Control Freak (Second Shots Book 1)

by Ana Novak

  “Okay. Don’t worry. I can be there in twenty minutes.” I heard rustling. “Do you know what size the valve is?”

  “No.”

  “Go look. It might be printed on the valve itself.”

  I went back to the kitchen and fished the broken valve out from under the sink. “It says one half inch on the top. And three eighths.”

  “Is it a straight valve or a stop valve?”

  “I- I don’t know what either of those are.”

  “Does it have a hole where you can hook in another line, or just the valve handle to stop the water?”

  I looked down at the hunk of metal in my hands. “I think it’s just to stop the water. I don’t see any holes.”

  “I’ll be right there. Hang on, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling immensely relieved.

  I went back to the bathroom and got my stack of emergency towels, then replaced the hand towel that I’d stuffed in the broken pipe. It was completely soaked now, and I made even more of a mess before I managed to get the second towel in place.

  By the time Axel knocked on my door, I’d gone through all but one towel in the apartment and was determinedly sponging up water and squeezing it out into the mop bucket.

  “Hey, neighbor,” he said with a wide grin when I opened the door for him.

  “This is the worst day of my life,” I wailed, knowing I looked like a drowned rat and not particularly caring.

  “I’m about to make it so much better.” He moved past me, heading for the kitchen without even asking. He carried a messenger bag over one shoulder and set it on the counter, pulling out tools and what might have been a new shutoff valve.

  “Where did you get all this?” I asked, impressed. “Do you have a side gig as a plumber that I didn’t know about?”

  He was already kneeling down and half-in the cabinet. “I’m friends with the super in my building,” he answered, and his voice was slightly muffled. “Also, I tagged along with my best friend’s dad a lot growing up. My mom’s pretty hopeless at DIY, so I had to learn from somebody.”

  “Your dad wasn’t handy?” I said, thinking of my father. I couldn’t imagine him getting his hands dirty. He probably had five plumbers on speed dial.

  “Single mom.” Axel’s tone was pleasant but his reply was short, and I fell silent, not wanting to distract him.

  I busied myself with mopping up the water as best I could, and went to empty the bucket in the bathroom. I brought my last towel to the kitchen for Axel.

  “Shoot me that valve, would you?” he asked, holding out a hand from under the sink. “I’ve got the broken part off now. Let’s hope this fits.”

  I handed him the valve, and listened hopefully as he struggled to attach it against the force of the pouring water.

  This was absolutely one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for me. I’d only met this guy twice, and the second time Shane had been less than cordial to him, but here he was, fixing my kitchen sink on Thanksgiving morning.

  The water sound stopped suddenly, and I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying not to get too excited.

  “Got it,” he said, and I jumped up and down with a squeal, nearly losing my footing on the slippery floor. I held out the towel as he carefully extricated himself from beneath the sink, and he accepted it from me, grinning at my excitement.

  “I can’t believe you did this,” I babbled, dangerously close to tears. “You are the nicest guy on the planet. I’m not even kidding right now. This is incredible.”

  “It’s no problem, really.”

  “But it is. You barely even know me, and you just saved my butt- on Thanksgiving morning! I mean, are you doing anything for Thanksgiving? I definitely don’t want you to be alone after all this. I can’t even think of how to thank you, can I at least pay you?”

  Axel laughed and used the towel to mop water off his face. “I do have plans for Thanksgiving. I’m going to my best friend’s house. And no, you can’t pay me. You’re a friend. Friends help each other.”

  “Thank you.” On impulse, I hugged him, wet nightshirt and all. He hugged me back briefly, and then pulled away, turning toward the sink.

  “I’ve got to get home,” he said. “Let me just pack up this stuff-”

  The front door opened, and Axel and I both looked up to see Shane standing there, my spare key in his hand.

  I was suddenly aware of how close Axel and I were standing, and the fact that I was wearing a soaking wet Kanesthetix shirt over a pair of boy shorts. “Axel fixed my sink,” I said to Shane, and turned back to Axel. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.”

