He nods. “You’ll probably need to replace it. You don’t want mold growing under it.”
“Yeah, I don’t.” I bite my lip, not knowing what to say. I feel awkward because I’ve slept in his bed twice and used his shower only two days after meeting him.
I avert my eyes from his, looking for a distraction. I find one when my gaze meets his arms as he rolls up his sleeves, showing off his corded forearms. I’m a total sucker for good arm porn—or at least, I used to be—and his are my dreams come true. Once he’s done with one sleeve, he starts rolling the other. Looking up, he notices my stare and freezes.
“What?”
“What?” I blink at him.
“Is something wrong?” He lifts his arm to find what I’m looking at.
“Oh, nothing!” I squeak. “Just spaced out, sorry!”
“All right.” He finishes his sleeve-rolling porn and opens the under-the-sink cabinet. “I bet that wasn’t fun.”
“What?” I blink, my mind straying.
“Cleaning all of that.” He points at the kitchen floor.
“Oh, yeah, not fun.” I mentally smack my forehead. I’m just a charming conversationalist today. “I figured out how to bar the door, by the way.” I wince at myself.
He lets out a deep sigh. “I forgot to pick up a new lock at the hardware store.”
“I did it!” I exclaim, proud of accomplishing at least something this morning.
“You did?” His brows shoot up.
“I went to buy that and a piece of metal. Like a sheet. The YouTube video I saw suggested getting it to help fix the busted door.” I smile sheepishly.
“A YouTube video, huh?” His lips twitch.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I got everything they mentioned. It’s all over there.” I walk to the window in the living room and point at the massive box I brought from the store. He follows me and digs inside.
“It was a very educational video, I see.” A hint of a smile plays in his voice.
“It was,” I answer proudly, knowing I covered all my bases.
“All right. I’ll start with these.” He picks up the box and carries it to the door. I take a seat on the floor, leaning on the couch. From this position, I can very clearly see how precise his actions are. How his forearms flex every time he uses a screwdriver… or how his biceps bulge when he bends the metal, forcing it into his desired position. I’m fixated on each move, mentally documenting every little detail so I can use it in my books.
He’s handy, because it takes him mere minutes to fix the door. Rising to his feet, he moves the box aside and walks to the kitchen. I follow him, hoping to continue the ogling, but he gives me a bizarre look and kneels by the sink. “It will take me a little time to replace it. You don’t have to be here if you don’t need to be.”
“Oh, okay.” I think I’m being dismissed, my attention not exactly appreciated. “Do you want anything? Water, maybe?”
He sticks his head inside the cabinet. “Nah, I’m good.” His voice is muffled. I take it as my cue to leave.
I feel weird leaving him there, doing work for me while I lounge, so I go about cleaning what I can. God knows there’s enough of it around here after recent events.
About forty-five minutes later, he comes to the living room, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. I rise, putting aside my current task of wiping dust from the floor molding. “It’s good to go. I changed the whole thing just to avoid the same in the future. I’ve been telling Mrs. Jenkins to fix it for a long time, but she never did.”
“Thank you, Mark. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you. There was no one available on such short notice. I’m gonna pay you!” I rush to the bedroom to get my purse, but he stops me.
“Don’t.”
I stop and turn around. “What?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“Why? For one, I’m wasting your time, and two, you did a great job. Very professional.”
