Dirty Talk

by Lauren Landish

  “Looks like a refugee from the seventies,” Caleb comments. “Lime green? Fuck, that’s horrible.”

  “The whole place will need new flooring, but there’s a hidden jewel underneath,” I say. “I know for a fact that underneath the bad carpet in the rest of the house is real black walnut flooring. Sand it down and refinish it, and boom!”

  “Black walnut flooring covered with carpet?” Oliver says wonderingly. “If it’s still good, that could be helpful. Still, what are the costs involved?”

  I give him a rundown of the costs, showing him the Excel spreadsheet I worked up. Of course I don’t have exact numbers, but it’s a start. “Given the recent sale prices of properties in the area, I’d say the top price we could get on the sale is maybe three hundred thousand if we get an upswing in the area.”

  Oliver nods and looks over the spreadsheet some more before sitting back and tapping at his lip thoughtfully. “I’m going to be honest with you, Cassie. I admire the enthusiasm, and you know I appreciate your eye for visualizing what this house could be. And it could be beautiful. I see the outside of the house and I see what you mean. But look at the numbers. That’s pretty tight profits. I’m not sure it’s something I want to take on right now when we have higher-percentage investments on the books.”

  I shake my head, fire burning deep in my heart as I click back to the pictures. “I knew you’d be looking for higher-margin investments, and I have another we can talk later about too. But I can do this. I found it, researched it, and have outlined the project. I want to do it all, start to finish, and show you what I’m capable of. I obviously can’t afford it on my own, but I do have enough for the down payment, so I’ll have a stake in it. Just give me a chance, please?”

  Caleb laughs lightly. “Think you’re ready to fly solo, baby bird? I could push you out of the nest myself if you want.” He gets up and reaches out with his long muscular arm to push me in the shoulder, but I hop to the side. He goes to follow but freezes when he sees the look in my eyes. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? What’s got you so fired up about this place in particular? By the time you get your profit, you’d probably have made more slinging frappes downstairs considering the number of hours it’s going to require.”

  Oliver nods in agreement. “I don’t think so, Cassie. You might be ready, and I’m willing to let you try. But it’s not this project. Don’t you want a sure thing your first time out?”

  I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest and putting on what I hope is my most stubborn look, although I’ve been told it looks pouty. I can’t help it. I have a natural worry line that looks cute, dammit! “Nope, I want this one.” I look from Oliver to Caleb and back, both of whom look less than impressed. “Look, it’s my house. The one I grew up in. I want to fix it up, make it pretty and functional so it gets the family it always deserved. Right now, it’s going to rot. I need to do this. I know that puts me starting off on the wrong foot. I know I’m using my emotions more than my brain on this, but that house deserves better than what’s happening to it now. I’ll put in work myself, elbow grease and sweat and blood and whatever else it needs. Please.”

  Oli looks at Caleb, who looks back. Both of them are definitely surprised by the vehemence in my voice. I know I’m sounding a little whacked over this, and yeah, I’m breaking rule number one of property investment, which is you make decisions with your calculator, not with your heart. I’m normally a perky upbeat smartass, so I’m sure this is a shock. But seeing 614 Douglas, I have to do this. Because there’s more than just good memories there. There are bad ones too, bad memories that aren’t the house’s fault, and I want to exorcise those demons from the house and from my soul. I want to sweep them away, leaving behind just the little seedling that’s in the bottom of my heart.

  Oliver looks at Caleb again, then at me. “Caleb? How much time can you clear over the next two months on your schedule?”

  Caleb

  At Oliver’s question, I knew the inevitability of the situation. It was like watching fate at work. After Cassie’s pleading, he had to give in. I got the call while I was at the Portnoys’, cleaning up from painting their fence before heading over to the Roberts house to take care of her garage roof, where her son had somehow put a croquet ball through the roof.

  Of course Oliver had his misgivings, he told me. He still made it clear that it was a risky investment, but he’d do it for her if she got it at the right price. And since I’m the handyman he trusts, he wants me to at least give her a heads-up on what all this place needs. So here I am, driving to meet her at her childhood home.