  He was busy repacking all the tools in his messenger bag, but he flashed me a smile and said, “Anytime. Have an awesome Thanksgiving, Taylor.” He gave me another hug, this time a more reserved one-arm embrace, and carefully made his way over the mountain of towels into the living room. “Good to see you, man. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanks for helping her out,” Shane said, shaking Axel’s hand. I could see the tension in his expression, but there was no trace of jealousy in his voice, and I felt a wave of relief.

  “See you guys later.” Axel let himself out, closing the door behind him.

  Shane turned to face me.

  “You have no reason to be upset. He did me a huge favor,” I said cautiously.

  Shane sighed. “I know,” he said, and shoved the key into his pocket before he moved to stand at the edge of the kitchen. “He’s a good guy. Doesn’t mean I can’t be jealous. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “I didn’t hear it ring.” I looked around, not seeing my phone anywhere. “I must have left it somewhere. In the bathroom, maybe.”

  “Is everything fixed? It’s all good?” Shane stepped onto a pile of towels and bent over, looking underneath the sink.

  “Yeah. He got everything. I really need to shower, though,” I said, and ran a hand self-consciously over my hair.

  “Go ahead. I’ll clean this up,” he said, looking around at the towels scattered all over the floor.

  “I used all my towels,” I moaned, realizing it for the first time. “They’re all soaking wet now. I don’t even have any hand towels left.”

  Shane rubbed the back of his hand across his jaw, sounding almost like he was covering a cough. It took me a minute to realize he was laughing at me. “Hey,” I said accusingly. “I’ve had a really lousy morning. Don’t laugh at my pain.”

  That didn’t stop him, and I smacked him with the wet towel that Axel had left behind. “I can’t believe you!” I turned to stomp into the bedroom, but the towel beneath my feet slipped on the wet floor and skittered right out from under me. I fell backwards, straight into Shane, who somehow managed to catch me even though he was still shaking with laughter.

  I twisted in his arms, glaring up at him, my damp hair hanging in my eyes. “Stop laughing.”

  Shane set me back on my feet, one hand firmly around my waist, and used his other hand to push the hair back from my face. He leaned down and kissed me, gently, a whisper of his lips against mine. Against my better judgment, my eyelids fluttered shut.

  “Go shower,” he said when he finally pulled back, and held up the dish towel that usually hung on the wall for decoration. “I’ll take care of this and get a Lyft.”

  Finally forcing myself out of my euphoria, I wrinkled my nose. “Sure, I’ll dry off with a dish towel. Also, I can’t believe you kissed me when I look like this.”

  “You’re fucking beautiful and you know it.” He released me, and I swayed on my feet. “Go get cleaned up.”

  I turned obediently and went to my room. The mirror over my bureau caught my eye as I was closing my door, and I groaned. My hair hung in wet clumps around my face, and there were shadows under my eyes from yesterday’s mascara. “Well, that explains everything. Shane’s obviously blind,” I said to my reflection, and went into the bathroom, where my phone was sitting on the back of the toilet, exactly where I’d left it. Hanging the tiny dish t
owel on the hook outside the shower door, I peeled off my clothes and stepped inside, turning the water on full blast.

  I made quick work of showering, being sure to thoroughly condition my hair. I didn’t have time to straighten it, so I’d have to use mousse and hope that it behaved.

  I’d planned to dress up for Thanksgiving dinner. I had picked out a red plaid skater dress that Mistral had given me from her collection. My hair was supposed to be perfectly coiffed, my makeup flawless. Obviously with Shane waiting in my kitchen and a Lyft driver on the way, perfection wasn’t going to happen.

  I put on the dress and finger-combed some mousse through my hair, praying that it would dry into curls instead of its usual frizzy waves. I pulled on a pair of black slouch boots, then rethought it and switched to the nude heels that I’d worn out to J86. I added some mascara and lip gloss and looked at myself in the mirror above my bureau. Although it was too soon to tell for sure, the prospects for my hair were not looking good.

  “That’s as good as it’s going to get,” I muttered, trying to tamp down my frustration.

  Shane knocked on the bedroom door. “How’s it going?”

