There were three rules in Grant’s house.
No smoking.
No locked doors.
No calling him anything but Grant.
I’d broken all three within the first two days.
Mom had left that morning for a week-long conference. Her new boyfriend — Grant — said I could stay while the campus dorms were being renovated.
He was a strict, quiet man. Military before becoming a real estate developer. The kind of guy who used silence like a weapon. Broad-shouldered. Always in black. Always in control. His hair was dark, speckled with gray at the sides, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. I could practically feel the tension whenever he was near — something tight and restrained, simmering just beneath the surface.
Naturally, I wanted to poke it.
So I lit a cigarette in the upstairs bathroom.
Left the shower run
