Blue-Collar Boys - Repairs & Maintenance (Book 2: Steamy Erotic Romance Stories)

by Aria Hawthorne

  She broke from his gaze and rotated out of sight. When the grinding vvvvvvvvroom of the chainsaw started up again, Lydia melted down to the floor, her heart fluttering with emotion. Lying on her back, she pushed her head against the baseboard of the wall and watched as leaves trickled down like confetti in her upside down world. He was trying to save her tree, she thought as she followed the leaves upside down through the sky. And a small part of Lydia hoped that he was trying to save the tree for her.

  * * * *

  Through the morning haze of her slumber, Lydia heard a soft rap against her bedroom window. She had been dreaming about running along the beach, indulging in the warm squishy sand as it squeezed through her toes. It was a wonderful dream. The sky was blue. The sand was white. And Lydia was wearing a gold summer dress.

  Goldie. Goldie. Goldie, she heard the voice say, followed by a tap, tap, tap against her window pane.

  Lydia had not left her house in over two weeks—except in her dreams. Now, she awoke from the blissful freedom of running along the beach to the menacing form of a hulky man lurking behind the sheer white curtains of her bedroom window.

  Lydia shot up and screamed.

  “Jesus Christ—” he cursed. “What a set of pipes.”

  “Whoever you are, you better get out of here, before I call the police!” she warned.

  “I thought we moved past that yesterday—”

  Lydia paused, blinking over and over, unable to distinguish between the sharp rays of dawn and the surreal blur of reality. “Bruno?” she heard herself say.

  She gathered blankets over her pajamas and swiped back the sheer curtains. There was Bruno, grinning back at her like a Cheshire cat, perched atop a tree branch running parallel along the wooden frame of Lydia’s house.

  “Good morning, Goldilocks,” he said, his voice muted through the window pane. “I figured since you didn’t want to go out for coffee, I’d bring it to you.”

  Bruno nodded to the styrofoam cup of Dunken Donuts coffee—a bribe to open the window. But for Lydia, it was more than a bribe. It was an unbearable temptation. She lusted for Dunken Donuts coffee—with its hardy flavor and deep roasted scent. Normally, Lydia hated cookie-cutter franchises that fueled the overblown consumerism of the outside world, and she intentionally avoided anything that contributed to modern society’s addiction to materialism. But Dunken Donuts coffee was Lydia’s singular weakness. It was the one thing that tempted her to venture out of her house—at least twice a month—and it was the one thing that persuaded her to open her window for Bruno now.

  The breeze wafted the bitter aroma into her bedroom. Suddenly, Lydia forgot she was in her pajamas, and instead, she reached out for the styrofoam cup like she was a child reaching out for a lost toy. Bruno passed it off to Lydia, and he watched as she slurped down the drink, its steam misting her china doll cheeks. And for a brief moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world—fresh coffee in bed, served through her bedroom window by an unfamiliar man in a tree.

  “I love Dunken Donuts coffee,” she whispered, swallowing a heavy gulp before wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

  “I can see that,” Bruno grinned.

  Lydia glanced down; Bruno was perched, thirty-feet in the air. The heavy tree branch jetted out from the trunk like a canon, and there was nothing but sky above and grass below. “How did you get it up here?”

  “One of my many hidden talents.” Bruno sat down and crossed his boots at his ankles, wagging his feet back and forth, enjoying the freedom of time and space. Unhooked from his safety harness, he was completely unencumbered. Lydia glanced over at his orange rigging lines. Their slack draped down in vertical loops against the tree trunk, but the binders and pulleys remained camouflaged by the canopy of leaves.

  “You shouldn’t take so many risks,” she said. “You could get hurt.”

  “And you should take more risks. You might not get hurt.”

  Bruno smiled with sly delight. He was clearly making fun of her, but this time, Lydia didn’t seem to mind. Bruno watched her take another swig of her coffee, and gauged her temperament.

  “So…what do you think about lunch later?”

  Lydia pulled the coffee from her lips, and handed it back to him. “No, thank you.”

  “Oh, come on,” Bruno moaned. “Keep the coffee, please. And don’t play so hard to get. It’s just lunch.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “Why? Your boyfriend won’t mind…” Bruno was both joking and testing her.