  Normally, I’d be calling it a day and heading home by this point, two fat checks and a nice wad of cash in my pocket and nothing on my mind but grabbing a shower. Instead, I’m driving all the way into the next county to meet Cassie and the homeowner to do a quick walkthrough.

  Pulling up, I can see the sun setting behind the house and it does look nice. Of course, that’s probably because it’s mostly in shadow and you can’t see the porch hanging on by a thread that was readily obvious in the pictures this morning. Cassie’s memories are seriously giving her rose-tinted goggles on this, I suspect, but I’ll do my best to help her out.

  I pull around back to the dooryard and see a backyard that’s half jungle, half fire ant hill, and I cringe some more. The pecan trees are nice, though. I can see Cassie and an older man standing inside. Parking my truck, I walk to the door, carefully stepping over the suspicious-looking steps on the way up. It looks like more than the front porch will have to be replaced.

  Opening the screen, I step inside. Cassie stops mid-sentence and stares at me, her mouth half hanging open in surprise. I realize that I might be a little unsightly after a day of work. I’m sure my hair is messy from running my fingers through it, my shirt has been wet then dried multiple times today—and it probably smells like a locker room—and my hands are still dirty from the roofing patch. Figuring I’d better start off on the right foot since she’s with the owner, I hold my smartass comment about rendering her speechless and put an embarrassed smile on my face. Besides, he knows why I’m here. I don’t need to be freshly shaven and wearing a suit.

  “Hey, Cassie, sorry I’m late. Just finished up for the day and got here as fast as I could.” To the man, who doesn’t look that put-out at all, I give a respectful nod. “I’d offer my hand, sir, but you probably don’t want it. I’m Caleb Strong. I contract with Steele Solutions.”

  Cassie still hasn’t said a word, and I wonder for an instant if I’ve somehow offended her by showing up not smelling like Head & Shoulders. The man notices it, too, and breaks the silence. “Hello, I’m Frank Wannamaker. And don’t worry, I’ve heard about you. I have a church friend who’s mentioned you—Rebecca Miller?”

  “Mrs. Miller?” I say, then smile. She’s one of my favorite clients, friendly and professional with no funny business. The four days I was repairing her wall, I got lunch and ice cold tea almost every hour. “I hope her wall’s doing well. Laying stone is an interesting challenge compared to brick.”

  Finally, after an awkward moment, Cassie shakes her head and returns to her speech. She’s apparently discussing comp values and the sales price he’s asking. I can quickly tell that Mr. Wannamaker is slightly overwhelmed but charmed at the same time. “Miss White, let’s sit down,” he finally says. “This wasn’t really my house, but my brother’s. When he decided to move down to Costa Rica to join some retirement community, I bought it off him to make sure he was taken care of. So I just want to get my money out of it.”

  Reassured that Cassie’s got Frank well under control, I raise my voice. “Excuse me, Cassie. Do you mind if I look around a bit while y’all talk? Let me get an idea of what needs done?”

  When she nods, I wander off, walking through to the kitchen. I can still hear Cassie talking and laugh to myself. She’s gonna get this house at a great price and he’s not gonna know what hit him. She’s in full-blown Cassie Charmer mode. Yeah, that’s
what she calls it when she’s in the zone. She’s mixing in giggles, little jokes, and business talk in this casual, overwhelming mix of hilarity that leaves people thinking she’s an airhead. I saw her do the same thing when I helped her out when she first moved to town and took her car shopping. She ended up driving off the lot in a car that left the salesman looking slightly stunned, and I’m sure, upset later over how much he’d let Cassie get away with.

  Somehow, though, she never makes people too mad at her about her charm. She’s just too bubbly, nice, and supposedly airheaded to ever catch blame for it. I’ve teased her about it . . . multiple times, but damn if she’s not good. She could sell ice to an Eskimo and he’d walk away feeling like he won. As I check out one of the smaller bedrooms, she walks in smiling from ear to ear. “Cass, I pulled up some of the carpet, and you’re right, the floors can be refinished, but—”

  “DONE!” Cassie says before starting to twirl and sing off-key. She’s cute as hell, but she can’t sing to save her life. “Cass gon’ give it to ya—”

  “What?” I interrupt her, throwing up my hands in a futile attempt at stopping her. “You already agreed on a price? Don’t you want to know what the reno will cost or run it by Oliver first?”

