Fixed Infatuation

by Stacy Borel

  After sticking the key in the lock and reaching my hand inside to flip on the light, I noticed a piece of paper feathered to the ground. At first I didn’t think much of it when I bent over to pick it up. I assumed it was an advertisement card that some salesman probably stuck in my door. Kind of like they do at the gym or grocery store. But then I saw the hand writing on it.

  Next time you leave till after dark, keep your porch light on. It’s not always safe around here.

  Stopping by in the afternoon. Be ready to hit the store.

  -B

  My eyes flickered to the house across the street. Just as I did, the lights in the front room shut off and all appeared quiet. Did he wait for me to get home? That couldn’t be right. He didn’t even know me. A stranger didn’t watch to make sure their neighbor got home safely. At least not in my world. People in Boston didn’t do this. And annoying men across the street didn’t fit this MO either. But the proof was in the handwritten pudding so to speak.

  I took a moment before turning and going inside. After putting away my fresh fish and the flowers in the green vase I bought, I went to get ready for bed. I didn’t want to stew on the idea that Blake may actually be showing signs of being a decent human being. Under my cozy duvet and a couple blank attempts at reading the same sentence over and over on my kindle, I gave up and set it on the bedside table. I lay there staring up at the ceiling. His piercing dark chocolate eyes were swirling in my head.

  A foreign feeling was washing over me. It seemed wrong that I had the desire to go across the street and bury myself in his neck just to smell that alluring scent of soap and his skin. To feel the heat I felt from his leg, but all over my body and not just my hand. To be flush with his skin. I got goose bumps just thinking about it and burrowed myself deeper in my blanket.

  Sandra was under the impression Blake might be into me. I tossed the idea out the window because of my own insecurities with men. I was a commitment girl. I dated and learned who they were. Blake’s approach seemed more of the type to hop into bed and learn each other physically and if that was compatible, then he may want to know more. I had no idea what any of this meant, but the note in my door made me wonder if she was right. And if so, what did I do about it?

  For the sake of not being awkward around him while he was in my house, I’d avoid him as much as possible. Nobody said I had to be in the same room as him while he worked. He didn’t need a micromanager. And I wasn’t going to stand around twiddling my thumbs and being lame like Lauren from the coffee shop.

  If Blake Whitmore was into me, well, I’d just have to cross that bridge when the time came and hope like hell he wouldn’t make me choke on my words.

  When I said I’d sleep in and relax, I didn’t realize I’d stay in bed till noon, then order pizza for my late breakfast/lunch. Either way, after stuffing my face, I went and brushed my teeth, then plopped down on the couch with soft music playing and a book. A pajama day was exactly what I needed. Yesterday had been harder than I thought. That good cry left behind puffy eyes and an exhaustion I hadn’t felt since the day after my mother’s funeral. It’s like all the events led up to this breakdown and my body telling me I’d had enough.

  Curled up with a blanket over myself, I spent a couple hours soaking in the latest Maya Banks novel when my eyes became too heavy to keep open. The heaviness of my body dragged me down when someone knocked on the door. My eyes flew open and immediately recognized I’d forgotten someone was coming over.

  “Shit, shit, shit…” I repeated as I stood up and the blanket dropped to the ground. Blake was here. He knocked again. I had no clue if I even looked presentable, but I couldn’t leave him standing out there or pretend I wasn’t home.

  Opening the door, Blake was there in all his masculine glory and looking incredible. Similar to the other day, he had on a fitted T-shirt that hugged his muscled curves and jeans that were slung low on his hips. This time he had a tool belt draped over his shoulder and he appeared ready to go to work. He was beautiful. But it was his eyes that unnerved me. He languidly guided them down my body and took in my hot pink shorts I still wore from high school. To add insult to injury I was wearing my senior year shirt like I was some teenager. My skin prickled. The deep brown of them was caressing my skin.

  “Hello.” His voice sounded deeper than usual.

  “Erm, hi.” I shifted from side to side.

  I waited for him to look at my face. Brushing my frizzy hair down, I tucked it behind my ears.

  “Comfy?”

  The way he said it seemed more like he was speaking about a decadent slice of cake. My exposed legs made me feel naked. Probably even more so than not wearing a bra like the other night. Thankfully I was at least covered in that department.

  I groaned and my face reddened. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot about today.” I stepped aside. “I got your note.” I cleared my throat. The note that showed concern, but we weren’t going to mention that. “Is there any way we can reschedule? I was just about to take a nap. I had a long day yester—”

  He interrupted me by stepping forward and coming just inside the doorway.

  Blake was close enough that I could smell the faintest hint of his cologne or deodorant. I wasn’t sure which. I bit the inside of my cheek to refrain from taking a deeper whiff.

  Trying to look annoyed rather than slightly turned on, I said, “Come right in, help yourself.”

  He chuckled. “No rescheduling. I have a lot going on this week and I have a date on Saturday. So go clean yourself up and we can see what sort of shit you think you can do on your own.”

  I gaped at him. “You’re starting off with a bang, aren’t you? First, I don’t care that you’re going on a date with Lauren or whatever Coffee Shop Girl’s name was. Second, are you always this cocky and demanding?”

