Mr. Fixit

by Lauren Landish

  A few moments later, Caleb comes stalking down the aisle, his face stony. He walks up to me and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him. I fit just under his arm, my head right at his chest level like we’re a perfect match. “Hey, babe. Can’t leave you anywhere, can I?” he says, and I can’t reply. The feeling of his arm on my shoulder and the undeniable aura of his body being so close to me has me stunned. “I found those screws, and I see you’ve found a friend.”

  “Ah, yeah,” I mutter, unable to pull myself away from him. I don’t want to either. “This is . . .”

  “John,” Caleb says, staring him down for a beat after glancing at his nametag. “Thanks for the help. I’ve got this handled. Appreciate your expertise.” I can’t help but notice the hint of sarcasm to his tone.

  Before John can say anything, Caleb lets go of me and grabs the dolly, pushing it with one hand and interlocking his fingers on the other with mine. Paying quickly, we get outside, load up the truck, and climb in. As soon as he starts the truck, I turn in the seat, bringing a knee up to my chest. “What was that about?”

  Caleb looks at me for a second, then shakes his head. “Sorry, Cass. I shouldn’t have jumped in like that, but he was obviously flirting with you.”

  I bite back a smartass reply, mainly because my body is still tingling from his putting his arm around me, and my hand feels like a low-grade fever’s running through it where our fingers were entwined. “Uh, yeah. I’m aware. But it’s not like he asked for my number or something.”

  His face twists a little, like he just swallowed something nasty. “Would you have given him your number?”

  I shrug, forcing my knee down to turn and look out the front window of his truck. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not like I’ve got guys lining up to date me. You know how it is. I’m still the new girl in town, and I work for a guy who’s intimidating, to say the least. And I’ve been putting my head down and busting my ass to get started on the right foot. It seems like most of the guys around here want a girl who’s happy with dinner and dancing, maybe a little Netflix and chill.”

  Caleb snorts dismissively. “You’re better than that, Cassie. Don’t do that to yourself. That young stud in a fucking apron isn’t your Mr. Right.”

  “You’re probably right, but maybe I don’t even want a Mr. Right. Maybe I just need a Mr. Right Now,” I say, raising my voice. He’s got some nerve. He’s not the one who sees almost all the good options snatched up, except for the one who’s put me firmly in the friend zone. “Don’t get high and mighty on me, Caleb. I know you’ve done the whole one-night stand thing before, so don’t give me any shit.”

  “I—” Caleb starts before snapping his jaw shut, the muscles clenching. I watch the muscles in his forearms and jaw twitch as he drives me home. We’d decided it would save time tomorrow if I just caught a ride with him. The whole time, he doesn’t say a word, his eyes glittering with suppressed anger instead.

  We pull up in front of my apartment building, and I look over at him, waiting for something. Instead, he hits the button on his console and my door unlocks.

  “I’ll see you bright and early. We’ve got work to do,” he says quietly, and I realize I’ve been dismissed. I climb out, closing the door and stepping back.

  “Caleb—” I start, but before I can say anything, he’s pulling away, my new 2 x 4s sticking out the back of his truck, the safety rag flapping merrily in the wind as he disappears into the darkness. I stare after him, unsure of what just happened. I mean, we’ve argued before, sure, but mainly about things that were forgotten a few minutes later.

  But this was just weird . . .

  Chapter 13

  Caleb

  Fuming, I drive the last screw on the reinforcement into the crossbeam, taking a look at my work. It was a pain in the ass bringing the beams up the ladder to the crawlspace, but it’s done, and I check them one last time. Everything looks good.

  “If only she were here to see it,” I mutter, climbing down through the hole I’ve torn in the ceiling. I can get to that next weekend. I already rearranged my schedule to have this Monday to work here, hoping to get a jump on things. Looking around, I feel tired, more tired than I thought I would be. It’s been a few days since I’ve seen Cassie after our fight. She skipped out on helping out at the house for the past two days with some pretty lame excuses. The thing is, I’m not really angry at her, although I’ll admit I’ve muttered a few curses as I’ve struggled with a few things that an extra set of hands would’ve come in handy with.

