Page 8 of Ordinary Secrets (Secrets Trilogy #1)

8

ARELLA

The blinding sunrise shines through my tinted windows. I drag my blanket over my face. Why does my blanket smell like a man? And since when are my windows tinted?

I jolt upright. The blanket I don’t recognize slides down my front.

Whose bed is this? It’s king-size, I think. I can’t tell for sure; I’ve never been on one. The sheets are gray and silky, not purple and cotton like the ones at home.

I’m alone. Is that a good thing?

The denim shorts I wore last night are still on. As is my shirt. Good sign.

The other side of the bed looks slightly made. Another good sign.

On the nightstand are three bottles of cologne, a lamp, and a book with a dragon on the cover. Visions of a scruffy-bearded guy sipping beer zip across my mind like flashing lights. He went on and on about his dragon tattoo.

What happened last night? I try to remember, but my memory fails me. Everything beyond dragon talk is a blur. Am I at that guy’s house? Oh, god. I hope not.

This bedroom is twice the size of mine. Maybe triple. The white walls are bare. How am I supposed to figure out whose house I’m in if they don’t have any personal pictures hanging up?

After scooting off the gigantic mattress, I peer into the walk-in closet. Dark jeans and plain T-shirts are hung in neat rows. Whoever’s closet this is doesn’t wear any color.

The master bathroom is complete with a jacuzzi and a shower as big as my entire bathroom. This house belongs to someone with money, that’s for sure.

I press my ear against the bedroom door. Silence. No movement, either. After taking the lampshade off the lamp, I unplug the lamp and grip it tightly. Anyone I feel threatened by is about to become a victim of my lamp bat.

As softly as I can, I open the door and tread down the hall with sloth-like footsteps. Maybe I’m in his house. Then again, he could never afford something this nice. Not without Daddy’s money. Nor does he read.

I keep tiptoeing over the soft carpet. Sunlight gleams from the other end of the hall. A familiar scent floats up my nose. I’d know that smell anywhere. Bacon.

When I round the corner to where the sizzling is coming from, I raise my lamp bat, ready to strike.

The tall man in front of the stove jumps. “Shit!” His spatula somersaults onto the hardwood floor with a clank.

I freeze with my weapon up. It’s not the man I was expecting.

Trey scoops up the spatula, then wipes the floor with a towel. “Dammit. You’ve really gotta stop scaring me.”

Trey Grant? That’s who lives here?

“What’s with the lamp?” he asks. I’d like to think he feels intimidated, but the knitted brows and hint of a smirk on his lips tell me he’s more amused than anything.

I keep my lamp bat held high and muster up the sternest voice I can. “What happened?”

Nonchalantly, Trey slides two slices of bread into a toaster. “How do you like your eggs?”

My eggs? What? He’s asking me that as if I casually stay overnight at his house all the time. Maybe he’s used to women waking up here, but I’m not used to waking up anywhere except in my own bed.

“What happened?” I ask more firmly this time.

“I’ll tell you once you put my lamp down.”

If Trey wanted to hurt me, he would have already, right? Sighing, I set his lamp onto the island.

“Is scrambled okay?” Trey asks, all light and gentle.

“Um, sure.”

From the refrigerator, he pulls out a carton of eggs. “What do you remember?”

“I remember being at the Soul House. I was watching your band play and...” Then I was thrown over the shoulder of a giant man like a sack of potatoes.

“Did you know that dirty-mouthed motherfucker?” Trey’s tone has lost all his earlier gentleness. It’s ironic that he’s calling Dex dirty-mouthed when he’s no better.

“No.”

“He drugged you.”

My jaw drops. “How? I nursed my lemonade the entire night.”

“I know. I was watching you. More specifically, him. You kept talking to him, so I thought maybe you knew each other. I never saw him put anything into your drink, so I called Sophie. She owns the bar. I told her what happened. On a hunch, I asked her to check out the new bartender. She found drugs on him. Lots of ’em. The cops were called. Got a text from Sophie this morning. Apparently, Mitch and Dexter were in on it together, and this wasn’t their first time.”

