Page 14 of Skeletons in the Closet

Myjob.Myplan. The fucking end.

Except when I opened the door, I almost swallowed my tongue. Tallus had arrived in full character, donning the appropriate attitude as an accessory. He looked downright illegal in fitted dark jeans, a collared white shirt under a fashionable gray knitted sweater with a navy suit jacket on top and his dark-framed glasses. His auburn hair was arranged with a tad more gel than usual and styled in a sweep I’d never seen on him. It was suave and chic and… fucking illegal. There was no other word for it.

He cradled a brown leather folio in one arm, had a camera slung over the opposite shoulder, and was tapping a pen seductively against his bottom lip—which happened to be slightly pouted as he scanned me up and down with what could only be described as bedroom eyes.

My nostrils flared, and I clenched my fists so tight that the skin on my hands stretched to capacity.

Upon gauging my reaction—flummoxed, for anyone taking notes—Tallus smirked, fit the pen behind his ear, and propped a hand on his hip, swaying side to side as he elevated his chin. “Afternoon, sunshine. Xavier Downing at your service. Critique Magazine.” He said all of it with a soft lisp that hit me in the balls. “What do you think, Guns? Do I pass?”

Did he fucking pass? Was he kidding? I was a long way from eighteen, but I was having a distinctly eighteen-year-old reaction to the ensemble and attitude. This was where fantasies were born.

If I didn’t cinch my jaw shut soon, my nana would tell me I’d gather flies. But I continued to stand there without words, wishing on every star, penny, cat whisker, and dandelion seed that I was a different man with a different life.

Tallus grinned and shuffled past me into the room, patting my chest as he slinked by. “Based on your expression, I’d say you approve. Now, let’s see if we can tone down your charming scare factor a few notches, shall we? Where do you keep your clothes?”

I closed the door, unsure what was happening as Tallus, uninvited, aimed for the apartment section of the office. I followed on his heels. What else could I do? The man had the unique ability to scramble my brain and turn me stupid.

As though he’d been to my place a thousand times, he crossed to the area I’d partitioned off to make a bedroom. It wasn’t that my personal space was dear to me or private—it wasn’t since I lived minimalistically—but the sudden invasion of this self-assured man, ten degrees outside my league, going through my stuff, upset my equilibrium.

I wanted to stop him, but I knew I’d shout if I opened my mouth. Shouting was bad. Shouting was a learned reactive response I was spending all my goddamn money in therapy to quell. So I stood silently as Tallus did his thing.

I owned two dressers—no closet—and Tallus worked his way through the taller one first. Scowling, biting my tongue, I watched as he opened dresser drawer after dresser drawer, rooting inside, studying the stacks of plain T-shirts and worn gym shorts. If he was looking for fancy, he wouldn’t find much.

He removed a stack of shirts and puzzled over them. Pointing to the one on the top, he asked, “Is this gray?”

“No. Dark green.” I frowned.

Tallus tucked the shirt back in the drawer and held up the next one in the pile, scrutinizing it before hitching a brow. “Color?”

“Red.”

It went back into the drawer too. The next one was a different shade of red, and Tallus eliminated it after I called it burgundy.

“Do you own a gray shirt?” he asked, riffling through the rest of the pile. “I need gray.”

“Bottom one. Are you colorblind or something?”

“Yes. I can only see blues, browns, and yellows. The rest of the colors blend into variations of those or show as gray. This one?” He held up the T-shirt from the bottom of the pile. It was a plain Fruit of the Loom, nothing special. I wore it to the gym. I wore all those T-shirts to the gym.

“Yes.”

He sniffed it, made a face, then tossed it on the bed.

“Gym,” I muttered as an explanation, but Tallus didn’t hear me. Short of using vinegar and baking soda every time I washed, they maintained a distinctive gym stench I couldn’t get rid of. They weren’t meant as everyday clothes.

Tallus stuffed the rest of the shirts in the drawer and kept going.

Three drawers down, he plucked a pair of black jeans from within and tossed them beside the shirt. My double bed was nothing more than a box spring and mattress on the floor, but it did the job. I didn’t bring the guys I found on Spark back to the apartment. We either went to their place or found somewhere remote to park and get things done. I treated them like business transactions—without the exchange of money. I didn’t like how exposed and uncomfortable having Tallus in my bedroom made me feel. Having him so close to the place I slept made me squirm.

Finished with the first dresser, he aimed for the second.

I was in motion, crossing the room and slapping a hand over the top drawer before he could open it. “Stop.” The single word came out with more of an edge than I intended, followed by a low growl I couldn’t control. At least I hadn’t shouted.

Tallus—not fazed in the least—smirked. “Aww, I don’t get to see your undies?”

My nostrils flared as a second rumble resonated from deep within.

He patted my chest. “Calm down. I won’t plunder your privates if you don’t want me to.” But the playful, teasing edge he used told me he would if I gave him the green light. “Do you own a baseball cap?”

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