by Nora Nolan
“Well, shoot, let’s go!”
Chapter 3: Cheryl
As she looked around her kitchen, Cheryl was pleased with everything except the floor. She’d had the cabinetry updated and a new range installed, but decided to wait until last to have new floor tile installed. It seemed like a good idea, and besides, and more to the point, she’d run out of discretionary funds. Now her bank balance looked a bit healthier and she decided it was time.
Her plan was to fix up the house as much as she could to get a better price when she sold it. She’d been so excited to buy her first home a few years ago at a fairly young age, but now she realized that a big yard just wasn’t for her. She didn’t mind keeping the small house neat, but the yardwork was a major pain. She despised it, and as a result, she felt like the neighbors hated her. Her yard was always the untidy one. She hated yard work, wasn’t good at doing it herself and couldn’t afford to hire anyone to do it, at least while she was spending all that money on updates.
She didn’t want to downsize and she definitely didn’t want to throw away money on rent, but there was a neat little housing development nearby that she loved. Groups of houses were built around central shared spaces and the Homeowners’ Association dues paid for all maintenance and upkeep. She’d never have to worry about a lawn again, but she’d still have her own house. What a perfect deal that would be!
All that remained in her planned updates were the floor in the kitchen and most likely a new countertop and lavatory for the bathroom. Everything still looked new in the bath except for the worn gold Formica type counter. It had scratches and a slight burn from her curling iron.
She was excited as she got online and googled “tile floor installer.” As she was scrolling the list, one ad jumped out at her. Virtually, of course, but for an instant, she thought it literally jumped from the screen. It was a really clever optical illusion. The listing had a subdued glow that drew her in and made her curious. She clicked the website link.
What she saw nearly knocked her breath out of her and made her glad she was sitting because she felt a little weak. It was a picture of the most handsomely roguish man she’d ever seen. It was just a shot of his head and upper body, with his outrageously bulging muscular arms folded smugly over his chest. He looked handsome, confident, competent, and dangerous. Not dangerous in the I’m-going-to-shoot-you way, but dangerous in the I’ll-run-this-show-and-you’ll-beg-me-to-fuck-you way. He oozed sex appeal.
Cheryl was a little spanko. The problem was that she hadn’t been able to find a man who matched her kind of kink. She fantasized about things a bit more on the dark side, and she did oh so much want a man to take control of her. To make her do things. To do things to her. Reward her when she’s good and punish her when she’s bad. Or maybe punish her when she’s good. Mainly she wanted what she thought of as a real man: masculine, rugged, possessive, protective, strong, dirty, and hot as sin. Oh, and who likes to spank.
The picture had a caption under it, Handyman Paul. Well, Paul looked like he might be that kind of man.
The website had testimonials from past clients, photos of work he’d done, and a list of the other types of work he does, not only flooring. The big blurb at the top read
HANDYMAN
Specializing in floors, kitchens, and baths. If you need it, I’ll do it.
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Call Paul 501-555-4328
Cheryl pushed the fantasies from her mind as she dialed her phone. He answered almost immediately in a deep, well-modulated voice. “Paul here. What can I do for you?”
Oh! The endless answers to that question!
“Hi, Paul, my name is Cheryl. I’d like a new tile floor in my kitchen. And I’d also like your opinion and maybe an estimate on a new countertop in the bath.”
“Sure thing. Have you picked out your tile?”
“Not for sure. I’m getting ready to sell the house when the work’s done. I’m trying not to spend a fortune, but I need for it to look really good.”
“You’ll be pleased with my work, I guarantee it. Tell you what, I have some samples in my truck that I’ve worked with recently. You can look at them to get started. Where do you live?”
“It’s 422 South Oak Avenue. The number’s over the garage door, and it’s painted on the curb. It’s the house with red shutters and flowerboxes with dead flowers. You can’t miss it.”
“I can be there in about ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Great. See you then.”
