“Yeah, sure. Just give me a second to tidy up.” Inside, I throw a box of tampons and some dirty clothes under the bed.
Then, I glance in the mirror, pinch my cheeks, and get dressed. That’s the best I can do on such short notice.
The minute he walks in, like Alice in Wonderland, the whole cottage shrinks. He’s just so big and so male, oxygen gets used up. The table scrapes on the floor as he clears the space needed for him to cross the kitchen to get to the bathroom
He ducks in and I follow. Well, sort of. Until he steps into the shower stall, there’s no room for me.
A curse comes from under his breath as he gazes up at the shower pipe.
“Is it bad?” I don’t see anything wrong, other than the fact the shower head is missing.
He frowns, scratches at his beard, then gives me a wink. “Not really. We’re just going to work harder than I first thought.”
I like how he included me. When I was a kid, my father never let me discover the secrets of manly repairs and I always wanted to know more.
Who am I kidding? The thought of spending a little more time with Slate in close quarters gives me a thrill.
I squeeze behind him, my chest pressed against his back, and look up, “What can I do to help?”
“You really want to?” Turning over his shoulder, Mr. Smells-Too-Good shoots me this sexy grin, shocking my sex into high gear.
All casual-like, I say, “Sure. I never did plumbing. It sounds ah, interesting. I should learn.”
He chuckles and moves aside. “Okay, get in front of me and look at where the shower head fell off.”
I blink a bit vapidly. If this were a movie, I’d be nominated for an academy award.
“I’m not quite tall enough.”
His warm body slides behind me, large hands grasp my waist, and he lifts until I am eye to eye with the pipes. Holy shit. A whole different piece of plumbing twitches between my legs.
“I, ah… Oh, I see. The threads are broken. It looks cracked, like half of them are missing.”
“Excellent observation, doctor.” He slides me down against his chest until my toes hit the drain in the center.
“Ah, now what?” I don’t dare move because if I turn around, we’ll be in a lover’s embrace and although my hormones are raging, a few synapses are still firing.
His breath warms my neck, lips just shy of my ears. “We could tear out the whole shower, the wall, and replace the pipe. OR, we saw off the broken piece and rethread it.” I turn to see if he’s kidding me.
“You can do that?”
“No, you can.”
I never sawed-off anything in my life, not even the bottom of a Christmas tree. At the mention of a saw, a vision of the severed hand comes to mind but I refuse to go there. Instead, I focus on the man who’s trying to seduce me with his tools.
The most flirtatious smile ever is glued to my face. “Just tell me what to do.”
“What would you do if I wasn’t here?” He takes this teacher-like pose, hands on his hips.
“I don’t know… get clean without a shower head? It is possible, you know. Just step under and-”
“Okay, pretend it was something more important. Let’s look it up on YouTube.” In two steps, he’s out of the bathroom and staring at my laptop on the kitchen table.
“I got this.” I shove him aside with my hip and take over the keyboard.
There’s cats in showers, a guy singing O Solo Mio, and a plumber with a huge butt crack which breaks us into hysterics. Finally, I find what we’re looking for and open the video while Slate explains what to do in a little more detail.
“Are you ready?” Taking my hand, he leads me into the shower as his eyes glance into my bedroom.
“Yeah, sure, okay.” I can’t help but remember his thick cock the night we met.
Squatting by his tool box, he removes a saw, plugs it in and says, “Here. Cut straight.”
With the blade tentatively to the metal, I slowly press down on the trigger. Suddenly, the whole pipe vibrates like hell so I stop real fast.
A warm laugh comes from deep within his chest as he climbs into the stall behind me. His arms reach around mine and strong biceps press into my shoulders.
“Try again." Fists grip the pipe on either side of the blade.
With the metal a whole lot steadier than my nerves, I’m able to get a clean cut. “This is so cool.”
He chuckles as he leans over to search through his tool box. When his shirt slips up his back, I pull it down, unable to resist touching him there.