A shudder runs down my spine. If I’m not the first, what happened to the others? I don’t think I want to know.

“What now?” I ask.

Trey turns back to the stove and flips over the sizzling bacon. “They’re both arrested and are probably gonna go away for a while. Sophie is gonna do a better job at performing background checks before she hires. I get that she’s short-staffed, but she can’t just take in anyone off the street.”

“Was that you who beat up Dex?”

“Once I saw him take you outside, I jumped off the stage to make sure you were safe. At first, I couldn’t find you. I was really worried, Arella.”

The idea that Trey was worried about me stirs a little flutter in my belly. Just another one of the many uncontrollable reactions my body has to him. Like the way my heart jumps through my shirt every time he says my name.

“Thanks for coming after me. I’m very grateful.”

“Me too, Arella. You have no idea.”

There he goes saying my name again, making my insides leap. No one ever calls me Arella, not even my grandparents. I’ve been going by Ari since kindergarten, when none of the other kids could remember how to say ah-rel-lah, so my teacher suggested that we shorten it. I liked it so much that now, barely anyone even knows that Arella is my real name. Most people think Ari is short for Ariana, and I don’t care enough to correct them.

The toaster pops up with some perfectly browned bread.

“Butter?” Trey asks as he grabs a ceramic dish from the cabinet.

My stomach rumbles. “Yes, please. And thank you, Trey, for everything.”

“No problem.” He smiles sweetly, then gestures toward the row of barstools on the other side of the massive island. “Take a seat.”

I claim the rightmost stool, leaving the other three empty. Trey’s back faces me as he cracks a few eggs into a buttered pan. No complaints about the view. His rippling muscles are practically bursting out of his white T-shirt. His dark-chocolate hair is tousled in that just-out-of-bed sort of way. Last night, he had a dreamy, superstar aura about him. Now, in gray sweatpants, tossing eggs around in a pan, he looks... normal. Or as normal as men with model-like faces can look.

From the fridge, he grabs two cartons of juice and holds them up. “Apple or orange?”

“Apple, please.”

He pours me a glass, then one for himself. I accept it and take a sip, shivering a little.

“You cold?” he asks.

“Kind of.” Although I do get chilly easily, it feels like Trey’s got his air conditioning extremely high. I suppose he can afford it. I mean, look at this place.

He shuts the stove off, moves the pan off the heat, then pads down the hall. Within seconds, the air conditioning stops humming.

“You didn’t have to turn the air off just for me,” I say when he comes back. In his arms is a throw blanket, which he drapes around my shoulders. My body betrays me again as my heart dances around from his nearness. I’m beginning to think it’s impossible for a woman not to react like this around him.

“I wouldn’t want you to turn into a popsicle,” Trey says, and his tender smile makes me smile back.

“You’re probably the only person in California who just turned off their air conditioning in the middle of summer.”

He chuckles and nods. “Probably. I can turn it back on later.”

Concentration is painted over his face as he arranges our food onto square white plates. He sets one in front of me, then one in front of the chair directly on my left. Then he sits there. Oddly, I’m okay with it. A year ago, I would have freaked out. He’s so close that I can smell him. His scent reminds me of the bedsheets I woke up in this morning.

Wait a second... “Hey, if I slept in your bed last night, where did you sleep?”

“The couch.”

Behind us sits a long couch in the massive living room. It faces the huge tinted windows looking out into a cul-de-sac. Why are all his windows tinted?

Maybe Trey’s a drug dealer. He doesn’t want people to be able to look in and see him making his deals. It would explain how he’s got such a nice place. He can’t afford all this on a musician’s salary, can he?

Something about his living room feels off. All he’s got are end tables with lamps on them. No messes of any kind. No clutter. No pictures on the walls. His place looks like a page out of a home décor magazine.