  Friday night, I went home, riled up and not really sure why. I’ve never reacted to Cassie’s flirting with some dude that way. Hell, I’ve even introduced her to a few. But that guy was slimy and didn’t deserve her.

  “Bullshit,” I mutter, chastising myself. “Great, now I’m talking to myself too. Cassie is officially driving me crazy.” But I can’t stop. No, if I’m honest with myself, he wasn’t slimy and was just talking to her. I just didn’t like it. And now she hasn’t even stopped by her house to check on the progress. Her car’s still parked in the dooryard, even.

  It’s obvious she’s avoiding me. Yeah, she might be busy, but she said she wanted to be involved every step of the way. I need to apologize, but fuck, I don’t even know how to start.

  I don’t fully understand why I reacted to that guy the way I did. It can’t just be that Cassie and I were flirting in the parking lot. Hell, we’ve done that for over a year, and the closest we’ve ever gotten to moving past jokes and flirting was our runs together. I mean, I’ve seen guys literally grind on Cassie sometimes when we’ve gone out playing wingman for each other, and I didn’t bat an eye.

  I’m gonna have to suck it up and act like an adult, though, because I need to go over tile choices for the bathrooms with Cassie. They have to be ordered and there’s a few weeks’ lead time to get them in, so I’ve got to talk to her . . . tonight. Whether her not showing up is through my fault or hers—and yeah, it’s mostly mine—I have to heal this rift.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I dial her number and listen to the rings, not sure if I’m hoping for voicemail or for her to answer. When I get the recording, I’m disappointed . . . guess that answers that. I leave a stammering message. ”Hey, Cass. I, uh . . . need you to make some decisions so I can, uh . . . order supplies. Can you swing by tonight on your way home? Or, shit, I just remembered your car’s still here. Gimme a call and I’ll come get you. I’ll be here ‘till six thirty or so. Yeah, so . . . see ya.” I hang up, shaking my head. “You are such a fucking dumbass, Caleb. Swing by, when her car’s out back. Why not just hit yourself in the head with your hammer? Or better yet, smack yourself in the dick. You’re thinking with it too much.”

  It’s true. For the past few days, I can’t get my mind off Cassie. Maybe it’s that I’ve spent a lot of time in her house, but it feels like more than that. From the moment I saw her come into Oliver’s office that morning, it’s been like a switch was thrown in my head. She’s more than just a cool girl, the girl I can throw taunts and jokes at without worrying about being taken the wrong way. Now . . . fuck it, I want her. Not as a friend, not as a jogging buddy.

  I want to have Cassie. I want to feel her ass in my hands, to run my lips along the curve of her neck, to feel her wrap her body around my cock and make her moan and squeal as I send shockwaves through her body. I’ve thought about fucking her in passing before, but now I crave it.

  Whatever. It’s not gonna happen. If it were, it would have long before now. Besides, I’ve got shit to do today. I don’t have time to worry about some damn crush or whatever this is. So back to work. After I cut the supports over the master bedroom, I delayed on the installation, hoping that Cassie could be here to help me out. Instead, I’ve focused mostly on demo the last few days, making the house look like a shell inside. There are walls with no drywall, just the studs allowing you to see from one room to the next. And today is kitchen day. It’s a full gut job too, but I’m going to try t
o save the cabinets to donate. They’re not in bad shape, just dated, and they don’t work for the open floor plan Cassie has in mind. Saving might be the right thing to do, but it’s not the fast way.

  I almost wish I could just roll in and swing my sledgehammer and knock some shit around. Flat-out mindless destruction always does wonders for the mood. The high after going apeshit on an old brick wall or fence is nearly godlike. Giving it a thought for a moment, I know I’m not doing that. Cassie’d be mad, and I’d be mad at myself later. With a big sigh, I head into the kitchen, turn on some tunes on my portable boom box, and get started. Hopefully, I can have it all empty before Cassie comes by tonight . . . if she does.

