SETH
DIY Depot is utter hell on a Sunday. People everywhere—harried individuals with long shopping lists, wandering around like lost warriors unsure of where their quest will take them. They loudly shout to get the attention of the yellow-shirted workers, impatient to return to whatever repair challenge waits for them at home.
I knew this place would be hell, and yet I’m still here. Why?
Because I had to get the fuck out of Madison’s house.
What was I even thinking? I should’ve sprinted from the house as soon as she got onto the floor next to me. But no, I fell back asleep.
I woke up dry-humping her like a fucking teenager.
Fuck. She’d felt amazing in my arms. Soft, cuddly. I haven’t felt so…stupidly happy in years. Or ever. Like pieces of my life finally clicked into place. Just from having a woman in my arms? It’s ridiculous.
Yet I can’t deny it.
I can ignore it, however. Which is what I’m doing here.
“Thanks for coming to DIY Depot.” A perky blond woman in DIY Depot’s signature yellow shirt strides toward me. She blazes past another man who waves to get her attention. “What can I help you with today?”
“Doors.”
She laughs like I’ve said something funny. “Doors! Of course. Please follow me, sir.”
I think she’s flirting with me, her eye contact lingering on my face too long, her hand brushing my forearm “accidentally” as she reaches for the store catalog.
I wave away the catalog. “I need something that would suit a Victorian home. But safe. No glass panes near the handle. Extra-strength deadbolt.” Maybe I should buy Madison two or three deadbolts. Plus a keypad. Fuck, why don’t I just hire someone to build a moat around Madison’s place and fill it with piranhas? Would she be safe then?
The DIY worker shows me a few options. I choose the door that looks sturdiest.
She taps the screen of her tablet. “For delivery, we can offer?—”
“It needs to be today.”
“Oh, for immediate service, there’s an additional fee.”
“I’ll pay it.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Money’s no object, huh?”
“Nope.” I give her Madison’s address. “I expect this to be done by five p.m.”
“We can have a contractor out to you and your wife’s house…?”
“My sister-in-law. The door is for my sister-in-law.” The title feels wrong for Madison. She’s no longer my sister-in-law. But as inaccurate as the title is, it adds some distance. If I think of her as my brother’s wife, I’ll stop thinking of how responsive she was when I pinched her nipple this morning.
The DIY worker grins and glances at my ringless fourth finger. Yes, she was certainly flirting with me earlier. “We’ll have a contractor out to your sister-in-law’s by two. It should only take them a couple of hours to do the work. Would you like us to dispose of an existing door?”
We hash out the rest of the details and I hand over my credit card. My phone rings in my pocket. Once the transaction is complete, I give the DIY worker a professional smile and stride away, pulling my phone to my ear.
Damiano’s voice is smooth. “Seth. Join me for lunch.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re a liar.”
I sigh and hold my phone out to check the time. It’s just after noon. “Where do you want to eat?”
“The Thai restaurant near The Corbin. You know the one I’m speaking of?”