Cheryl jumped up and whooped and ran to check her makeup. She was almost compelled to shower again, but a) that was silly, and b) she’d already showered once that morning, not too long ago.
In the bathroom, she cleared off the countertop so he could see it, and was glad she did when she saw the soap rings and water marks under her toiletry bottles and makeup. That would have been embarrassing. She didn’t want to look like a slob. When she turned to get a wash cloth to clean the countertop, she caught sight of her unmade bed. Should she make it? No, she decided, it had an unkempt, slutty quality she hoped he’d find appealing. Slut, yes, slob, definitely not. After she spiffed up the bath, she sprayed a dab of her favorite cologne over the pillows of the bed. Just in case.
She traded her oversized slouchy shirt for a nice fitted white t-shirt. She smiled, remembering he’d worn a white t-shirt in the pic on his website. Taking another look in the mirror, she shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought as she reached up under her shirt, unfastened her bra, pulled her left bra strap down and off her arm, and pulled the bra out through the right sleeve. She had a nice bosom. Might as well see if Paul likes it, too.
She wore a short denim skirt, and decided not to change. She was torn between trading her bikini for a thong, then she realized she was being silly. A former boyfriend told her once that men generally don’t care what kind of underwear their women wore, as long as it ended up on the floor. That made a certain sense to her.
The doorbell rang and she went to answer it, almost running. When she pulled the door open, she thought she’d just opened the best Christmas present ever. There he stood, so broad and so tall that he blocked out the sun. His wavy black hair was combed back, a bit long but still neat, and he had a little Superman curl down his forehead. His eyes were dark, maybe even truly black, if that’s even an eye color. His long lashes curled exactly the way she tried to make hers curl with those ridiculous eyelash curlers that never get it right. He had a face that illustrated exactly what people mean when they say “chiseled features.” Hot. Double hot. He wore black beard stubble that didn’t quite disguise a dimple in his chin. Hot. Molten. Devilish. Her Superman.
“I’m Paul.” He had a lopsided smile. She couldn’t decide if it was a smirk, or if his mouth was crooked, or if he was just too bored or lazy to smile with both sides of his mouth. Or couldn’t be bothered. Something about that made her think he was even hotter.
“Hi, I’m Cheryl. Come on in, let me take you to the kitchen.” she said, giving him a big welcoming smile as she opened the door. She was gratified to see that he could smile bilaterally after all.
He had to duck his head a little to fit in the door.
“Thanks. Let me do some looking and check the measurements, then I can show you what it’ll look like with different tile options.”
“Perfect, that would be nice,” she said in an upbeat voice.
They walked into the kitchen. It wasn’t particularly large, but it did have a breakfast nook. The house was built with an open concept, so it blended into her den. There was no dining room.
Paul took out his cell phone and took some pictures. Then he pointed it at one of the walls and a red laser-type line appeared in the air, connecting to the opposite wall. He punched some buttons and found out the square footage.
She watched, curiously intent on his fingers on the phone. “I didn’t know there was a phone app to get square footage with a laser – that’s handy.”
Paul looked up and grin
ned. “It is handy. Let me show you what else it’ll do. Let’s sit down.”
He pulled out a chair for her, and it struck her what a gallant gesture that was, and how odd it seemed for him to do that in her own house. No one other than waiters had ever pulled out a chair for her before.
“Now here are some sample tiles – everything from terra cotta to black to white. Based on the color in this kitchen, I’d definitely keep it neutral. Now this is one of my favorites.” He clicked the button and a picture of her kitchen appeared with that tile.
“I love that app!”
He laughed. “Sorry, it’s not commercially available. Some of my buddies developed it.”
“Oh, they must be the same wizards who did your website. I’d love to know how they did it. I’ve done web design and I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Yes, they’re the same wizards. Tell you what.” His black mesmerizing eyes looked directly into hers and his voice lowered. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll introduce you.”