“How many bedrooms do you have?” I ask, then take my first bite of bacon. Mmm. It’s perfect. Soft yet crunchy.

“Four. One master and one music room. Upstairs is my workout room, and the other room sits empty.”

“This seems like a lot of space for one guy.”

“It is. If I could, I’d probably just rent a one-bedroom apartment near a gym. I only bought this house because when we started the band, we needed a place to play, and I figured this was more economical than renting an apartment and rehearsal space. Then a year later, we got in at the Soul House, and now, I’m stuck with this.”

I glance behind me into his living room again. It hits me why it looks odd. “Where’s your TV?”

“Don’t have one.”

I consume the rest of my delicious bacon strip in one breath. Apparently, I have no self-control. Is there such a thing as self-control when it comes to bacon ? “Are you not a TV person?”

“I didn’t have a TV growing up.” His face falls for a second before he flashes me a fake smile. “Anyway, your car is in my driveway. Our security manager drove it here for you last night.”

“Really?” I hop off my seat to look out the window. Sure enough, there’s my white Civic next to Trey’s black Lexus—another item that seems outside of his musician salary. He can’t be getting paid that much, can he? He has to be doing something else.

I return to my chair and readjust the blanket over my shoulders. “Thanks, Trey. Seriously.”

“Like I said, no problem.” He continues eating his eggs as if helping me with a flat tire, saving me from getting kidnapped, then making me breakfast—all within three days—is nothing.

“Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

“Nah.” He waves a hand through the air. “It’s all good.”

I feel like I owe him, although I don’t know what I can get for a guy who seems to have everything yet nothing at the same time. If I could, I’d get him some pictures of his family to hang on the walls. It would add some life to this place.

“Do you have any siblings?” I ask, then take a bite of my toast.

“Nope. You?”

“Me neither. I’d probably have siblings if my parents didn’t pass away so young.”

Trey stops eating to stare at me.

I know the question he wants to ask, so I answer it. “Car accident.”

“Oh.”

Whenever I tell people that my parents are gone, they usually say they’re “sorry” out of politeness. Trey doesn’t do that, but the sympathetic look on his face feels more genuine than any sorry I’ve ever received.

I have a bite of my scrambled eggs. “It’s okay. I don’t remember them. I grew up with my grandparents.”

“Are they still around?”

“Yeah. I’ll probably go visit them soon. How about you? Do you see your family a lot?”

Trey clears his throat and gazes aimlessly at his half-eaten plate. “Not really.”

Judging from the desolate look in his eyes, he doesn’t like talking about his family. Maybe they don’t get along. That would explain why he doesn’t have any pictures of them.

I should change the subject. “This breakfast is amazing. Are you normally a good cook?”

“Eh. I wouldn’t classify myself as good. I’m decent. I only started cooking this year.”

“What made you start?”

“Liz. She was sick of me ordering pizza whenever she came over.”

I laugh, admiring his blunt honesty. “Does she come over a lot?”

He nods, scoff-chuckling under his breath. “Enough to drive me crazy.”

“Do you not like when she comes over?”

“Eh. Depends on what I’m doing.”

Playfully, I narrow my eyes. “In other words, if you’re in the middle of something with another woman, you don’t want her barging in.”

Trey laughs, and the sound of it lights a spark in my chest. “Thankfully, that’s never happened, and I hope it never does.”

“Would Liz freak out and get all jealous?”

“Nah. She’s not like that. We are not like that.”

Ever since I saw Trey and Liz sing their duets last night, I’ve been a little jealous of her. The way they looked at each other, danced together, and held hands seemed to be on a level of comfort above friendship. I thought maybe there was something between them. Maybe not? Or maybe that’s what Trey wants me to think.

“Are you like that with anyone?” I ask, and I’m not sure why. His relationship status shouldn’t matter to me. Still, I’m curious.

“Nah, I’m not seein’ anyone.”

I let out a pfft . “I find that hard to believe.”