All movement in the small bathroom stops, the only sound his breath. Then, he turns, all smiles, as if the electricity between us never happened.
He pulls out this small black square, walks to the pipe, and carves a groove. “Now you.”
I hesitate.
“Don’t get shy on me now.” His tone says we’re still friends but his nostrils flair when I slide in front of him and take the tool from his hand.
While I mimic his action, a warm, rough hand works its way under my t-shirt making it hard to concentrate.
“Now this.” The pipe gets wrapped in soft plastic that comes in a roll like medical tape.
“Voila!” When I finish screwing in the new shower head, I turn into his chest.
His lips are waiting, inches from mine. Confused, I smooth a tiny crease between his brows. Should we do this? Risk getting hurt? I haven’t made love since ‘The Incident.’ If I let this move forward, we’ll eventually end up in bed and that’s not fair to him.
These feelings evaporate when his lips meet mine. His beard, which I thought would be prickly, is surprisingly soft against my cheek. He tastes of spearmint and something so damn good, I want more. My palms rest on the hard muscles of his waist while his fingers dig into my hair.
I don’t dare press my pelvis into him and yet I do. I’m not ready to take this to the bedroom and apparently, neither is he. He seems content to just kiss me in the shower stall forever.
When he presses with his tongue, I open.
He groans and steps back. Dilated brown eyes imprison me, capturing my gaze. Then, his eyes close as if in pain and he rubs his hand across his beard. “Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Dammit. Why do I do this? Why do I even try? Obviously, he’s not into me.
“No, no. I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s me.”
“Why the hell would you say that? I kissed you.” The shower stall is way too small to have this conversation so I scoot around him to the safety of the far side of the kitchen table.
“I send out wrong vibes.” Shit. I don’t want him to think of me as desperate.
He frowns. “I’m ah, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Chapter 9
Slate
I send out wrong vibes?
What the hell? Obviously, she’s nowhere as into me as I thought.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I was doing so damn good but then I had to go and kiss her. As Special Ops, I’ve flown into some of the most dangerous zones on the planet but couldn’t resist kissing a college med student?
Dammit. She works for me. She’s staying at my house and is one of Mel’s girls. For crying out loud, what the fuck is wrong with me? With her?
I follow her into the kitchen where she’s created a barrier out of the kitchen table. I already apologized so there’s nothing else I can do but pack up my tools and give her the space she needs.
My stomach growls and I realize it’s close to lunch but don’t want her eating Ramen. My plan was, after we finished with the plumbing, I’d take her out casual-like, maybe burger and fries. I wasn’t supposed to linger on her lips, drown in her beautiful eyes, and think of getting into her pants.
But my God, once her lips latched onto mine, I lost it. She melted under my touch and her hands shook as they slid to my waist. When her fingers pulled at the hem of my shirt, I wanted more, a lot more. I could’ve taken it further but not until we talk about why
she’s in Mel’s group. That kind of shit is serious and needs to be discussed before we fuck. I don’t want to make her trauma worse.
I promised myself to go slow. I don’t know what it is about her but she gets to me. She’s woken a part of me I thought died with my wife and kid. It scares the fucking b’jesus out of me. I never wanted to be vulnerable again and yet here I am.
As I slowly pack my tools, she fidgets in the kitchen. The faucet goes on and she puts a kettle on the stove. “Coffee? Sorry, all I got is instant.”
She’s full of surprises. I thought for sure she’d be waiting with the door open, tapping her toes impatiently on the tile floor. “I’d love to…”
Dog howls mournfully from the main house.
“Oh no. What’s wrong?” Her eyes go up to the deck all concerned for the damned dog.
What about me? I could whine just about now, too.
I shrug, trying to look a lot calmer than I feel. “Not sure. Sometimes he doesn’t like to be alone. He’s still pretty young and when I found him, he wasn’t in all that good shape.”
