“Um, hey,” TJ says for a greeting. “Welcome to my house.”
I spread my hands. “What? No drawbridge?”
He snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’d hardly call that pond amoat.”
“Well, I don’t see what’s all that impressive about it, then.” I cross my arms and shrug, eyes darting around. “I mean, sure, your house is kind of massive, but …” I squint at the top of the door. “Is that a gargoyle?”
He doesn’t even look. “Yeah. My mom sorta has a thing for … for gargoyles. They’re ugly and made of stone, but will protect you with their lives.”
I nod slowly, appreciating it. “So your mom’s responsible for this gorgeous-ass atrocity. Hmm.” I glance at TJ. “I see where you get your sensitivity and imagination from.”
“Not so fast,” he teases. “I also inherited her neuroticism and historic bad taste in men.”
“Bad taste in men?” I lean against the doorframe. “Does that include me?”
“Too early to tell,” he teases back. “But … my mom got it right at least once. I mean, Idohave a dad.” He grins.
I already sense TJ growing comfortable around me. Maybe the joke about the moat and drawbridge thing was the right move. He probably had a morning—and likely many awful days—of building up this reveal in his head, worried it’d turn me off or something. He’s battling anxiety while trying to play it cool for my sake.
And I sure as hell don’t want him thinking I’m not taking this seriously.
So I tell him, “I appreciate you showin’ me the real you.”
He meets my eyes. His humorous grin fades, traded for a more sincere smile. “This is … a part of me, sure. But what parts ofthiscomprises the ‘real me’ or not, I’ll leave that up to you to decide.” Then he holds open the door. “Ready to get outta the heat?”
I smile, then come to the door.
Then find myself unforgivably fucking close to him.
There are two doors—a double-door situation. He only opens one, and he stands partly in the way, which brings us very close as I pass through—and his relentless gaze falls upon me, full-force.
I stop right there. “What lies beyond these doors,” I promise him, “doesn’t mean one damned thing to me, when you insist on lookin’ at me with those cute-ass eyes of yours.”
He smirks, then jabs me in the rib, causing me to hop forward. “You say that now,” he teases, “but you haven’t seen the kitchen, curved double staircase, or the guest wing that could house your whole band and crew.”
“No offense to them, but they’re not allowed here with a ten-foot pole.” I reconsider. “Might need a hundred-foot pole. You can play a football game on that front yard.”
“Just get inside already,” he growls.
I cross the threshold. The first thing I notice is the echo of my footsteps on the smooth, shiny tile. My eyes go all the way up, then down, left and right and straight ahead. How much shock should I display on my face without overdoing it? “Damn,” I let out—and hear my “damn” returned to me by seven corners of the house. “This place has better acoustics than half our venues.”
“You kinda get used to the size,” he says from behind me.
I chuckle. “Don’t go actin’ like you don’t have three bedrooms to yourself.”
“Four.” When I look back at him, he rolls his eyes. “Kidding.”
He can’t even help looking irresistible when he rolls his eyes and throws me attitude, even if it’s playful. “Alright. Big-ass foyer. Is that it? I’m not too impressed yet, to be honest.”
He’s still fighting back smiles. Good sign. “You’ve been on the road for a while. Do you … want something to drink, maybe? Made sure no one’s home today. Not even Bella, who tends our gardens with a big hired team of her own. She used to babysit me as a kid, so she doubles as a friend of the family, really. Anyway, none of them are here. Both my parents think I’m out today, so they drove out together to one of our clients’ farms to check on—You know what? I’m boring you. And me. Let’s get something to drink.” And off his neurotic butt goes, leading the way to the kitchen.
With a bottled water in hand—I would’ve taken tap—he leads me around the house from room to room, meandering around as we please. “That’s my dad,” he explains, approaching a portrait of a no-nonsense man in a suit with an unexpected twinkle in his eye that instantly reminds me of TJ. I lean in and mutter, “The man looks like he drives hard bargains for fun.” TJ sighs and says, “Not far off from the truth.” I peer at the side of TJ’s face, seeing it on his face, his businessman dad, the distance in his eyes, longing for something more he can’t quitename. “Shall we move on?” I then suggest, and TJ takes that up instantly, leading the way.
His mom looks a lot warmer in the picture I see on the wall of a study he takes me to. She’s somewhere in her gardens grinning at the camera like a joke just caught her off-guard. I see tightness in her eyes, like she’s smiling too hard. “I can’t quite read her,” I note, “but there’s only so much you can get from a frozen moment in time, I guess. I’m a better read on people in motion.”
“Pray you never see her in motion,” says TJ, and that’s that.
The guest wing sure as hell ain’t dignified at all by the mere words “guest wing”. It’s a completely self-sufficient living quarters with its own kitchen, hallway of bedrooms, and huge living room complete with a huge entertainment set, all of this spilling onto an outdoor area with a pool and gazebo. He wasn’t kidding. This can house the whole band and crew, Soul Biter included.