“I could say the same about you, Arella. You really expect me to think that a woman as stunning as you is actually single and not looking? Come on.”

“It’s true. I am single, and I’m not looking.” Suddenly, I’m no longer convinced by that last part. The way Trey just called me “stunning” has my lips curved into an immovable grin.

I picture the two of us together, holding hands, kissing, spending our nights cuddled up watching movies... The vivid images come to my head too easily.

“Why aren’t you looking?” he asks.

Because I’m too busy still trying to get rid of the last boyfriend. “I’m happy being single.” Not completely a lie. I’m very happy. Although I am comparing my current level of happiness to my level of sadness when I was with an abusive man.

“Everyone says that until the right person comes along,” Trey says with a smirk. “Maybe yours came along on the side of a highway.”

I knit my eyebrows together. “I’ve barely spoken two words to Kevin. I highly doubt he’s right for me.”

Dramatically, Trey slumps his shoulders. We both know I knew what he meant. “I wasn’t talking about Kevin,” he says.

“So, what? You were talking about yourself?” I try not to show how much that piques my interest, because again, I’m not looking... right?

“Is it out of the realm of possibilities for that to be true?”

“You barely know me.”

“You’re right. How ’bout we get to know each other over dinner?”

Dinner? With this guy? A man who looks like he just walked off the cover of a magazine?

“Uh, you’re not really my type,” I lie because I can’t have dinner with him. Getting involved with me is a whole can of worms he doesn’t want to open. Until my ex is officially out of my life, I can’t start something new. Especially not after what happened with the last guy I had dinner with. I can’t put anyone else in danger like that.

“Not your type?” Trey jerks his head back like he’s offended. He probably is. I’m sure he’s used to being everyone’s type. Women probably throw themselves at him left and right. I witnessed it firsthand when those fangirls were practically begging me to help them get into his pants.

“Yeah.” I avoid his eyes by playing with the bits of egg still on my plate. “I’m not really into guys like you.”

“Guys like me?” He sets his fork down and twists on his stool to fully face me. His tone goes from sounding offended to slightly hurt. “And what exactly is the type of guy you think I am, that I’m not good enough for you?”

“Oh no! I didn’t mean it like that. I just... Oh, never mind.” I slash a hand through the air, trying to end this conversation before I dig myself into a deeper hole.

“No, no,” he chuckles, not because anything is funny. He’s chuckling to hide how much my rejection is damaging his ego. “Please, do explain. Don’t leave me hangin’.”

“Come on, Trey,” I say, smiling as an attempt to keep things lighthearted. I don’t mean to hurt him. This is for his own good. “You’ve got a long line of women who’d love to have your attention. Don’t waste your time on me.”

He leans over to look out the living room window. With a hand cupped to his forehead, he squints as if trying to see better. “Hmm... Where is this long line of women you speak of?”

I giggle at his overdramatic silliness. “I didn’t mean literally. Just that there’s plenty of women out there who’d want to date you.”

“Who says I want to date any of them?”

“Don’t you?”

“Only if you’re in that line.”

I can’t see it, but I know my cheeks are turning red.

How can I tell Trey that this is for his sake without explaining the situation with my ex? Would anything I say stop him from having an interest in me? I don’t even know why he’s interested at all. We just met, and he knows nothing about me, yet I’ve caught him staring at me more times than not.

I can’t think straight. There’s no denying that I’m attracted to this man. Who wouldn’t be? Stunning blue-gray eyes. A handsome smile. And those arms... The fangirls last night were right about his charming personality. It must be working, because I’m actually considering accepting this dinner thing.

“Arella . . .”

My name sounds so sweet coming from his lips. I want to keep hearing him say it.

“Could you give me a chance?”

I ponder it for a moment, even though I already know which way I’m leaning. “How about this? We can go out for dinner, but not as a date. Could we go as a couple of new friends grabbing a bite to eat?”

He flashes me the biggest grin. “I’ll take what I can get.”