Beauty and The Beasley

Chapter 34

Bree got up early the next morning and went shopping for clothes for Frances. Ever since he arrived, he'd been wearing some of her dad's old ones and he looked too much like a grandpa in them.

She made sure no one saw her leave. She phoned her former cab driver and was thankful he was an early bird. He took her to a shop deep in town and Bree was able to buy as many clothes as possible; T-shirts, jackets, pants, boots, sneakers etc.

When she got home, she quickly dumped the shopping bags behind the couch and scurried quietly to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. A few minutes later, Melinda walked into the living room. She wore a crisp white and oxblood top with dark blue jeans.

Bree sighed. It was either her mother had caught her leaving the house and didn't want to say so or she just woke up fifteen minutes ago.

"Morning mom." Bree called waiting for Melinda to explode with the questions but her mother only filled her favorite mug with coffee and sat down on one of the kitchen stools.

"Hey butterscotch, did you sleep well?" She asked hazily. She didn't look quite like herself but Bree knew her mother wasn't one hundred percent a morning person. It took her a few hundred seconds before her system adjusted to the fact that she was awake.

"Yeah, thanks. I made eggs and bacon." Bree announced and Melinda nodded satisfyingly.

She tilted her head toward Bree's room. "How's Charming doing? Not up yet?"

"Uhhhh, i don't know. I should go check on him." Bree said and left the kitchen. She knew Frances would be up already.

She knocked slightly on the door then turned the doorknob and went in only for her breath to get stuck in her throat.

Frances stood shirtless on the rug with his back to her. He was wet from a shower and Bree could tell from his adorably wet hair and water trailing down his back.

gods, his back!

If Bree had mistakenly walked into Ancient Greece, she would've mistook him for a god. His skin was as white as milk and perfectly clear. He must've scrubbed hard during his shower because Bree could see slight red bumps on the skin. His hair dipped into the scruff of his neck and stuck to his skin in an alluring manner. His midsection was hollow but sturdy and he had the smallest waist Bree had ever seen but her dad's pants fit him hilariously well.

He was fiddling with a black object, constantly hitting it against his palm. Bree wanted to smile but her facial muscles refused to cooperate. Her eyes clocked to his back again and she tried hard to stop staring.

She finally looked at the 42 inch television on her table. Somehow, Frances had found it inside it's box. It was a gift from Amy when they'd first arrived but Bree had stashed it away as she wasn't very fond of televisions. Frances, on the other hand, seemed fascinated with it like everything else in the apartment. The manual was rolled open like a papyrus scroll all the way down to the floor and Bree guessed he must've been reading it.

The remote batteries lay in a plastic wrapping next to a heap of bubble wrap but Frances hadn't figured that part out yet. He fortunately figured out how to connect the TV wire to the wall socket. As Bree stared at the sockets, she realized the room was covered in wires intertwining themselves like, well, cables.

She cleared her throat and Frances turned sharply, sending the remote out of his hands and onto Bree's bed. As she took a step forward, she realized he'd also cleaned her room.

"Uh, i was just. . ." He started pointing at the entire mess then suddenly remembered he was without a shirt.

Bree handed him one almost immediately.