  “You can come in,” I said, and he ambled inside, confident and casual.

  “Do you just roll out of bed looking that gorgeous every morning?” I asked, fidgeting with the knot at the waist of my dress. “Wait, scratch that- I’ve already seen you do it.”

  He ducked his head, blushing adorably, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a rockstar,” I told him. “By now, you should be used to girls fawning over you.”

  Shane came up behind me, sliding his arm around my waist, and I watched our reflection in the mirror in rapt fascination. His liquid dark eyes and the clean line of his close-cropped beard beneath his sharp cheekbones were perfection incarnate. He still hadn’t gotten a haircut, and his hair was still curling, toeing the line between wild and restrained. The look suited him.

  “I could get drunk just looking at you,” I said softly, reaching up to rest a hand against his cheek.

  Our eyes met in the reflection, and I watched him as he leaned down, one hand coming up to sweep my hair back, slowly, deliberately tracing his lips against the edge of my ear without breaking eye contact.

  My heart was doing handsprings in my chest, eagerly anticipating what would happen next, but at that exact moment his phone rang.

  “Shit,” he muttered, reaching down and pulling the phone out of his back pocket. “The car’s here.”

  “We were just getting to the good part,” I said, breathless like I’d just run a marathon.

  His gaze in the mirror was so dark and heated that I thought for a second he would say, “Fuck the car,” and throw me on the bed. Instead he said, “We’d better get going. We need to beat the parade traffic.”

  “Okay.”

  “Make sure you walk in front of me when we go down the stairs,” he said, and I started laughing.

  He’d reassured me that he had a fully stocked kitchen and I didn’t need to bring anything else, so I shrugged into my coat and grabbed my purse. Shane held the door for me and locked it behind us. I took his hand, recognizing the domesticity of our interactions and realizing abruptly that at some point over the past week, we had catapulted far beyond the boundaries of friends with benefits.

  The thought scared me, but it wasn’t as jarring as I would have expected. I knew that things had changed the night I came back from the girls’ weekend. We’d both crossed a line that night, but neither of us had retreated. Buckled into the backseat of the car, I stared out the window at the water below the bridge, feeling the familiar butterflies in my stomach. Before I could get myself too worked up, however, I felt Shane’s touch against my hand, and I glanced over at where our hands rested on the seat between us. He coaxed my hand over, tracing a pattern against my palm with his fingers. It was innocent, and yet somehow strangely intimate. I looked up at him to see him watching me, his expression solemn, and I wondered if he had come to the same realization I had.

  “I know I probably shouldn’t say this,” the driver spoke up, and I looked up to see him watching us in the rear view mirror, “but I love your books. I think I’ve read every single one of them at least twice.”

  There was a pause while I processed what was happening, and then Shane nudged me with his elbow. “You recognize me?” I asked dumbly, finally finding my voice.

  “You’re my favorite author,” he said, oblivious to my shock. “I’m an English major at St. John’s, and one of my professors used In the Black for a novel study my freshman year. She’s a huge fan, too. I actually- I have a copy of Pack of Lies here in the car with me. I know I shouldn’t ask, but…would you mind signing it for me?”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “I would be happy to sign anything you want,” I said, and looked over at Shane, who was grinning widely. He raised his eyebrows at me, clearly amused at my surprise, and I bit my lip, suddenly overwhelmed.

  We pulled up in front of Shane’s building in NoHo, and the driver, whose name turned out to be Emilio, hastily dug his book out from the glove box and offered it to me with a chewed ballpoint pen.

  To my new friend Emilio, I wrote, having planned for this moment just about my entire life, From a fellow fan of the written word. Love, Taylor Merrick.

  Emilio accepted the book from me like it was precious treasure, cradling it against his chest. “Thank you so much,” he said. “Would you mind- I mean, would you take a selfie with me?”

  “I can take a photo,” Shane spoke up, and held out his hand for Emilio’s phone. Emilio either didn’t recognize Shane or didn’t care, and he handed over the phone with a huge grin on his face before flinging his arms around me.