“Poor thing. Go and see to him, okay?” She smiles and my fucking heart cracks open a bit more.
“We good?” I hold my breath.
“Yeah, sure.” She blushes. “I’m really sorry.”
“Damnit. Don’t apologize.”
Shit. I sound angry, even to me, and she looks hurt. Now I remember why I don’t do relationships. I suck at it. “You’ll be up in a few to walk him?”
“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
I don’t know, maybe because your boss just kissed you and you didn’t really want it? Silently cursing myself out, I head back to the house, put my tools in the workshop, and feed Dog.
Generally, I don’t work out my issues with alcohol but today I break that rule and have a few beers. By the time she knocks on the door, I’ve mellowed out a little. Something about having her too close puts my every nerve on fire.
“Finish your noodles?” I’m tired of pretending to not know the woman can’t buy a decent meal.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Have you been spying on me?”
“I don’t need to spy. You opened your cupboards last night. That’s all you got.”
“You do realize I’m a grown woman.” That cute damn chin juts outs, dark eyes sparking with fire.
“Oh, hell yeah, I realize that.” I throw my bottle across the room and it lands directly in the recycle bin.
Score!
“Have you been drinking?”
“I had a couple of beers in my own home, in my kitchen, and I’m not driving.” I glare and Dog barks at both of us, apparently picking up on the vibe.
She sighs and mutters something about being thankful she stopped the kiss which is bullshit because I stopped, not her.
I yell at her as she exits via the front door. “And from now on I am paying you a God-damned salary, starting tomorrow! No more fucking noodles!”
“Fine! C’mon Buster.”
“You can’t call him that. His name is Dog.”
“You said yourself, it’s a stupid name. It doesn’t matter.”
I’d say more but she’s plugged in her headphones and is halfway down the stairs. Fucking women, always needing to get in the last word. I grab another beer, turn on the game but the Yankees are losing and it’s pissing me off.
I don’t have a lot of people I like to talk to, so I call my boss. Maybe it’s not such a good idea but we’re tight. Besides, he’s more than just my employer, he’s my best friend. I took a bullet for him in the Bahamas.
“Slate, you slacker. How the hell are you?” Grayson answers before I even hear it ring on my end.
“Fine. You got a second?”
“Sure. Give me five and I’ll call you right back. You okay?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
We hang up and when he calls, I’m on my fourth beer, heating a hamburger in the microwave.
I can picture him in his home office, his feet up on his desk. In the background, his daughter Skye is fussing while his wife sings some kind of lullaby. My heart gets all heavy thinking of the baby I lost.
“Is this a bad time?” I envy what he has. Not his money, mind you, but the wife, kid, and white picket fence.
“Skye is teething.” He sighs. “I’m sure you didn’t call to check on my domestic life. When are you going to stop lazing around and do some work?”
“The guy I sent isn’t good?”
“Seems competent but you know that’s not what I’m getting at. I miss you, you fucking dirtbag.”
I laugh. “A couple of stitches pulled out the other day but I’m healing fast. I just need a few more weeks.”
“You aren’t quitting, right?”
“I’ve been thinking, maybe you don’t need me glued to your ass twenty-four-seven. After we get this new guy fully trained, maybe I can work on expanding guys like me into a business, a service you can offer.”
Grayson didn’t get to be a billionaire by hesitating when he hears an opportunity. “Send me your numbers and we’ll figure this out.”
“That’s it?”
“What? You want me to say no? It’s a fucking great idea. I didn’t figure you’d spend your whole life as my personal nanny.”
I laugh, unable to think of a good comeback. “Maybe I should talk to your wife for a sec.”
“My wife? If you’re thinking of hitting on her, you should know she’s expecting.”
“Damn boss. You work fast. Skye is what? Six months?”
“Seven. Izzy’s got some kind of ticking clock she says we need to deal with.”