  “That’s not the reason. I don’t leave the house.”

  Bruno looked at her sidelong, wondering if she was serious. His heart-shaped chin shifted towards the sunlight. Lydia caught her reflection in his sunglasses. She looked thin and pale, more so than she realized, and she suddenly felt ashamed.

  “You don’t leave the house?” He cracked his gum. She was playing hard to get.

  “That’s correct.”

  “What if there’s a fire?”

  Lydia stared at him, blankly. Then, she realized he was doing it again—making fun of her—and she quickly moved to shut the window.

  “Ah, come on, come on….” Bruno’s strong hand wedged itself under the window frame. “I’m just playing, that’s all. Don’t be like that.”

  Lydia pulled away, drawing herself back into her bedroom. She could list all the reasons why she never left the house—starting all the way back in seventh grade when she let Bryan Black go up her shirt in the back of the bus and he mocked her for wearing a training bra—and ending two weeks ago, the last time Lydia left her house and almost got run over by a UPS truck that jumped the curb when it made a narrow right turn. Outside, everything was painfully unpredictable, including Lydia’s own emotions. But inside—Lydia was safe.

  “Okay, no really…. Tell me. Why don’t you leave the house?” Bruno sipped his coffee and wagged his boots. He gazed at her with sincere curiosity and compassion.

  Still, Lydia knew Bruno wouldn’t understand. Someone like Bruno didn’t have inhibitions or insecurities, much less neurotic phobias reinforced over a lifetime. Instead, he was bold and rebellious, as if he thrived on living his life beyond fear.

  “Because I’m not like you.” It was the only thing she had the strength to say.

  “Well, is that all?” Bruno countered, lifting himself up to his feet. He teetered along the tree branch like it was a balance beam. “You mean, you’re not handsome, charming, and exceedingly interested in girls who never leave their house?”

  “I was going to say, ‘reckless.’” Lydia betrayed a wicked smile.

  “Touché, Goldie. Touché,” Bruno quipped, raising up one foot. “But I know you’re not the timid wallflower you pretend to be. That sassy tongue of yours proves it. You might be able to fool yourself. But you’re not fooling me.”

  Lydia crossed her arms, annoyed. She didn’t appreciate being psychoanalyzed by a strange man she barely knew, much less a reckless dare-devil—even if there was a chance that he was right.

  “Why do you talk to people who don’t want to talk to you?”

  Bruno downed the remainder of his coffee and handed his cup to her. “Because they talk back.”

  Lydia’s pouting lips melted into a smile. It was impossible to deny Bruno’s sarcastic grim and salty asides. Everything came so easily to him. Every action was spontaneous. Every bit of conversation was improvised. There was no shame or fear because there were no expectations of success or failure. There was only the present moment, and Bruno’s unruly desire to challenge that moment without regards for the consequences. It was hard for Lydia to hide her smile because it was hard to betray her admiration for a man who refused to accept any boundaries, much less the boundaries she had placed on herself.

  Bruno skipped along the tree branch, like a squirrel bouncing along with merriment. “Well, enjoy the coffee, Goldilocks. I’m off to work now. Got some more tree-murdering to do. But I’ll be back tonight.”

  “Tonight?”<
br />
  He stopped and glanced back at her. “Yeah, tonight.”

  “Why tonight?”

  “For our date,” Bruno grinned. “Make sure you dress comfortably.” Bruno threw on his aviator sunglasses and popped a fresh stick of gum into his mouth.

  “I’m not going out with you, Bruno,” she insisted. But there was hesitation in her voice, and they both heard it.

  “We’ll see about that, Goldie,” he nodded at her blushing cheeks which betrayed the complicated emotions swelling in her heart. “Remember—comfortable. But maybe not teddy- bear pajamas, okay?”

  Lydia glanced down at her pajama top with red hearts and teddy bear cartoons. Normally, a bruising comment like that would have forced Lydia to cower back into her house, paralyzed for weeks under the crushing weight of self-loathing and humiliation. But not this time. This time, she discerned the flirtatious tease in Bruno’s voice and recognized the mischievous glint across his sunglasses as he lifted his chin and tossed her a playful glance.

