the kind that make me want to cry a little. It’s been so long since I’ve had nice things. I mean, of course when I go home to visit my father I have nice things, but I’m usually only there for a day or two before I come back to the city, back to the worn-down little apartment I’d been in for the past five years. I’ve always treated the visits home like a stay in a hotel: temporary luxury.

  And for the next five weeks this level of luxury is going to be mine. Moving back into a shitty apartment is going to suck. And that’s assuming I’m going to be able to land a job that will allow me to rent more than a room in some frat house. I better enjoy this blip while I can.

  After we move all the boxes and luggage into my room Bancroft stands at the doorway with his hands shoved into the pockets of his basketball shorts looking a little uncertain.

  “I can, uh, give you some time to unpack? Then maybe we can order dinner and I can go over feeding schedules and all the other stuff.”

  I don’t know what other stuff he’s talking about, but dinner definitely sounds good. “Sure. But can I meet Francesca first?”

  He laughs a little. “Right. Yeah, of course. That’s why you’re here. Come with me.” He steps out into the hall and motions for me to follow him to the door at the end. “Usually I keep her out in the living room area, but I didn’t want all the noise and moving your stuff in to freak her out, so I put her in my room.”

  He opens the door. For half a second I imagine that the accidental kiss he laid on me turned into something else. A one-night stand, or possibly a marriage proposal.

  His bedroom is a cave. Not literally. It’s not fashioned out of stone. But it’s incredibly large. And the bed. Don’t get me started on the bed. I think I’m becoming obsessed with beds. Big ones. And it is huge.

  This is 100 percent a man’s room. More than that, it’s an athletic man’s room. Gym shorts hang off the end of the footboard and a pair of running shoes sits below them, along with discarded socks. The same kind of socks he’s currently wearing right now. Ones that hit his shins and ruin my view of his nice, muscular legs with seriously defined calves.

  The walls are a paler version of the room I’m staying in and the comforter is dark blue. Someone, a woman I’m guessing—maybe his mom or a sister, if he has one—has decorated his bed with a couple of throw pillows.

  I’m choosing to avoid the possibility of a past girlfriend’s involvement, or even a current one considering his recent date with Brittany. I’m hoping his accidental behavior has put an end to that budding love story. Anyway, the throw pillows are tossed on the comforter like they’re a pain in his ass, as throw pillows often are.

  On the massive bed is an open suitcase and three suit bags, unzipped. It’s a good thing. If they weren’t there I might have succumbed to the urge to ask how he feels about naked pillow fights. As it is, I’m having a hard time not imagining one.

  “Sorry about the mess.” He rushes over and picks up the few discarded items from the end of the bed, crosses the room, and tosses them in the closet.

  While he worries about tidying up, I glance around the room, and finally notice Francesca’s cage. It’s a wonder that I missed it until now, as it’s the second most prominent item in the room. Like the rest of condo, it’s a luxury setup with clear tubes and
several levels, giving her lots of room to run around while she’s caged during the day.

  “Hi there, pretty,” I say softly when she peeks her head out of a tube. Her pink nose twitches, her sable head lifting, the black swatch fur making her look like a masked bandit as she regards me curiously. She slides out of the tube, her long, brown body dropping to the wood chips. She does a little roll, showing us her pale belly. She is so flipping adorable.

  “There’s my girl,” Bancroft says from behind me. The affection in his voice makes all my sexy parts excited. More excited than they already were. Men who love animals are so hot. So that takes Bancroft to volcanic levels.

  He opens the cage and gently lifts her out. As soon as she’s in his arms she scales his chest and wraps herself around his shoulders, nipping at his jaw, then grooming his stubble. I want to do exactly the same thing. Except after he showers.

  He coos at her and lets her snuggle into him. She’s so cute, and so is he, being all sweet with her. I think my ovaries are melting, or crying, or calling for his sperm.

  After a minute of cuddles he asks. “Would you like to hold her?”

  “Of course!”

  “You can either take her by the scruff”—he gently grabs the loose skin at the back of her neck, holding her up—“or hold her under the front and back paws.”

  I choose the latter because it would mean I would also come into physical contact with Bancroft. Having started off at a seven million on the hotness scales, he moved up several notches to off-the-charts with all his sweetness, patience, and consideration. Especially with how awkward this entire situation could be. How is this man not taken already? Maybe he has some weird quirks, beyond the socks.

  Francesca is adorable and full of mischief, which is the allure of owning a ferret. As soon as I have her in my arms I remember exactly what it was like when I worked at the rescue sanctuary and why I’d wanted to adopt the one that ended up there. I’m in love with her within five minutes.

  I put her down on the floor with Bancroft’s permission and she takes off, bounding for the door. She’s down the hall and into the living room in seconds.