  Cassie doesn’t stop her dancing, shaking her ass in a way that has me looking at her hips, but she stops singing at least. “Nope, doesn’t matter. It’s low enough that there’s no way he’ll turn it down. I told him I grew up here with my mama and I wanted to fix it up right. Showed him the corner of the fireplace where I chipped my front tooth and the faint little lines on the doorway to the kitchen where my height is marked. He said that was ‘right nice’ and agreed to my low-ball starting offer! Already gave me the keys and said we can finish the paperwork tomorrow, but he was good with a handshake offer!”

  She continues her little celebration, grabbing my hands to try to make me dance. I’m not much of a dancer, at least not without having music, but I try my best, figuring if I don’t, she’s going to start singing again. And I can’t have that. “Watch it, I’m still dirty from working all day. I’ll get you dirty.”

  Cassie laughs, undeterred. “I don’t care. Celebrate with me!”

  “Figures you’d like to get a little dirty, wouldn’t you? Just how dirty do you like it?” I reply with a raised eyebrow and a deep voice. But it’s a joke, it’s always a joke. This is what we’ve done from the first time we met. We make crude comments, double entendres, and tease each other mercilessly. It’s been the cornerstone of our relationship. I don’t think we’ve ever really said anything serious to each other, and when we have, I’m not sure if we’re telling the truth or just joking again.

  Cassie stops, her eyes gleaming in the dim overhead light, a seductive smile on her lips that has me feeling shaky. Maybe we’ve always joked, but right this minute, with that sultry look in her eyes, I wonder if I’ve been going about this all wrong. “You don’t know the half of it. And my toys will never tell,” she says cheekily. “They’re sooo good to me.”

  The sudden image of Cassie playing with a sex toy sends another tingle through my body, and when I reply, my voice is huskier, deeper, more demanding. This time, though, I’m not joking, even if she is. “Toys? Oh, hell, you’ll have to tell me those stories . . . slowly and in detail. Come on, I’ll even buy you a celebratory dinner.”

  Caleb

  We walk outside and decide to take my truck to grab dinner. I open the door for her, because my mom raised me right, and then close her in before heading to the driver side. I open up, but as I do, the wind shifts, and I realize I’ve forgotten something. Reaching into my back bench, I grab my little ‘clean bag’ and unzip it. “At least let me put on a clean shirt.”

  “Great, I’m going to dinner with Sasquatch,” Cassie jokes. “You know, I’ve got some perfume in my purse, if you want.”

  “Not in a million years,” I say, reaching behind my neck and pulling my tee over my head. I use it to do a little wipe down over my abs and back, and then I do my pits last before grabbing a small bottle of hand sanitizer, rubbing it up my forearms and over my hands. I look up and realize that Cassie is staring at me, jaw hanging wide open. “See something you like?”

  Cassie shakes herself, seemingly mentally and physically, and grabs my shirt, tossing it at my face. “You wish. Just daydreaming about the house. Now drive!”

  I let her off the hook because she wasn’t thinking about the house. She was thinking about me. I could see it in her eyes. It makes me smile, even if I know she doesn’t really mean anything by it. We’ve been friends for a while now, to the point where we once went on a double date. That was a disaster, though, because my date instantly got jealous of my jokes with Cassie and didn’t get that we just tease each other like that. But seriously, it’s not a big deal. Slipping my clean shirt on, I throw the sweaty one at her as I climb into the truck. She squeals, as expected, and threatens to throw it out her window before tossing it behind her into the back.

  “The usual?” I ask as I crank the engine. The music starts up, and Cassie nods in approval as Disturbed comes on. It’s another thing that I like about Cassie. We both like a lot of different kinds of music so it’s easy to find something we both enjoy. She can appreciate good rock, and I’ve even seen her humming along the few times she’s heard country in my truck.