  “I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock.” Bruno didn’t wait for her protest. Instead, he shimmed upwards into the tree, disappearing into the maze of branches, and left Lydia to sort out the pang of adrenaline that soared through her body at the thought of going out of her house, much less on a date with Bruno.

  Lydia pulled her window shut, determined to seal it forever. But it was impossible to deny the wave of courage and excitement that coursed through her heart and inflated her self-confidence like a balloon. Suddenly, she stripped off her pajamas and stared at her naked body in her dressing mirror, searching out the part of her that she had tamed, suppressed, and repressed for so long that she barely believed it existed anymore. Now, in the mercurial reflection of glass and light, it all seemed so clear. Lydia did not see her pale face, boney body, and stringy bronze hair. Instead, she only recognized her spirit. And in this moment, it was fearless.

  * * * *

  Moonlight echoed through Lydia’s sheer curtains like a pale ghost, whispering her name between the silence of light and darkness and tempting her into the unknown. There was a knock at her window. She knew it was him. She had been waiting for him the whole day with a flutter in her heart and a constriction in her chest—an anxious swirl of nervous energy and breathless anticipation. Lydia drew back the curtains and lifted open the window. The cool air kissed her cheeks, and she smiled without trying. Bruno smiled back.

  “I thought you were going to stand me up.”

  Lydia shrugged. “I’m trying not to play so hard to get.”

  “Well, I can see you’re at least following directions.”

  Bruno winked and nodded at her clothes. Lydia had spent the entire afternoon, rearranging her closet, mixing and matching her wardrobe options. As an agoraphobic who rarely left her house, her clothing options were less than scintillating. But Bruno was right; she did follow instructions. She picked her most comfortable outfit: a hooded sweat shirt and matching sweat pants, made from aqua marine velour that shimmered like a dark emerald under the lunar light.

  Bruno balanced on the tree branch; his climbing boots secured his footing with confidence. He was wearing the same clothes he always wore, except now, his army green jump suit looked brown under the shadows and his red bandana was distorted purple by the starlight. The harvest moon sliced through the tree’s canopy like a searchlight and cut across Bruno’s heart-shaped faced. Without his sunglasses, his eyes twinkled at her—even in the darkness—and his smile was the same—wry, witty, inviting her to come outside and play. He thrust up the window pane, jamming it deep into its frame. It was as if he was rescuing her from a castle into which she had locked herself away for years and years, and no one had remembered the whereabouts of the key—not even Lydia. It had become a prison of her own making. But now, she was being rescued by a handsome man in the moonlight, and Lydia suddenly forgot how or why it seemed so important for her to remain trapped there.

  With the inertia of one swift motion, Bruno grabbed Lydia’s hand, and towed her out the window and onto the tree branch. The open air consumed her and the brisk wind penetrated her velour sweats. It nipped her knees and elbows, and made Lydia’s balance waiver. She held onto Bruno. He held onto her. His confidence gave her confidence. She steadied herself and wrapped her fingers around his strong arms for security. She looked up into his soft eyes rather than down into the dark abyss of vertigo below them. Nothing made Bruno falter—not the wind, nor the darkness, nor Lydia’s own missteps as he guided her along the heavy branch towards the tree’s trunk. He balanced two steps backwards for every one step she took forwards. Every inch felt like slow motion, a whimsical dream in which Lydia made a deliberate decision to turn away from the certainty of security and into spontaneity of the unknown.

  Bruno drew her forward and into his arms. With giddy laughter, they both embraced the tree’s trunk. Home base. It was a sweet victory and they knew it. The rough bark imprinted Lydia’s palms and her exhaling breath wafted through the cold night air. She peered up at Bruno and he gazed back at her.

  “If you enjoyed that, Goldie, wait until we get to the actual date.” He nodded up to his harness and rigging equipment.

  “You’re tying me up in that?”

  “Well,” Bruno paused. “I wasn’t going to put it that way, exactly. But since you said it, not me… Yeah, that’s the plan.”

  Bruno loosened the rigging lines through the binders and shimmed the harness down from the canopy of leaves.

