Page 41 of Accepting Fate
My cheeks heat and Grayson smiles.
Turning back, he gets in his truck and it rumbles to life. The truck stops as he is about to make his way down the driveway.
Grayson rolls down the passenger window and yells, “Call you later. If you don’t answer, I know where you live now. So, keep that in mind, pretty girl.”
With that, he takes off down the driveway. When he disappears out of sight, I step back and shut the door, locking it and placing the door stopper. I lean my back against the door and take a second to breathe before I do my lock-up routine.
When I’m done, I grab my phone off the coffee table. My legs feel like I have fifty-pound weights attached to them as I make my way up the stairs. I throw my contacts in the garbage and don’t even bother putting my glasses on.
Tossing my phone onto the pillow next to me, I fall into bed and bury myself in the fluffy blankets.
In a matter of a couple weeks, I’ve gone from forever alone, I don’t need a man Logan, to bearded tattoo caveman-obsessed Logan.
As I drift off to sleep, I hope to avoid another memory, dream, or whatever the hell last night was. But mostly, I hope I wake up with more clarity on how I should move forward with Grayson.
Chapter Thirteen
Grayson
Iparkoutsidemygarage since I won’t be home very long. Hopping out of the truck, I head over to the code box on the side of the garage and punch in the code. The door opens with a whine and groans loudly. I remind myself to take a look at it tomorrow.
Walking past my bike, I pause and take my phone out to check the weather. The app claims it’s not going to rain, but Washington weather does what it wants regardless of what the weatherman says.
I consider swapping my bike for the truck. The ride would clear my head, but I’m hoping I can convince Logan to go out with me tonight and I don’t think showing up on a bike would be the best idea. Knowing Logan, she would go into her speech about how dangerous bikes are and have some excuse to say no.
Abandoning the idea of riding, I head into the house.
This place started out as a small two-bedroom one bathroom home but over the years, I made major changes. I’ve added three bedrooms, two bathrooms, expanded both levels of the house, and added a wraparound porch, plus a balcony off the master bedroom.
Mom was curious why I put in so many bedrooms when we have The Hideout for the brothers to crash in. I told her that this place was either an investment or a home that I would live in for the rest of my life. But right now, the master is mine, one bedroom was converted to an office, and the others are for when my brothers or extended family come into town.
The outside is made up of a mixture of stones, leftover from the homes I used to build. It looked like a mess at first, but people around here tend to like the same shit, so it was easy to get a pattern going after a few houses. The rest is black hardwood and full of windows. The house sits in the middle of a clearing, very similar to Logan’s.
When I started adding on, I wanted to be able to walk out of my bedroom, sit on the porch, and look out at the forest. I built a big enough awning I could sit out there during the winter months.
Above my bed are two big skylights. The sound of the rain hitting the glass lulls me to sleep almost every night. But on clear nights, I can lay in bed and see the stars.
Logan would fucking love that. I can picture her lying in my king-size bed surrounded by blankets and getting lost in the stars.
My mind starts to drift to visions of Logan in my bed. Naked. Her tan skin against the gray sheets.
I stop my thoughts from wandering any further in that direction. I have to meet this client in forty-five minutes, and I still have shit to take care of here. I can’t be thinking about Logan naked right now. It was bad enough this morning with her wiggling her sexy as hell body all over my dick.
I walk into the kitchen from the door that connects the garage to the house and kick off my shoes. Flipping on the downstairs lights, an orange ball of fluff runs out from behind the granite island and attacks my ankles.
Bending down, I pick him up and scratch behind his ears. “Hi, bud. Can’t stay long but let’s get you a treat before I head out.”
He nudges my hand and purrs louder to keep me petting him as I walk with him in my arms to the treat cabinet.
Setting him down on the cat tree next to the last cabinet on the wall, I grab the bag of treats and shake some onto one of the landings. He goes feral and eats them in the amount of time it takes me to put the bag back in the cabinet.
His big yellow eyes stare at me, begging for me to give him more but I shake my head. “Oliver. No. You have food in your bowl. The vet says you’re big enough. You can have more tomorrow.”
As if he knows what I’m saying, he jumps down and goes to his favorite spot on the back of the big L-shaped dark gray couch. Except it’s not entirely gray anymore since Oliver sheds his orange and white fur all over it.
I thought the day I rescued a tiny kitten, hiding from the rain under the wheel well of my truck, I was going to get a nice, calm, and easy cat.
I was fucking wrong, and I blame Noah.