Thank you very much, Mona.
Not.
Pulling one out, I repeat, “What?”
“I said,” he looks concerned. “I knocked but you didn’t answer.”
Pushing myself up to sitting, I shoot back, “I didn’t answer so you thought it’d be okay to come on in?”
“You were singing. Loudly. And the door was ajar.”
Crap. I should know better by now. I should have locked the damn door. And of course he heard me singing.
“Nice voice, by the way,” he adds with a smirk.
Okay. That was sarcasm. I recognize it. And singing with headphones on, well, everyone knows people don’t sound all that in tune with headphones on. But, in my defense, it was my favorite song by Donna Summer. You know, “MacArthur Park.” And it was at that part when she really belts out the fact that someone left her cake out in the rain, and it took so long to bake. And sadly, she’ll never have that recipe again. It’s a big moment in the song. It deserves to be belted out with your hands raised like you mean it. Am I right?
Reaching out in search of something to help myself up, his hand appears. Ignoring that, I use the old desk chair that’s been in this room for a hundred years to get to my knees and up onto my feet. Bending, I brush off the dust from my dirty jeans.
Once I’m on level footing, I cross my arms and put my best angry face on so I can look this guy in the eye like I mean business, except this man is a lot taller than I am. I’m forced to look up to meet his eyes, which I do because I need to show some strength here. When I do, I can’t help noticing the color. They’re brown but with more gold in them than brown. I quickly glance at the rest of his bearded face. I’ve never been into beards before but imagining how that beard would feel between my––Don’t go there, Lou. Let’s just say, except for the spatter of stain all over his left cheek, the guy is drop-dead gorgeous.
The kind of gorgeous you see on television or in magazines.
Not in Zodiac Hills, Nebraska.
I watch his hand move up to his face. “You got anything I can use to wipe this off?”
Your hand seems to be working.
I look left, then right, and shrug. “No.” I don’t feel like that’s something I need to worry about right now. No, right now I need to get this guy out of here.
“No problem.” He tugs the bottom of his dress shirt out of his slacks and lifts it up. I watch as he wipes away the deep brown stain with one of the few remaining areas of his shirt not also covered with stain. When I see his stomach, I blush and look away, because let me tell you, he’s got a nice stomach. He’s even got those ridges.
I point to the stain-drenched shirt. “That’s what you get for sneaking up on someone.”
“It’s seven…” He glances at a watch on his wrist. A huge, fancy watch. “Seven twenty.”
“It’s still late.”
“I knocked.”
Sighing, I uncross my arms and place my hands on my hips. “What can I do for you?” I want him to leave. He’s distracting.
“I was passing and I saw this place.”
“You were passing by and thought you’d come on in?” I can’t believe this guy.
“I saw the dumpster and a truck that says Hamlin Home Renovations on the side. I put two and two together.”
“I repeat. You saw that and thought you’d come on in?”
“This house… it piqued my interest.”
Piqued his interest?
Turning my back on him, I walk around the stack of trim to return to what I was doing before he scared the crap out of me. “Well, thanks for stopping.”
That was my own brand of sarcasm. Take that you—you gorgeous man.