  Lydia suddenly felt a wave of panic in her chest. It was one thing to be out on a limb—literally—with a charismatic, adventurous stranger who made her believe that every risk she took was a risk they were taking together. But to be strapped into a harness and hoisted through the air, expected to confront and overcome her fears—alone. That was more than Lydia was ready for. She resisted his touch and slunk backwards against the trunk.

  “I can’t, I can’t,” she insisted, shivering with the howl of the wind. Her lips quivered, certain Bruno would finally realize she wasn’t the girl he wanted her to be.

  “Goldie,” he reassured with calm certainty. “Stop being afraid and step into this thing.”

  Bruno stepped towards her with a shake of the harness. If Lydia had a choice in the matter, she probably would have fainted or collapsed or hyperventilated. But Bruno gave her no choice. Before she knew it, he had cornered her against the trunk, coaxed her to lift her right foot, then her left foot into the harness. His hands worked across her body—affixing belts and tightening straps—constricting the harness over her breasts and between her legs. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the claustrophobic constriction in her throat. Instead, she concentrated on the interplay of Bruno’s certain hands, probing her shoulders and hips and initiating taunt pressure with every tug of slack. Then, it was done. Bruno tightened the final belt buckle and fastened on the master safety clip. Lydia was his possession. The only way down was going to be up.

  A thick black cloud drifted over the moon. Like an eraser over a chalkboard, everything went black. Lydia panicked and cried out for Bruno. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she clung onto him. The weight of his body was strong and steady. The firmness of his chest reassuring against her own.

  “Do you trust me?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then don’t be afraid—”

  Suddenly, his voice broke away as Lydia soared upward on her own. The black trunk rushed past her senses. The vertical velocity swooped Lydia through the tree branches towards the boundless moon and stars. Then, the rigging lines zipped silent and Lydia halted with a jolt. She heard herself cry out with involuntary laughter, reeling with terror and exhilaration as she swung through the saplings and leaves like a fairy in the tree tops. She looked above her—a mosaic of black leaves against a velvet sky. Below her—jaws of twigs and branches. In the harmony between them, she hung suspended in the darkness. As if dangling from the end of a tangled parachute, she was twisting weightless in the black
matter of outer space. Lydia searched the silence. It was midnight and there was nothing but a hush in the world. The breeze rustled the leaves like crushed newspaper and the heavy oak swayed like a creaking house. She wanted to call out to Bruno, but she knew it would be a sign that she didn’t trust him. And Lydia trusted him. For the first time in years, Lydia trusted someone she barely knew because he seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

  There was a shadow moving below her, a black panther sulking through the branches. He was coming towards her, crawling up the tree—free-style. No rigging lines. No safety clips. Just the simple act of navigating higher and higher through the maze like a fearless child with only the benefit of his own bare hands. When he reached her dangling feet, he reached out, untied the laces of her tennis shoes, and slipped them off. They dropped from her ankles like lead weights, crashing through a clamor of shattering twigs and tearing leaves. She felt herself ascend higher, inflated like a helium balloon. Next, Bruno peeled off her socks, tiny white slippers of cotton, accented with a pink ball at their heels. Lydia’s bare feet absorbed the cool air and his warm hands cupped around them.

  “Is it too cold?”

  “No, I don’t mind.” Lydia whispered back.

  His palms rubbed up and down her soles, generating heat beneath her feet. He was a murky shadow, perched just below her, but his warm hands and nimble fingers reminded her that, in spite of the darkness, there was a physical connection fueling the way he caressed her arches and massaged her heels. Suddenly, she felt his hot breath linger over her feet, followed by the wetness of his lips, suckling her pinky toe. His tongue melted between it like velvet sand, and the suction of his mouth tugged like a flirtatious tease. Lydia jerked her foot backwards and cried out with laughter, twisting her in the swing. But Bruno steadied himself and secured her ankle, sucking her toes—harder. Lydia had never had her toes sucked before, and only an hour ago, she was certain that she would have denied the possibility of enjoying it—until now. The tingling sensation sent a shiver of excitement up her shin and between her inner thighs. It was the last thing that Lydia expected—to be the object of Bruno’s spontaneous display of affection—and she wanted more…