Page 1 of Stuck with the Grump

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LEIGH

Openingthedoortothe lake house and getting an eyeful of half-naked man was not how I expected to spend my Monday morning. After the weekend from hell—actually, last few months from hell—I was looking forward to tossing my bags in my room and sinking into the hot tub with a glass of wine.

Instead, I was staring at Clarke Wesley wearing nothing more than a towel.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, marching inside, and dropping my bags on the floor. I tried to ignore the rush of heat that went to my cheeks and my core as water rolled down his toned stomach.

“Still raised by wolves with no manners, I see,” he said. He sighed as a phone started ringing from somewhere in the lake house. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you need to leave.”

“And you need to get bent.”

Clarke crossed his arms, muscles flexing as he quirked an eyebrow. “Aggressive.”

“Piss off, Clarke. I talked to both of our moms, and they said that the lake house would be empty for the next week.”

“Well, you must not have been listening like always. If you had been, they would have told you that I had plans to be here until further notice.”

I scowled and brushed past him into the kitchen in search of a bottle of wine. “Clarke, please just leave. I don’t feel like fighting with you.”

“Fighting is what we have always done best,” Clarke said, looming over me.

The very few times we have ever been around each other,I thought, rolling my eyes. Clarke and I were far from the same age. The only time we ever spent any length of time together was at events for the business he and my brother shared. Each one of those events had ended in us arguing. After a while, my brother stopped inviting me.

My heart sped up as he leaned closer, his eyes roaming over my body briefly before he reached for something beside me. Internally, I was cursing myself. He was nothing but the significantly older asshole from my childhood. An attractive asshole, but still an asshole, nonetheless.

“We are not doing this right now. Don’t you have some fancy billionaires-only party to be at? I’m sure whatever empty-headed model you’re dating this month is missing you.”

Clarke glared at me, a line forming between his brows. “Let’s get this straight, shall we? You are going to take your shit and leave. I was here first, and I don’t want you here. In fact, I would rather you were anywhere else.”

The old me would have been hurt by his words. However, the old me had grown since the last time she faced off against Clarke. She was stronger now. I took a moment to grab a bottle of wine before turning to face him.

“I won’t be going anywhere. It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m going to go to my room, drink this bottle of wine, and go to sleep. When I wake up in the morning, you better be gone.”

Clarke scoffed as I went to the hallway and gathered my bags. I hoped he couldn’t see my hand shaking as I hefted my duffel bag over my shoulder. The next week was supposed to be a week where I could be alone to gather my thoughts after everything had gone wrong. I was supposed to be getting my life back together after it was smashed into a million little pieces.

The last person I needed to witness my downfall was Clarke.

With a bottle of wine in one hand and my bags in the other, I made my way down the hall to my room. It had been several months since I had been at the lake house, but my room was still the way I had left it. Books from my childhood lined the shelves though the posters of boy bands were long gone.

As soon as my door shut behind me, I tossed my duffel bag onto the bed and started digging around for my favorite silk pajama set. When my door was thrown open a few moments later, I had already shed my clothes and wriggled into the pants.

“Do you mind?” I asked, turning to face him as I slid the camisole on. I didn’t bother to hide my naked torso; it was more entertaining to throw him a little off balance.

Clarke’s jaw flexed as he looked away. A faint blush was creeping up his neck.

“Calm down, big boy,” I said, tossing my dirty clothes into the laundry basket. “They’re just boobs, and I’m sure they’re nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“It’s a little different when I still remember you in pigtails.”

“Now that’s hot,” I muttered, grabbing my bottle of wine from the nightstand I had placed it on. “If you would kindly lock up after you leave, it would be much appreciated.”

Clarke looked at me, his eyes narrowing. “I already told you, Leigh. I’m not leaving.”

“You’re cute when you’re wrong,” I said as I dug the corkscrew into the top of the bottle. “But the fact remains that you are still very wrong.”

“You’re infuriating.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles flexing. “Now I know why Tyson complained about you all the time.”

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