Free Rm W/a Vu by A. D. Ryan Page B

me. The way he stuck up for me with Ben, the winking… Clearly, I was reading way too much into what were obviously very innocent and friendly gestures. As usual.
    Grumbling some more, I wipe my damp hands roughly on the dishtowel I’m holding when the door slides open and Greyston walks in.
    “Sorry about that.” He takes in my agitated state and frowns. “Are you all right?”
    Blushing, I drop my gaze from him and tuck my hair behind my ear with my free hand. “Yeah, I should really just get going. Let you get on with your night and all that,” I tell him, tossing the towel onto the counter and snatching up my phone. I wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear notes of jealousy in my voice. I sure as hell do.
    He follows me from the kitchen, his long stride allowing him to beat me to the door. “You don’t have to, you know. I actually don’t have any plans for the night. Feel free to stay and make yourself at home.” I’m right back to feeling confused.
    “Thanks, but my parents are expecting me,” I say, offering him an uncertain smile. “I’ll bring the rest of my things by…if that’s okay?”
    Greyston smiles, eyes glimmering. “Don’t be silly. Of course it’s all right. You’ll call if you need any help?”
    I nod. “I’ll talk to you soon. Thanks again for everything this afternoon. It really meant a lot.”
    Still grinning, Greyston opens the door for me. “I’m just glad I could help. You’ll drive safe?”
    “Always do,” I assure him before waving and making my way down the steps.
    Like last time, he stands in the doorway until I drive away—and who knows, maybe he stays there for a while after I’m out of sight. Unlikely, I deduce.
    I arrive home without dwelling too much on the new information I’ve learned about Greyston’s availability, only to find my dad in the kitchen, cleaning his guns. He’s got the table covered in canvas, and his various guns and cleaning supplies are spread out in front of him.
    “Hey, Daddy,” I greet, walking to the fridge and grabbing myself a bottle of water and a beer for him. “Where’s Mom?”
    “Thanks, kid,” he says when I set the beer on the table and pull up a chair beside him. “She went to meet your aunt for coffee. How was dinner with your new landlord?” I can hear the tension in his voice just mentioning Greyston—even if it isn’t by name.
    “It was good. He said he’s more than willing to meet with you. Told me I should set it up,” I inform him.
    “He know I’m a cop?” He stops cleaning his shotgun just long enough to glance up at me without moving his head, one of his eyebrows arching menacingly.
    “He does, so your scare tactics won’t work on him,” I’m sure to point out.
    Smirking wickedly, Dad stares down the barrel of his unloaded weapon. “We’ll see about that.”
    Having seen this over-protective side of my father before, I just laugh and shake my head. “Besides,” I continue, ceasing my laughter, “it’s not like I’m dating him, or even plan to.”
    Dad remains silent, setting his gun aside and reaching for his Glock. There’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s still afraid of not being able to keep me safe. It’s silly, considering I lived in the dorms all last year and nothing bad happened. This won’t be much different.
    Except for the being alone in a big house with just one person and no one around to hear me scream…
    Okay, so maybe I can see where he’s coming from.
    Instead of freaking myself out entirely, I decide that I need to remind him that he taught how to take care of myself. I set my water down and wipe my hands on the thighs of my jeans. “Do you need a hand?”
    Smiling, my father hands me the still-assembled gun, hand grip first, and grabs another for himself.
    As though it’s second nature—which, it kind of is—I keep my finger off the trigger and eject the magazine before I pull the slide back and check the chamber and magazine well for any cartridges. I