Every Breath You Take [RDJ Fanfic] - COMPLETED

Twelve

"This...this is where you live?!"

I can't help but stare in disbelief as the car pulls up to the circular drive in front of a rather interesting home in the Hamptons.  To be honest, most of the houses we passed on our way up were huge and interesting, in their own, but this is...this is something else.  Literally.  It's shaped like a windmill, and although that's a little strange, I can completely see it for him.  He's quirky, it makes sense.  But there's also something quite calming about it...it almost reminds me of being on a farm, or just...somewhere with a lot of land.  Which, apparently, he has as well, looking past the building for a moment.

"Like it?" he asks, and I nod quickly.

"I love it.  It's so..homey."

"Just wait till you get inside," he smirks, waiting for me to exit the car after him.

He sends the driver away for now; we'll call when we decide to go back into the city for the night.  And then I follow him up the stairs and into the house, silently watching his hips for my own amusement as he steps up to punch a key code into the door, similar to how my aunt's home in Malibu is set up.

"Watch your step," he warns politely, though it isn't that bad, and then I'm gaping in shock at the interior when I make it inside, the front door closing behind me.

It isn't quite what I expected, but that's fine by me.  Instead of something upscale and fancy and...to be honest, rich, it's very much like something out of a model home...it's very livable, not cold or expressionless like some of the modern designs I've seen.  The living space near the kitchen looks comfortable...a couple neutral toned couches and big windows that display the big yard, and I'm immediately drawn to it.  I fold my arms across my chest, just now realizing I'm still in his leather coat, and wander up to the window, gazing at the big yard outside.

"Pool's out that way," he calls from the kitchen, which is lined with bright colors and a nice kitchen table with a wraparound wooden bench.  "Tennis court, too.  You play?"

I turn back to him, watching as he downs a glass of water he's gotten himself from the fridge, and shake my head.

"Never was a tennis fan.  Or golf.  Just can't get hyped about it."

"I'll teach you," he decides, less of an offer and more of a decision.

Then, he sets down his glass on the island counter top and holds my white coat in the air.

"Want to get this rinsed off?" he asks.

I smile slightly, nodding.  "Yeah.  If it's not a problem..."

"Never," he answers kindly, waving over his head as he disappears down a hallway.  "Laundry room's this way."

So I follow him, past what seems to be a few spare bedrooms and a bathroom, which he points out, and then we're in a smaller space, but still big enough to house two whole washer and dryer dual units and a folding table.  I raise an eyebrow, inspecting, and then watch as he tosses it into one of the washers.  I turn to the shelf above the folding table, grabbing a pod of detergent from a bag, but something else catches my eye.

"Downey uses Downy fabric softener?" I ask out loud without realizing, then burst out laughing as I hold up the bottle towards him.  "Are you serious?"

He holds my gaze evenly without even a smirk.  "Very serious."

"Is it an ego thing?  Because I can totally see that being an ego thing," I tease."

"I need to know I can trust em."

And with that, he grabs the bottle, pouring a little into the lid, and then stares, hesitant.