  I get the stove and water heater outside using my dolly, loading them into the trailer that I’m using to haul stuff to the scrapyard. But working alone is hard, even with a heavy-duty dolly. I have to muscle both of them inside the trailer, and it takes up a chunk of time. By the time I’m done, I’m covered in sweat again, and I peel off my shirt, wishing that the water were on in the house. I could really use a hosedown right now, but all I’ve got is about a gallon and a half of unsweetened tea in a cooler. Instead, I use a towel to wipe down and go back inside.

  I start carefully unscrewing the cabinets from the walls, carrying them one by one out to the curb for the donation truck to grab them later this week. It’s finicky work. Some of the cabinets are long, and it takes time to make sure I don’t just tear an anchor out of the wall, damaging either a cabinet or the support post behind it.

  Still, I make progress, and hours later, the kitchen is well on its way to being stripped. I’m squatted down, head under the sink, unscrewing the drain pipes so I can remove the last section of cabinets, when I hear a loud noise behind me. The unexpected sound makes me jump, and before I can stop myself, the bottom of my head smacks into the sink with a resounding BONG! that leaves me seeing stars. There’s a faint taste of blood in my mouth where I bit my lip.

  I hear unsuccessfully suppressed giggles even as stars swim in front of my eyes, and I know who it is. I ease my way out from under the cabinet, holding the back of my head. “Holy fuck, Cass, you scared the shit out of me!”

  She laughs, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s still in her work clothes, looking sleek and professional in her white silk blouse and slim burgundy slacks. Her sky-high heels add several inches to her tiny frame, bringing her face even closer to mine. As I peruse her body, I wonder for a moment how she got out here. “You deserved it for listening to Bon Jovi while you’re working. How old are you? Need me to get you a cane, Grandpa?”

  “One, Bon Jovi is timeless and whips the shit out of half the acts out there today. Two, eighties rock fits right into my mood when I’m working like this, so get used to it. Besides, we’re close enough that we could have gone to high school together. So I’m more than young enough to throw you over my knee, brat.”

  Cassie chuckles, and I hope for a moment that everything might just go back to normal, avoiding whatever awkwardness we had the other night. “Yeah, well, you’ve got an old soul then, Caleb. Where’d you leave your steel horse, cowboy?”

  I laugh. “See, I knew you liked Bon Jovi. You probably know every word to the song you’re making fun of me for listening to.” I pause, seeing if she’ll agree or disagree, but she just sticks her tongue out at me. “How’d you get here anyway?”

  “Oliver’s babysitter, Emily, gave me a ride. Her best friend lives out this way, so she didn’t mind. And I need to get my damn car anyway.”

  I know Emily. She’s a nice girl, just a little shy. She’s apparently great with Oliver’s kids, though, and I think she’s just the kind that takes a while to relax enough to get to know. “Okay, well in the meantime, come here and help me, woman. I’m taking out the sink to get this last bit demo’d for the day.” Climbing back under the sink, I get back to work disconnecting the drain pipes, capping them off for later. I clamp off the feed hoses and disconnect them, making sure the hoses are clear before tapping on the bottom of the sink.

  With a little bit of wedging, we slide our fingers underneath and pull the sink out. Once we get it out, I take the other end from Cassie and carry it outside to my trailer.

  When I come back, she’s leaning over the hole in the countertop, looking at all I’ve done. “Wow, you know, I was thinking, and I’d like to—”

  As Cassie talks, she taps the clamp that I’ve put on the cold water line, and it pops off, the hose popping free to squirt both of us from the chest up in cold water.

  “Oh!” Cassie yells, wiping at her eyes. “Shit, what the—”

  “Damn it,” I say, trying not to laugh. I reach down, and with blurry vision, I grab the pinch clamp from the floor by my left boot. I attach the clamp and then check the other.

  “What just happened? Isn’t the water off, Mr. Fix-It?”

  “Yes, the water is off, but there’s always a little left in the lines. The water company just shuts it off at the street and leaves it to the homeowner to bleed the pipes. Obviously, they didn’t here, and with the heat . . . guess the pressure was just enough to blow when you tapped the cap. Pun intended.” I finish my check. It’ll hold. “Anyway, that should be the worst and—”

  I turn around, seeing Cassie, her shirt clinging to her body and her hair in wild disarray as she shakes it free, and time stops. The words instantly die in my throat, and the only thought I have is simple.

