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“I won’t. Trust me. I know what I’m dealing with.”
Wren thought about what she said to Delilah the entire drive back to Tate’s place. He practically lived right in town, and she liked being much closer to everything. It used to take her almost twenty minutes to drive home from the studio, but now it took her only five. She could get used to that.
But she didn’t love what Delilah had warned her about, or her own reaction. Did she really know what she was dealing with? Who she was dealing with?
That would be a no.
The moment she got home, she climbed into the shower in the master bath. Wren knew she should use the other bathroom. It had a perfectly good shower
and was directly across the hall from her room, but . . .
She preferred using Tate’s shower. Using Tate’s shampoo and soap, imagining him in the shower with her. His bare skin slick with suds and her hands wandering everywhere . . .
Her imagination was in overdrive, as was her libido. Spending so much time in Tate’s home was like playing pretend. The fact that he wasn’t around was sort of weird, but it also gave her plenty of time to explore.
Not that she’d invaded his privacy. Oh, no. She wasn’t rooting through the stuff in his bedroom or going through personal items. But after spending a few days alone in his house, she got a sense of who he was as a person just by being observant.
First, he was relatively clean. There weren’t clothes all over the floor, and his laundry basket wasn’t overflowing. There weren’t any disgusting smells in the house, which was a total bonus. His bathroom wasn’t gross, and he seemed to use his dishwasher on a regular basis. All good signs.
Second, he liked landscape photos. He had quite a few hung on his walls throughout the house, most of them taken locally. She really needed to ask him who the photographer was.
There were also a few personal photos in his living room. One of him standing in the middle of two people she assumed were his parents, another of a group of coworkers in their Cal Fire uniforms, including her brother Holden, and a third of him as a little boy with a dirty face and holding up a fish he must’ve just caught. He was adorable.
No surprise.
Third, he liked dark colors. The towels in his bathroom were charcoal gray. His comforter was navy blue. The granite countertops in his kitchen were black, though his cabinets were stark white. The walls in his living room were painted a rich, bluish gray and even his couch was dark gray. It all flowed together, simple yet modern, and she appreciated his decorating style.
Though he’d probably get all macho on her and deny he had any sort of decorating style.
She liked everything she discovered, especially the photos of him as a little boy and with his parents. It showed he knew where he came from and wasn’t embarrassed about it. That he loved his parents and probably thought he was a pretty funny-looking kid.
Could she totally fall for a guy even though he wasn’t around? It seemed that way. The more time she spent in his home, the more she liked him. She’d never experienced anything like this before, and she was almost afraid for him to return. How could she go from thinking he was a total player jerk face to a possibly great guy practically overnight? Had she judged him too harshly? Was she making up details about Tate because he’d been gone for a few days, only to have him return and ruin the fantasy?
She was being ridiculous, worrying about what Tate might or might not be. She just needed to let things happen.
Once she climbed out of the shower and dried herself off, she wrapped the thick gray towel around her and went to the counter. She wiped at the fogged-up mirror before she started applying all the usual lotions and creams she needed to function in life. Since Delilah was a Sephora VIB Rouge member, she was able to get all of Wren’s favorites shipped to her extra fast, for which she was eternally grateful. Wren braided her hair, slipped on a pair of panties and one of Tate’s T-shirts—another one of her secret indulgences when he wasn’t around—then went to the kitchen and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich.
Her phone dinged as she sat at the kitchen counter, and she checked her messages, her heart racing when she saw who it was.
Tate.
I’m coming home tomorrow morning.
A smile curled her lips as she reread his message. Maybe if she squinted hard enough it could almost be like they really did live together.
I know. The house is a mess. I’m going to spend all night cleaning it up.
His reply was immediate.
Are you serious???!!!
She laughed and typed.
No, I’m kidding. The place is as immaculate as you left it.
Good. I was afraid I’d have to knock a few points off.
You’re using a point system with me?