“If your second is like my godchild, it’s more like a time bomb but congratulations.” I picture Lilac pregnant with my kid and quickly shake my head to remove the image. I am moving way too fast. Lilac didn’t even like my kiss which reminds me of why I called.
“Speaking of women, I need a bit of advice…” I crack open another beer.
“Shoot.”
“Bad choice of words to a guy with a hole in his shoulder.” I stack two bottles on top of each other and start to balance a third.
He chuckles. “Agreed. Forgive me all to fuck. Please proceed.”
I try placing the glass on glass again. I’m sure I could do it when I was deployed. “Did your wife tell you I found a dog?’
“Nooo… What has this got to do with women?”
“Hold on, I’m getting there. A sheepdog showed up at my place with a gunshot wound so I stitched him up and kept him. I don’t want to send him home until I have a chance to talk to his owner. I still haven’t found him yet, which is odd. Usually people start posting on Facebook and put up flyers but I got zip. But, wait. that’s not why I called, either. I asked your wife to help me find a dog walker. I want to talk to her about Lilac.
“Lila?”
“No, Lilac, with a c.”
“She pretty?”
“Fuck, yeah.” I start tearing the label off one of my beer bottles with a thumbnail.
“She single?”
“Uh-huh.” More paper comes off and I get real serious about the endeavor, scraping now with the cap.
“She into you?”
“Think so.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“She’s one of Mel’s girls.”
Grayson blows out a long breath. “You sure?”
“Yeah, Jack recognized the name.”
“You sure you want to do this? There’s a lot of women out there, bud, with a lot less baggage.”
“Fuck. I know. But she gets to me, you know. There’s something about her fucking eyes or some shit that just bores a hole into my gut and I’m like all messed up. Anyhow, I kissed her.”
“And?”
Pleased with how the front label came off, I start scraping the back in strips. “She retreated, so did I. Now, I’m in limbo. Don’t know what the hell to do.”
“Wait. Did she pull away first or you?”
I try to recall
but my mind was all wrapped up in not taking things too far because all I wanted to do was pull her into the bedroom and see where it’d go. “I guess it was mutual. Shit. I’m no good at this.”
“You’re thinking too much. What happened then?”
“I apologized.” I am officially the fucking king of label scrapers.
He starts laughing hysterically. “Google it. Women have rules, secret languages, man. You got to learn them.”
Suddenly, I’m all ears. “Fuck. What the hell does that even mean?”
“Let me check online.” There’s some silence, some clicking, and I hear him shout at Izzy but can’t make out her response.
“The consensus is, an apology means you’re either very polite, not into her, or think it’s too soon.”
“Well, hell. I guess the third could be true.” Relieved, I start working on another label.
“Isabella says Lilac probably is thinking number two, pal.”
“That could explain it. Thanks. I got this.”
“Will I see you at the game?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Get ready to lose.” I love playing cards with my inheritance knowing how it pisses the hell out of my grandmother. Unfortunately, I often win.
“Fat chance.”
“Don’t let Chance hear you say that.”
“Ha. He’s bringing his brother, Andy. Forget it. That lawyer is a shark. Neither of us is going to win.”
“See you. Say hi to Izzy. I’ll be over for Sunday barbeque, maybe I’ll bring Lilac.”
“Good luck with that.” He snickers and hangs up.
I sit and Google when you apologize for kissing a woman and confirm what they just said. Damn, I need to get a whole lot better at this relationship thing. Discouraged, I change my searching to look for Dog’s owner. If he shot the poor little bugger, I will kick his ass.
I get a bad feeling when I find all these dogs missing in my neighborhood. Curious, I take a jog to the local shelter. When I get back, the tops of my ears itch like when someone was gunning for me in Afghanistan. I make a virtual montage from the pictures, writing the dates they went missing on top.
Dammit. A whole lot of big white dogs disappeared about the same time the pup showed up on my doorstep. It can’t be a coincidence.
Slate Page 5