  As if the entryway of my house didn’t already feel small, Blake’s massive presence was crowding my senses. He took the most minute step forward, and I swallowed hard.

  “Yes.” Was all he said to answer my question, but then he added, “Who said it was the girl from the coffee shop?”

  “Do you really have that many options?” I replied sarcastically.

  His eyes roamed my face, looking for a way to poke at my defenses. “Sometimes, but who said I had options?”

  Wait, I was confused. “You did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. He was getting to me, and I shouldn’t be allowing it. I opened them again. “Okay, whatever, I don’t care about your dating life. But I do care about my house. So, if we’re going on this little field trip, you’re not going to boss me around, and you’re not going to make me feel stupid for liking something that may not be your taste.”

  One blink.

  Two blinks.

  “You’re a curious little thing. Be at my house in five.” He walked out, leaving me there with my head spinning.

  I guess Blake was the type who always got his way. I went back to my room and threw on a pair of jeans I painted in a few nights ago. Leaving on my high school T-shirt, I didn’t care if it said the year I graduated, and he knew I was twenty-nine. It fit semi-loosely and was cute. I glanced in the mirror and did a double take.

  Yikes.

  My hair was a little fizzy. I sprayed a leave in conditioner on it and combed it out. It wasn’t super windy out, and I didn’t feel like pulling it up and out of my face. My blue eyes were incredibly bright against my pale skin. I slapped on a quick coat of mascara to make me feel a little more girly and slathered some clear gloss on my lips. I realized I was overdoing myself for a hardware store run with a man I claimed I wasn’t trying to impress, so I wiped off the gloss. I didn’t need him noticing I put in even a smidge of effort. Slipping on my Converse, I headed across the street.

  I felt mildly nervous. I was going over to Blake’s house again with a purpose. He was expecting me. I was going to be in his car in close quarters and didn’t know if I was supposed to talk it up or
sit in silence. Silence wasn’t really my style and made me squirm, but I also wouldn’t look like a rambling idiot if he didn’t initiate conversation. Before I made it to his yard, he stepped out of his house and locked the door. When we both went to climb into his very modest Camry, I thought to myself, for someone who had his own company he really wasn’t very ostentatious. His house was modest, his car was modest, he dressed casually, and there wasn’t really anything that screamed he was an owner of the top contracting company in our area. Not that I assumed he made millions.

  The ride there was completely silent. He didn’t even have music on in the background. If crickets could chirp, they would have. I sat with my hands clasped in my lap and waited for him to say something. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye once or twice, but otherwise faced forward. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something and break the ice, but I had no idea what to say besides, ‘how about them Seahawks.’

  Thank God for everything being in short proximity. I started to consider singing a Spice Girls song just to shake things up a bit. Pulling into the parking lot of the hardware store, we both got out and he marched inside. I followed just behind him, admittedly checking him out. Who wouldn’t?

  Most of these places were set up the same. An aisle of lighting, one of lawn care, another of blinds and window treatments. There were more, but these were the few we walked past as we made our way to the middle of the store. Different kitchen displays spanned a large chunk of area, and my eyes scanned the sea of options. When you saw them put together like this, as individual kitchens, it was easy to make a choice if you liked these cabinets with those tiles. It was when you broke them down individually and tried to customize it to your liking that it got more challenging. Being an author, one would assume I could visualize and have the creativity to know what would work. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

  My brain didn’t work that way.

  I approached a setup that had cream-colored cabinets, a farm house sink, and a pretty glass back splash. It was stunning, especially the sink. I wanted one of those for sure. But the rest wasn’t really my style.

  Blake tagged along, quietly watching me as I went from design to design. I didn’t speak as I soaked in each one and mentally cataloged what I liked, not knowing if any of it would work together or not. There were around ten different ones laid out and when we went through the last one, he stepped into my line of sight.

  “Find anything?”

  I nodded. “Bits and pieces, but none that were uniformly what I wanted.”

  “I figured you’d say that.”

  I waited for him to explain further. “Why’s that?”

  “This was what I was referring to the other day with you and Sandra together. This right here is no different than walking into IKEA and telling the eighteen-year-old minimum wage worker this is the design you want, and he will order it on the spot for you. Not even without knowing the type of kitchen you currently have. This is why custom is always best.”

  It made sense, but when money is an issue, you can’t have wine taste on a beer budget. “I realize you are adamant about doing it, but will you be able to keep my numbers low?”

  Blake’s finger was stroking the cold slab of marble countertop. It was so leisurely and mindless, that I was in a trance watching his gentle touch. He stopped and cleared his throat. “Eyes right here.” He pointed at his face with an amused expression.

  I felt my cheeks redden. “Just answer the question.”

  “In short, yes.”

  I didn’t even want to keep thinking about it. I bit the bullet. “Then let’s do it.”

  “All right, then let’s head out and I’ll come up with a few things by next week to show you.”

  I nodded. We both walked toward the front, but I stopped short. We were standing next to the lumber section and I found myself meandering that way.

  “Uhhh, what are we doing?” he asked.