  “Oh- okay,” I said, my cheek squished up against his chest. Emilio was already mugging for the camera, and I valiantly squirmed my way to a better pose, leaving one arm around his waist after I’d regained my balance.

  “Say New York Times bestseller!” Shane announced, and it took all my self-control not to burst out laughing. “Wait, one more,” he said, and held up a finger after handing Emilio’s camera back to him. “This is going on Instagram,” he added. He pulled out his phone and snapped another pic, this one of me grinning crazily at him because he was too adorable for words.

  “Thank you so much,” Emilio said to me. “And thank you for taking the picture,” he said to Shane. “Seriously, this is the best day of my life.”

  “Mine too,” I said honestly, and gave Emilio one more hug before he dragged himself back to his car and left us.

  “Can you believe that just happened?” I asked Shane as he unlocked the front door. “That was the first time anyone’s actually recognized me!”

  “That might be the first time no one has recognized me,” Shane replied, holding the door for me. He dropped one arm over my shoulders, and I hugged him tight.

  “I kind of love your apartment building,” I said, looking around the entryway. “Does your elevator work? Because that’s fast becoming a dealbreaker for me.”

  “The elevator works,” he confirmed, and slid a key into the lock below the elevator button.

  “Gosh, I wonder when they’re going to fix the elevator in my building. I’ll probably be old and gray before it actually happens.”

  “Stay here any time you like.”

  I laughed as the elevator doors slid shut behind us. “That’ll really get the rumor mill going. The paparazzi would never leave us alone again.”

  “They’ll get over it,” he said dismissively, and I saw that he had his phone out- probably posting the picture to Instagram and fanning the fire. Remembering that I’d called a bunch of people about the plumbing issue, I pulled my phone out of my purse. There was a voicemail from Ronny. I pressed listen and lifted the phone to my ear.

  “Yo, it’s Ronny,” he said, his voice almost drowned out with the sound of people and traffic. “I got your message, but I’m at the Macy’s parade and I won’t be done for a few hours. I c
an come to your apartment as soon as I get back. Text me if you need anything else. It’s hard to hear where I am.” The voicemail ended.

  I was pleasantly surprised that he’d called me back, and on Thanksgiving, no less. I sent him a text. Thanks for calling me back, Ronny. I had a friend come over and fix the shutoff valve for me, but maybe next week you can take a look to make sure. Happy Thanksgiving.

  Happy Thanksgiving, he texted back almost immediately. OK. Sorry I didn’t answer earlier.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open in front of me.

  “Come on in,” Shane said. He stepped out of the elevator and I followed timidly. The smell of roasting turkey assaulted my senses first, and then I began to process how huge and beautiful the loft really was. My apartment was practically a matchbox compared to his. His ceilings were high and lined with gorgeous wood beams. A pool table sat to my left, a hanging beaded divider separating the game room from what was obviously the TV room, where I was standing. The entire wall behind Shane’s huge TV was brick, and a giant aquarium of cichlids sat to my right, against the wall of what looked like the dining room.

  “Why have we been spending all our time at my place?” I asked, turning in a slow circle as I surveyed the entire space. “You must think I live in the slums.”

  “No, you live in Brooklyn,” Shane said. He was already in the kitchen, which was separated from the dining room by a large island. “If you lived in NoHo, your apartment would look like this, too.” He set down a bowl of sweet potatoes and braced his hands on the counter, smiling slyly. “If you lived with me, your apartment would look exactly like this.”

  “Nice try,” I answered lightly, dropping my purse and coat on the table. I was determined not to let him get me flustered. I also could never afford to live in NoHo, but I didn’t tell him that. “Good call hosting Thanksgiving at your place. I’ll get started on the sweet potatoes.”

  Twenty minutes later, I was barefoot and giggling after a glass and a half of wine. Shane was chopping sauteed green beans, and I was carefully testing the sweet potatoes with a fork, and the conversation about the pros and cons of moving in together had turned comical. “If you lived with me, you could fix my sink any time you wanted to,” I said. “I might even break it myself once in a while just to see you on your hands and knees.”