  I fucking want her.

  Chapter 14

  Cassie

  My hair’s a mess, and the blouse I wore to work today is soaked as I wipe the water out of my eyes. Caleb makes a joke, but I don’t hear it as I’m trying to get a drop of water out of my ear, and I’ve got a finger jammed almost painfully in it. Finally, I pull it out with an audible Pop! just as Caleb stands up. “Anyway, that should be the worst and—”

  He turns around and freezes, our eyes locking. Time seems to stop outside. There’s some sort of weird magic going on. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but I’m looking at the rivulet of water running from the lock of wet hair lying over his forehead. The drop continues down his cheek, getting absorbed into his beard scruff, and all I can think is that I would’ve liked to lick that drop, catch it with my tongue, and suddenly, I’m thirsty.

  He’s staring at me too, towering over me, barely a half-step away. Even wet, I can feel the heat coming off his body. He reaches up, gently grasping a lock of my hair, tucking it behind my ear, and I wonder vacantly if he wants to lick the water from my face. I shudder a little at the thought, bringing his attention lower. He stares at my wet blouse, clinging tightly to my breasts. I look a little like a wet t-shirt contestant, my white blouse sheer and showing the lace of my bra. Can he see the pink of my nipples? I should probably be embarrassed by that, but instead, I find myself arching a little, hoping that he can.

  He notices. I can tell because I see his eyes dilate, his breath coming faster. For a frozen moment, I think he’s going to make a move, and I realize that I want him more than I have ever wanted anyone before. Wait, what? We’re supposed to be friend-zoned buddies, that platonic friend that we tease but don’t cross a certain line.

  That might have been the past, and we’ve tap-danced that line plenty of times before, but right now, I want Caleb to make a move. As my brain whirls from the thoughts rushing through it, he sets his hands on my waist. “Caleb . . .” I whisper, my throat catching as the words get stuck somewhere in the back of my throat.

  He takes it as a rejection, though, and the light in his eyes dims some, but they still burn with an intensity that leaves me breathless and my body aching for his touch. He gently pushes me away and growls in a gravelly voice I’ve never heard from him before, taking a shuddering breath. “Sorry, Cass. I got a little struck for a moment. It’s been a while, and you do know how to render a man stupid.”

  I can tell he’s trying to reset us back to the flirty lightness that is our usual mode of chatter. A little struck myself, I smile and step ba
ck. “All good. Listen, I know I was stupid over the weekend. It’s my bad. So come into the living room. I brought pizza and beer for dinner.” I start to walk out of the kitchen, noticing with a flutter that Caleb adjusts his crotch before following me. I’ve spread out a drop cloth I found in the entryway along with the six-pack and the two pizzas, Hawaiian for me and extra meat and cheese for him. “What do you think?”

  Caleb’s voice still sounds gravelly. There’s still an intensity to it as he settles down, but he cracks a smile that leaves me fluttery inside. “Great. I’m starving. And about Friday night—”

  “Forget it, let’s dig in,” I interrupt him, not willing to get into it. I don’t want to tell him how, while I was taken aback at first, over the weekend, I didn’t come to the house because I understood, and I felt like an idiot for flirting with the guy at Home Depot. If you could even call it that. When I think about it, there was nothing more that I wanted to do Friday night than spend the whole time with Caleb. I just don’t know how to say it. Instead, I pop the top on two beers, handing him one. “Cheers. Sam Adams to the rescue.”

  We inhale the first few slices and couple of beers, relaxing as we talk about house stuff. He fills me in on everything, and I’m impressed with the amount of work he’s done in such a short time. I also like the way he wants my opinion on things, not just because it’s my house, but because he knows I have experience and ideas and he respects that. In return, when he tells me that I can’t salvage the electrical appliances to save money, I trust him. Even if he does make a joke about my being shocking enough that I don’t need actual electric sparks, too. We start to get a little buzzed, not impaired, but just enough to lower our inhibitions. After looking at me for a moment, Caleb sets his beer down and steers the conversation back toward us again.