  “As if there’s any question. Now floor it. I’m getting hungry!” And with that, we head off to her favorite burger joint, a converted train boxcar with outdoor seating that’s about halfway back to town called The Little Diner That Could. Cheesy name, and thankfully, even cheesier burgers. As we pull up out front, she clucks her tongue. “You realize it’s been awhile since we’ve hit this place up?”

  “You’re the one burning the midnight oil on work stuff,” I tease.

  “And you’re the one getting hit on by women old enough to be your mom with cookies and milk,” she says, and I swear I’m going to kill Mindy or Oliver. How many other people know about my customers doing that?

  “Actually, recently, it’s been lemonade.”

  “Lemonade and chocolate chip cookies? Revolting!”

  “Peanut butter,” I protest, grimacing. Yeah, chocolate and lemonade are not a good mix at all. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  I’m glad Cassie likes her burgers because I’m fucking starving. She can put away a burger almost as fast as I can. Her only bad habit is that she dips her fries in a chocolate milkshake. Disgusting, but it’s her favorite so I just don’t watch.

  Walking into the diner, we grab our usual table in the corner where the breeze is at its strongest and wave at the waitress. A few minutes later, as we pick up our big, juicy burgers, I pause, holding it up like a drink. “And a toast—to Miss Cassie White . . . on a deal closed, on a project to be completed, on a first gig all to herself. You’re gonna kill it!”

  “And to my grunting caveman, whom I know I’m going to bug the shit out of as I get the place redone,” Cassie says, raising her burger. We bump burgers in a slight mash of bacon, cheese, bread, and beef, but that’s us. So what if it’s not champagne? I ain’t a champagne kinda guy. Burger toasts seem just about right for us.

  “So, what do you think?” Cassie says before she takes a huge bite of her burger. She’s somehow able to fit more food in her mouth than a girl her size should even attempt.

  “Your manners are still horrible,” I tease, taking advantage of the fact that she’s got so much food in her mouth she can neither blow a raspberry nor stick her tongue out at me. “If you mean the house, I think I know some ways to shave a little off the repair bill.”

  “Really?” Cassie half mumbles before swallowing. “Caleb, I appreciate that, but I don’t want to shortchange the house.”

  “It’s not shortchanging,” I say around a half mouthful of my own burger. “But there are still ways we can get better profits without hurting the renovations. I was thinking . . . you mentioned in your spiel this morning that the place will probably need new appliances,
right?”

  “Yeah,” Cassie says, dipping a fry and noshing on it open-mouthed, smiling. If her lips weren’t so damn cute, I’d be upset. As it is, I’m still disturbed. “What, you know a guy who knows a guy?”

  “Actually, we both know the guy,” I tell her. “I had to pull a water heater from one of Oliver’s properties two weeks ago. Nothing wrong with the thing. It was brand new when the old owners sold the property, but it just wasn’t big enough for a duplex. Oliver had me yank it, and I’ve got it at my place, waiting for the scrap guy. But . . .”

  “Caleb, you keep this up and I’m gonna kiss you,” Cassie says before blushing. “I mean, I’ll let you give me a back massage.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, hiding my surprise at her choice of words. “Oh, one thing, though, and this is non-negotiable.”

  “What’s that?” Cassie asks warily, taking another bite of burger. “I’m glad to pay.”

  “No, not that. If I’m going to keep my other customers happy, Oliver happy, and somehow get that house done before you’re ready to retire, it’s going to mean working weekends. And not farting around for a few hours Saturday morning and then cutting out to go shopping type of work. I mean getting down and dirty for eight hours a day on weekends. But I want you there helping, either as my assistant or as my gopher.”

  “Gopher?” Cassie asks. “Hey, I’ll have you know that the braces cured that very well!”

  I shake my head, laughing. “That’s not what I mean. I mean if there’s something you can’t really help me with, you can be ready to get me any tools I need.”

  Cassie nods. “I know what you meant. This is my first solo project, and I have money riding on this just like Oliver does. What do you think I’m going to do, sit at home while you do everything? But are you sure about working weekends? Don’t you have plans?”