I grin past the reactionary wince and turn aside. “Welcome, thanks for being able to come early.”
“No problem,” says the first trash guy with salt and pepper curly hair. His jumpsuit reads “Aaron” over the breast pocket.
He steps past me with a clipboard in hand. The second man in his early twenties, a little taller with similar bone structure and a chiseled jaw, smiles at me broadly.
“If we’d knownyouneeded helping, we would’ve been here sooner,” he says, loaded with blatant flirtation.
Or maybe he’s just being nice, I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I’ve been actively flirted at. Partly my fault, since I haven’t been putting myself out there.
My gaze darts down to his chest to catch his name—Robbie—and when I glance back up, he winks, his grin practically sparkling.
He thinks I’m checking him out…
“Uh, come in,” I say, though I thought the invitation was obvious when I stepped aside.
He walks past me with swagger, then glances over his shoulder to look me up and down.
Definitely a flirt.
“So, what are we hauling?” Aaron asks.
I pump my sweater a little and clear my head. There’s work to be done.
“All the rotted wood lying around on the main floor and a few furniture items that are falling apart in the back office. It would be great if you guys could help me get some of the damaged wood that’s still hanging on that needs to go,” I say, gesturing to the remnants of the spiral staircase.
“I might need multiple visits,” I murmur to myself.
“Most women do,” Robbie remarks.
Aaron gives him a stern look that says he’s already done with his shit for the day and Robbie rolls his eyes.
Aaron checks a few things off on his clipboard, then passes it to me. “Here’s my estimate, if you could just sign. I think we can get the first round taken care of in about two hours. We’ll come back with tools to help clear away the rotted stuff there.”
I look over the information and mentally math out the remainder of my business egg; half a percent out of my available funds. Not too bad at all since it covers the additional removal of still-installed staircase.
I scribble my signature and hand the board back.
Aaron smiles, his mustache flaring out. “We’ll take it from here, if you have something else to do.”
“Oh! Could I take some pictures?” I ask, pulling out my phone.
Robbie hums lasciviously. “Those’ll cost you extra.”
Is he flirting, or is this his default mode?
“For…progress,” I say, my brain getting tripped up on all the testosterone. I clear my throat. “I have a social media page for my shop, and I want to show my followers the transformation.”
“It’s no problem, ma’am,” Aaron says. “Shoot away.”
I nod, turning with my phone raised. Aaron whispers an admonishment at Robbie as I move around, collecting my before pictures. Something about “she’s a customer” and “not again” is loud enough for me to hear. Seems like Robbie is a playboy.
I spin a fantasy of him lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat on his brow, revealing toned abs to all the women around him. They fan themselves and pant, drooling from the sides of their mouths. Then he takes a drink of water, spilling it down his front while his throat works. It all happens in slow motion in the movie theater of my mind.
It’s been a long dry streak. Might be time for me to end it.
The image of me rolling around in luxurious sheets fills my mind’s eye, but it’s not Robbie in bed with me.
It’s Bastian.
