Shacking Up

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.