Page 35 of Play Me
He’s a machine that moves with an oddly refined grace.
Even the devil was once an angel.
I gulp and refocus on the box, contemplating whether to move it myself. But Gray is at my side before I can get the courage to go through with it.
“Where do you want it?” he asks.
“That should go in the spice cabinet above the coffee maker.” I hold my breath as he reaches in front of me and grasps the jar. Whiffs of his body wash caress me almost criminally. It lingers in the air long after he’s walked away, and I mentally berate myselffor noticing it. “Open a few drawers while you’re in there and let me know what you think.”
“Searching for external validation?”
“Some of us didn’t have our needs met as children.” An unwelcome blush colors my cheeks, betraying my instructions to be cool. I make a face like I’m being a smart-ass, so he doesn’t weaponize that against me later either. “Anyway, I don’t care whether you like it or not. You can move stuff around if you hate it.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Fucker. I turn to the rest of the boxes and make a production out of sorting through them.
His clothes are crammed into two boxes, mostly T-shirts, shorts, and joggers. A couple of pairs of jeans. There are a few hoodies and a heavy coat, but aside from boxer briefs and socks, that’s about it. I’m not sure what I expected, but it strikes me as odd.Doesn’t he own a pair of pants or a dress shirt? A belt? A tie?
A phone rings and I turn to see if it’s mine, but before I can even reach for my bag, he’s answering his.
“Hello,” he says, his voice low. He licks his lips while he listens. “Are you kidding me? I thought it would be in my account this week.”
I fold his shirts, thinking he should really use fabric softener, and try not to listen.
“I can’t wait two weeks,” he says, his voice full of gravel that rakes across my skin. “You’ll have to figure it the fuck out.” He stares at the cabinets while he listens to whoever’s on the other side of the call. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work. I don’t care how you phrase it.”
Standing with the stack of shirts in my hands, I carry them to his bedroom. Gray’s voice carries through the apartment like a roll of thunder. It’s so distracting that I can’t even snoop aroundhis room. Instead, I stand at his dresser, one hand gripping the top edge, and listen.Who is he talking to?
“That’s not my problem,” he says. “Call me back and tell me when I’ll have the money. I need at least half of it by the end of the week.”
The sound of what I assume is a phone hitting a countertop makes me grimace.
I unload the shirts into a drawer as quickly as I can and then return to the living room. My steps are hesitant, and I move as quietly as possible. His conversation doesn’t seem to have gone well, and I’m not sure what his mood will be like now.
He’s standing at the fridge when I enter, his back muscles flexing and his spine stiff.He’s pissed …and I have no idea what to do. I’m not asking him what’s going on because it’s none of my business, but Renn also said there were whispers about Gray having a gambling problem. If this involves the mob or an underground betting ring, I’m better off not knowing anything. I’ve watched enough movies to know that.
You can’t be tortured for information you don’t have.
Gray doesn’t acknowledge me, which is for the best. I grab a new box and get back to work. The faster I complete this, the sooner I can get out of here.
I open the top and reach inside, my fingers hitting something smooth and cool. A picture frame. It’s the first personal item he’s had so far, and my curiosity is piqued.
The frame is placed on a blanket that appears to have been carefully wrapped around the picture at one point. It’s sturdy with the weight of a quality piece as I remove it from the box. I sit back on my knees and take in the image staring back at me.
A stunning blonde is bent over, laughing. Her eyes are lit up, and the wind is rippling her hair. She’s probably in her mid-twenties, if I were guessing, and holds a rugby ball.
Who is she?
She looks nothing like Gray, so unless one of them was adopted, I’m guessing it’s not his sister. The moment feels intimate, and the look in her eyes gives adoration.She has to be his girlfriend.
The thought makes me pause. The idea of grumpy Gray with his bad attitude having a girlfriend who is so … happy—carefree, even—is wild.Was he ever happy like that? Is he still with her? Or did they break up, and that’s why he’s a dick now?
I chew my bottom lip and glance around the room. I could put the frame on the kitchen island or tack it to a wall. But if she’s an ex, he might not want to be reminded of her every day.Only one way to find out …
“Where do you want me to put this?” I ask, holding up the picture.
He turns, his lips parted to speak, but as soon as his attention lands on my hand, his mouth slams shut.