Something about the way he said “good girl” made her nipples harden. Cheryl saw his eyes drop to look at them, then raise back to her eyes. He was looking through her, inside her, instead of just at her. She didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t. Forget the app and the website, what do I have to do to be your good girl?
His eyes still penetrated. “If you like a diagonal setting, it would look like this,” he said, looking back down at his phone as he pressed another button.
“I like them both,” she said, a little more subdued, “but I think I like the first version better. Somehow the diagonal seems like the wrong lines for this room.”
“I agree. Too much contrast with the lines of the cabinetry for a room this size. Let’s try this tile – it’s a groutless porcelain and has subtle light gray marblish shading. Elegant. The tiles have tongue-and-groove joints so you don’t need grout. What do you think?” He showed her the picture.
“It’s beautiful. Do you think it’s too elegant for the space?”
“Not at all. It’s a classic style.”
“Sold. How much is that one?”
“Well, Cheryl, this is your lucky day. Your kitchen isn’t very big. I have enough left over from a commercial job to do your whole floor. You don’t have to pay for it.”
“Are you for real?”
He chuckled. “Sure, I’m real. Here. Touch me.”
She touched his arm and felt like she’d touched ecstasy. Her hand moved along his arm, feeling an unfamiliar tingly energy from his skin.
She laughed a quiet, confused laugh. “I’m still not sure you’re real.”
“What would it take to convince you?” he asked, his face nearing hers.
His lips touched hers and lingered. Suddenly her mind was filled with images of him, no, of both of them. He held a belt in his right hand, doubled over and ready to wield. There were images of the two of them caught in moments of passion, images of him holding her close to him. Images of them laughing together. They bombarded her until she pulled away from him, breathless. Did he see those same images?
She looked at him in wonderment, perplexed over how those images found their way into her head. The look on his face didn’t shed any light. He just looked devilishly hot.
“Baby, I promise I’m as real as can be. And I have the tiles already, so no waiting. It’ll be beautiful when it’s done. I guarantee satisfaction, you know.”
Talk about your double entendres. Is he saying he guarantees satisfaction in other things, too?
“Well, I’m grateful. You sure you wouldn’t rather use them for another project and bill for them?”
“I can’t. That would be dishonest since they’re already paid for.”
“Oh, right, I didn’t think about that. Well, I do appreciate it. That’ll help me a lot financially. Maybe I can afford a new countertop in the master bath after all.”
“Take me to it. I’ll see what I can do.”
She obliged, and as they walked through her bedroom, she regretted leaving the bed unmade.
“All right, here, let me look. I see some scratches and a little burned spot. It’s worn. Yes, you definitely need a new look. Let me suggest something else, though. Before we go to the trouble of removing everything and ripping out plumbing and all that, let me try refinishing it. I can work wonders with it. I’ll add a decorative edge or a bevel to update it. The faucet’s still stylish and in good shape. You don’t need anything in here but an updated look of the counter.”
“Are you sure you can make it look good?”
“I can make it look gorgeous. You’ll love it. I guarantee satisfaction, remember? What have you got to lose? If you don’t like it, I’ll replace it at my expense, how’s that?”
“I guess I can’t say no to that.”
“That’s a good girl.”
She was startled, hearing that phrase, and looked up to see an amused look on his face. As they walked back through her bedroom headed for the kitchen, Cheryl glanced at the bed and her mind’s eye saw herself lying across it. Her arms stretched above her head, her hands grabbing the bedding in her fists. She was naked. Paul stood beside the bed, bare to the waist, with his belt in his hand. She shook off the mental picture, took a deep breath, and walked on into the kitchen.
“It won’t take long to pull up the baseboards, then I can prep. Later I’ll have to go get the tiles, but that won’t take long, either.”
“You’re saving me so much money, the least I can do is feed you. What would you like for lunch?”
He laughed. “When you see how much I eat, you might not think you’re saving very much. I’m a sizeable man, you know.”
