Twisted (2 page)

“Tate, I am fine with it,” I
assure. “His deafness will not be an issue.”

“Good.” He glances at his
watch again. “Damn. I've got time to give you a quick tour and then I need to
head out. We can talk more in the morning.”

Tate leads me back into the
house and says, “Feel free to raid the refrigerator. Just be prepared for all
the health food crap in there. Noah's a health nut.” Tate shakes his head. “A
fucked up one at that. Believes in eating right but then
he
goes and puts a cigarette in his mouth in hopes of incinerating his lungs.” He
pulls out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and tosses a twenty on
the counter. “If you can't find anything worth eating, order pizza. Just save
some for me.”

“Got it,” I say with a laugh.

Tate gives me the grand tour
of the house, which takes all of two minutes. The first floor consists of the
living room, the kitchen, a small laundry room, Tate's bedroom, and a bathroom.
A hallway off to the left of the kitchen leads up to the second floor. Noah's
bedroom door is shut and Tate walks right past it and shows me the second floor
windowless bathroom. It is simple and masculine with white tiles and pale blue
walls. Everything in the bathroom is neat and tidy.

“If you're not comfortable
sharing the bathroom with Noah, you can always use the one on the first floor,”
Tate offers.

“It's fine.” The last thing I
wanted was to be a nuisance. I didn't want either of them to have to go to any
extra trouble just because I would be living here for the next year.

“Here's the spare room. It's
the only other one, so I hope you like it. And if not, you can repaint it or
whatever,” Tate says as he opens the last door.

I peek inside and find myself
delighted. The room has sea-green walls with white trim, and the floor is
covered by fluffy white carpet. The bedroom furniture is the same nice golden
oak that I'd seen all throughout the house. Even though the walls were bare of
decoration, I still found the room quite soothing compared to what I was used
to. It would be nice to sleep on a real bed rather than a lumpy mattress. “This
is perfect, Tate.”

He looks pleased. “Great. I
have to head out. I'm glad you're here,
Blayre
.”

“I am too,” I find myself
saying with a genuine smile.

As soon as Tate leaves, I
move around my new room curiously. I am looking forward to the changes in my
life. In fact, I've been hungering for it. For the first time in eighteen
years, I am finally in charge of my own life. I like the idea of being able to
make my own decisions instead of having them made for me.

It dawns on me that I'd left
my backpack in the kitchen, so I slowly make my way back down to the first
floor. As I enter the kitchen, I spot the small square plastic box above the
doorway. I study it for a long minute before I turn and head towards the living
room. Another one is above the front door. Confusion flickers through me until
I realize it probably has something to do with Tate's housemate's disability.

I find myself walking to the
front door where I open it, ring the doorbell and then step back inside—peering
up at the plastic square. Sure enough, it's flashing brightly. “Neat,” I murmur
as I close the door and wander back to the kitchen.

Tate's twenty dollars is
still sitting on the island counter and I ignore it as I head for the
refrigerator. I am uncomfortable with the idea of using his money. As soon as I
settle in, I am going to have to get a job. And Tate's right, the fridge is
loaded with fresh vegetables and fruits. Are those
brussels
sprouts? Ick. After a little digging, I make
myself a turkey sandwich, grab a can of soda, and sit down at the island to eat
my meal.

It feels weird to be here.
Tate's home radiates warmth and happiness, and I'm not used to that type of
atmosphere. Nor am I used to having time to myself. Back in Minnesota, I'd been
busy as soon as I entered the house after school. There had always been some
sort of cleaning to be done, and I hadn't been allowed to eat until I was
finished with whatever chores Julie had given me for the day.

My eyes shut as I try not to
lose myself in the memory.
I am here—not there. Let it go. For once in your
life, try to be happy.

Easier said than done.

In the overwhelming silence
of the kitchen, I eat my sandwich with a dark cloud hanging over my head. Once
I finish eating, I clean the crumbs off the counter before searching for a
recycling bin. I find one through the side kitchen door that leads into the
garage and toss my empty can of soda in it. Exhaustion is creeping up on me and
I grab my backpack before heading up to my new room.

After putting my meager
belongings in the dresser, I take out the two tiny razors I'd managed to pull
out of some shavers, and a small pocket knife from the small compartment of my
backpack. My lips purse as I debate where to put them. Normally, my stuff would
go in the bathroom but since I have no clue if Tate's roommate is nosy, I am
better off keeping them in here.

I move to the nightstand and
pull open the drawer before I carefully set the razors and knife inside. For a
long minute I stare at the razors longingly. My eyes close and I draw in a deep
breath and exhale
. No. I am not going to do it. This is my first day here, I
can handle it.

With great deliberation, I
close the drawer and curl up on the bed so that my back is to the nightstand.
Within minutes, I am drifting to sleep.

When I wake up, the room is
dark and at first I am confused as to where I am. Then it slowly comes back to
me that I am in California. My stomach rumbles and I glance at the alarm clock
to find it's going on eleven-thirty at night. I'd slept for several hours.

A yawn over takes me as I
slowly sit up. I am still tired but my stomach is growling; letting me know
that I hadn't eaten enough today. Evidently, the turkey sandwich I'd eaten
earlier wasn't enough to tide me over until morning.

The house is quiet, and I
assume Tate is still at work and his roommate is either sleeping or out. No one
would be around to care if I grab a quick snack before going back to sleep, so
I leave the bedroom and silently make my way down the stairs at the end of the
hall. As I come upon the end of the hallway on the first floor, I see a light
shining from either the living room or the kitchen. Maybe someone is home after
all.

After a brief hesitation, I
creep forward and head for the kitchen only to stop dead in my tracks the
second I catch sight of them.