  I got to a pile of pressure treated wood that were precut eight-foot pieces. I reached out to smooth my hand over it. They were sanded down on the side facing me. I had no idea if anybody else was like this, but this was about the only thing in these types of stores that intrigued my senses. I did what I wanted to do from the moment I walked in here. I leaned forward and inhaled the scent, closing my eyes in the process.

  “Mmm, don’t you just love the smell of fresh wood?” I said breathily.

  I felt warmth against my back, and my skin prickled. A deep chuckle sounded in my ear and my body’s natural reaction was to melt into it. Instead, I held completely still. He wasn’t touching me, but the vibrations of his voice and the heat of him seeping through my shirt let me know he was close enough I could move an inch and feel him. My nipples hardened.

  “Of course you like wood.” He was amused. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  I barely turned my head to look at him. His pupils were dilated, and his jaw was working. I shrugged. “This scent is just… happiness.”

  I waited for him to respond. Anything he could have said would be fine. My chest was rising and falling a little faster than I cared for him to witness. He knew his proximity was affecting me. I saw his nostrils flare.

  “Your hair smells good.”

  The compliment caught me off guard. Everything regarding me that came out of Blake’s mouth had been some sort of vulgarity or insult.

  I stared at him. “Thank you.”

  We both were in this weird mesmerizing moment where if either one of us moved or spoke, all of it would be over. His nearness and the physical reactions I could see were happening would dissipate. There were small little flutters of nerves in my tummy and I felt the start of dampness occurring a little lower. He was turning me on.

  “You should wear it down more often.” His minty breath brushed over my cheeks.

  What? Oh, my hair, right. “Okay.”

  I shouldn’t have agreed. Him complimenting me, and me agreeing wasn’t what we did. In our short time of knowing each other, Blake’s and my relationship had already been determined as sarcastic. He annoyed me, and I retorted. That’s how this worked. A compliment was like starting over from scratch and saying ‘hey, let’s still be rude to each other but make each other warm and fuzzy too.’

  “Do you two need any help with anything?”

  I blinked and looked to my left. There was a short skinny man, with round glasses that were so thick it made his eyes look magnified. He had on an orange vest indicating he worked here.

  Blake cleared his throat and took a step back. “No, but thank you.”

  “Oh, hey, Blake. I didn’t recognize you. I’m sorry.”

  He appeared almost sheepish. “It’s fine. Hard to recognize someone from the back.”

  The man looked at me strangely, then ducked his head. “Okay, well, I’ll be on the floor for the next hour if you need any help loading something or checking out.”

  “Thanks, Marlin.”

  As he walked away a small smile tugged at my lips. “Marlin? As in the fish?”

  Blake started to walk out of the store. “Yeah, why?’

  “I mean, considering we are on the water, I don’t suppose his parents could have been any cleverer.”

  He chuckled. “Get in the car, Molly.”

  The ride back was much the same. Quiet, but this time I spent it thinking about Blake’s nearness and the sensations I allowed to travel through me. I kind of liked it when I shouldn’t have. It had been a long time since I’d been in a relationship or had physical contact. It was like opening the door to an old friend and tipping my hat to it. And I kind of wanted it again.

  I curiously wondered if Blake actually was attracted to me. If that was the case, these home renovations were going to wind up being more interesting than I thought.

  Blake

  20 years old

  I WAS DEAD ON MY FEET and caked in mud. It had been nonstop rain for almost three weeks now. My mood, along with the men on the job were becoming a little testier t
han normal. We were all working a little farther from home in the Olympic National Forest. We’d won a bid to build a state park building for tourists, and the drive was over an hour one way. Waking up at five every morning to be on site before my guys was important to me but very hard on my body. It had only been nearly two years ago that I’d started really taking over my dad’s company. Most of these men were twice my age, and I knew it wasn’t easy having a ‘kid’ boss telling them what they needed to be doing. My dad hired them, and it was him they’d rather hear from. But right now, that was impossible.

  So, I made sure I was there before they showed up, and I was always the last to leave. I wanted to earn their respect. If they respected me, they would stay on our payroll. And frankly, we couldn’t afford to lose anybody else right now.

  I was pulling up to the house in my 1983 Ford truck I’d saved my own money and bought myself. I’d always wanted a single cab, old beater. It was a classic. Its loud engine that I beefed up and modified roared one more time before I killed the ignition. I needed a hot shower, and a solid meal before I checked on Layla’s homework and crashed for the night.

  I stripped off my shoes and unzipped my Carhart in the mudroom before stepping inside. My sister was sprawled out across the love seat and oversized ottoman. She had papers scattered and the television turned up too loud. How she was able to concentrate with the obnoxious sound of SpongeBob Square Pants’ laugh was something I’d never understand. But she said she tuned it out most of the tine. She just wanted noise in the background. She was twelve years old and finally able to stay at home for a few hours at a time by herself. She knew the rules I’d given her and if there was ever an emergency she knew to call me.

  “Hey, kid,” I said as I walked past her and kissed the top of her head.

  “Hey.” She curled her lip and sniffed the air. “You smell terrible.”