She blushed and looked down quickly. Did that have a double meaning, too?
“Do you mind if I leave to go grocery shopping? I wouldn’t normally leave you alone, but my cupboards are bare. What foods do you like?” She picked up her keys and purse.
His smile vanished. He wasn’t frowning, but there was no smile. “I’ll eat anything, and there’s no problem with you leaving to get groceries. But you should reconsider your clothes.”
“My clothes? A t-shirt and skirt? What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing. Look, I’m going to be bold here. Your clothes are fine, or they would be if you were wearing a bra. You have a lush and luscious body, Cheryl, with breasts that any man would salivate over. Maybe you don’t realize how they move when you move, how they sway in rhythm when you walk. I don’t think you should go braless when you’re out, unless you’re with your man.”
Her cheeks stung. How dare he tell me how to dress? Is he calling me a slut? What stung doubly was remembering that earlier that morning she didn’t mind being thought of as slutty.
“My man? I don’t have a man! If I did, I wouldn’t have had to call you! And you aren’t about to tell me how to dress. You just met me today. You have no right. Just who do you think you are?” She fumed.
Paul stood still as a stone with a stern look on his face, and when she realized it she gave him her full, though apprehensive, attention. He cocked his head to one side ever so slightly while he slowly raised his right hand. He let his fingers rest on his belt buckle, poised to unbuckle it.
Cheryl inhaled sharply. That’s a threat, and he knows I know it’s a threat. How did he make me think those things, see those images earlier? Doesn’t matter, he can’t boss me around. He certainly can’t tell me how to dress, especially after knowing me only an hour or two. And he sure as hell better not think he can take a belt to me! What an arrogant SOB. How can he try to be that possessive, and so soon? Humph.
He said I have a luscious body. Lush and luscious. Okay, I like that. Still, what’s that shit about not going out like this “without my man”? How 1950’s can you get? Hell, maybe even 1850’s. Like I need protection or something. Wait. I’ve always wanted a protector, haven’t I? Yeah… what’s that old saying? “Be careful what you ask for.” Fuckety fuck. I need to think about this.
S
he didn’t know what to think, but she was pretty sure she knew what to do. She put down her keys and purse, walked in the master suite for a few minutes, and emerged wearing the same bra under her shirt that she’d removed that morning. For some reason she didn’t fathom, she was pleased with his nod of approval, happy that she’d satisfied him.
“You look perfect, Cheryl. Beautiful. There are some bad guys out there, baby, and I’d hate for you to come across one. Some get mighty bold and unpleasant when they see an opportunity.”
“You’re right; I know you’re right.” She sighed. “My parents would have said the same thing.”
“That’s my good girl.” He stroked her face and ran his thumb across her lips. “Drive safely.”
* * *
When she returned with groceries a while later, she saw him open the kitchen door when the garage door opened. He gave her a big welcoming smile and came out to carry the groceries in. She took the toilet tissue and chips he handed her, and he carried all the heavy bags in one trip.
She was surprised to see that he’d moved the dinette set into the den and already had the baseboards removed. The floor was marked in crossed blue chalk lines to find the center, and nearly half the tiles had been placed already.
“I was thinking,” Paul said, “that since the kitchen floor is a work in progress now, I should order food for lunch. What would you like? While we’re waiting for delivery, we can put the groceries away.”
It occurred to Cheryl that to her knowledge, she was the only person who provided meals for a handyman. It just felt like the right thing to do. It felt natural. She certainly hadn’t done it for the carpenters who did the cabinets, or any of the appliance installers, or the plumber or electrician. But Paul? It just felt appropriate, and she was glad. He was such a hunk. A sizzling, USDA prime, mouth-watering, panty-dropping, pornographic thought-inducing hunk.
“Good idea. I really don’t want to get in your way while you work. I’d hate to hamper progress. But I’ll be happy to pay for it, since you’re saving me so much.”