Okay, I wasn't expecting
that
.

A couple is going at it on
the island counter top. The woman is sitting on the edge, and the overly large
tee-shirt she wears is hanging off one shoulder, while her bare legs are
wrapped around the waist of the man who is currently kissing her deeply. My
eyes shift to the man, and I note that his chest is bare and he happens to be
only wearing jeans, but probably not for long if the woman has anything to do
with it. I can see her fingers tugging at the button, obviously eager to get
them off. I should really walk away. Or at least shut my eyes...

I should do something.

Instead, I find myself
frozen. My feet decide they aren't moving as I just stand there and watch the
man trail heated kisses down the woman's exposed throat. I must have made some
sort of sound to give my presence away though, because the woman's eyes pop
open and she glances in my direction. The second she sees me, her eyes widen
and she starts shaking the man's shoulder to get his attention. His head lifts
and he glances at the woman questioningly before his eyes follow hers, and his
chocolate brown gaze connects with mine.

I'm stunned by how cute he is
and completely mortified that I'd been caught watching them like some sort of
voyeur. My face heats up—which is rare for me. I rarely get embarrassed over
anything. I manage to mutter a quick, “Sorry,” before I promptly spin around
and high-tail it upstairs as fast as my feet can carry me.

Forget the snack, my stomach
would survive until morning.

As soon as I shut my bedroom
door, I fling myself on my bed and groan. That was not the kind of first
impression I'd envisioned making when I finally met Tate's housemate. My
brother clearly hadn't had a chance to warn him of my unexpected arrival.

My body tenses when I hear
footsteps coming up the stairs and I know the couple is now headed towards
Noah's bedroom. I grab my pillow and shove it over my head in case they decide
to finish what I'd obviously interrupted.

The next morning, I wake to
the sound of the shower running across the hallway from my bedroom. I'm not
normally a chicken shit, but I decide to put off running into Noah as long as
possible. I hadn't heard a peep out of his room last night, and I felt bad
because either they'd been awfully quiet or I'd ruined their night. I was
guessing my appearance had likely killed the mood.

As I wait for Noah to finish
in the bathroom, I lay in bed and let my mind drift. I wonder what today would
bring. My head turns and I glance at the clock, noting that it is eight in the
morning. How late does Tate normally sleep in? His shift ended at midnight, so
I am assuming he's not an early riser.

It isn't long before I hear
Noah leave the bathroom, and a minute later I hear his footsteps on the stairs
as he goes down to the first floor. Relief shoots through me and I quickly get
up, grab a fresh pair of panties, my jeans from yesterday, a new tank top, and
bra. When I leave my room and head into the bathroom, I find the mirror is
still steamed and I can smell the scent of Noah's shampoo and cologne still
lingering in the air.

I slowly inhale deeply and
find myself enjoying the scent. Usually I hate men's cologne because men could
be just as bad as women when it came to putting too much of that crap on.
Noah's cologne is more subtle. I like it.

“And you're starting to act
like a damn stalker,” I mutter under my breath as I shut and lock the bathroom
door. I quickly strip down and jump in the shower as I try to give myself a
lecture on not making a fool of myself over Tate's housemate. Okay, so the guy
was gorgeous. And ripped. Those abs...

I find myself laughing
slightly as I shampoo my hair. I'd gone from a home where premarital sex was a
sin and 'sex' was never spoken of because it was shameful to speak of the
act—to a house where I'd caught my brother's housemate about to have
spontaneous sex on the island counter top. I knew there would be changes to adjust
to and it would be different, but I wasn't exactly prepared for how different
Tate's life really is compared to mine. I wonder what other surprises were
awaiting me in the coming days.

When I finally make my way
downstairs, I find that my brother is evidently a morning riser after all and
Noah is still in the house. In fact, he is sitting at the island counter eating
an omelet directly where his girlfriend or date had planted her bare ass last
night.

Tate, on the other hand, is
standing near the refrigerator, a newspaper in hand as he studies the page he
has it folded open to. He glances up and catches sight of me, a welcoming smile
spreading across his face. “Morning Bu—
er
,
Blayre
.”

Noah must have been watching
Tate because he turns and glances over his shoulder to find me standing there,
looking awkward as hell.

I can't help but study him.
His dark brown hair is cut short and either deliberately styled in the messy
look that happens to be so popular nowadays, or else he hadn't bothered to run
a comb through it. Either way, on him it looks sexily rumpled. His eyes are
dark and the intensity I find in them has me feeling a bit apprehensive. I'm
used to people not paying attention to me but with this guy, I can tell I have
his full attention and it's...unsettling, but yet kind of nice at the same
time.

“Hey,” I manage to say. It
comes out lame as hell but it's too early in the morning for me to be thinking
up something witty to say. I am just praying he doesn't say anything about me
catching him with the woman last night.

Those dark eyes look slightly
bemused, as if he can read my mind. “Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about
you.”

Not only is he hot but he's
got a voice to match those good looks. And I need to get a grip on myself. My
eyes skitter to Tate and I joke lightly, “All good, I hope?”

“Of course,” Tate says as he
turns and opens the oven door and pulls out a plate with his free hand. “Get
over here and eat. Noah made an extra omelet for you. They aren't too bad,” he
says as he puts the plate down on the island counter in front of a stool.

I have no choice but to walk
over and sit down next to Noah, who glances at me and shakes his head, “Your
brother has an aversion to eating anything that has vegetables or fruit in it.”

Tate snorts, tossing the paper
aside on the counter top. “That's not true. I eat a very well balanced
diet.” He holds one palm up, “Pizza in one hand,” and holds up his other
hand, “beer in the other,” he says with a straight face.