I could have sworn I heard himsnicker.
"Of course. Goahead!"
We exited the porch hastily and jumped into Kristoff's sensibleToyota.
We pulledup at about eleven p.m. I was completely exhausted from dancing and my feet were killing me. When we pulled into the drive, Martin's truck was still there. I glanced at Kristoff only to see himfrown.
"Your contractor is stillhere?"
I shrugged. Itwasawfully late for him to be here. "He must have been running behind onsomething."
"Really behind," Kristoff grumbled. He turned off his car and rushed over to open my door. A light in the hallway flipped on catching me eye. The curtain at the door flickered. I headed back up to the steps with Kristoff behind me when an awful clatter sounded and Kristoff let out a shout full ofcurses.
I spun around only to see Kristoff stumbling and falling to theground.
"Oh!" I rushed over to him. "Are youokay?"
"The paint!" he growled. "Did you see a paint traythere?"
Sure enough, his entire foot and half of his pants leg was covered in gray paint. How had that happened? "I didn't," I confessed. I’d walked past the same spot he had. The hallway light flickered off and Ifrowned.
Kristoff winced as he picked up his palm. Rocks were embedded into hishands.
"We need to get you inside right now so we can pick those out." His hands were already beginning toheal.
I helped him up and realized he was completely covered in paint. "Shit," I muttered. I had brand new wood flooring. "You're going to have to take your pantsoff."
Kristoff looked bewildered. "What?Why?"
"You're covered inpaint."
He looked heavenward. "There are a thousand ways this scenario could have played out and this was not even close to being one ofthem."
I snorted with laughter. "Relax. Everything will be fine as long as you're wearingunderwear."
There was a long pause and I looked up from Kristoff's pants to his face. "You're wearing underwear,right?"
He grinned atme.
I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. "Waithere."
I pushed inside my house, rushed to the restroom, and got Kristoff a towel. There was no way I was going to let a grown man prowl around my house while shirtcocking. I opened the door, threw the towel out, and yelled at him to take his pants off and wrap it around hiswaist.
"Why? You don't like DonaldDuck?!"
A hysterical giggle burst from me. "Toss your pants in the yard. I'll try to see if I have something you canwear."
Martin came into view. I rose one eyebrow when our gazes met. "A paint tray?Really?"
He had the grace to blush. "Sorry. I've been pretty carelesstoday."
"Uh huh." I straightened and put one hand on my hip. "Do you have any extra clothing in yourtruck?"
His expression turned thunderous. "No."
"Martin," I said with barely concealed irritation. "You're the reason he's outside doing his best Donald Duckimpression."
His lips quirked but he held in a laugh. "Fine," he huffed and headed out the front door shouting, "Make sure your naughty bits are covered and for the love of the gods, put on a pair of underwear nexttime!"