Page 84 of Strictly the Worst

“That the only person you’ll be throwing your panties at is me.” He steps closer to my desk. “So what time do you want me?”

“I’m sorry?” I blink. “Where?”

“At your house on Saturday. I’m coming to help you refinish the floors.” He crosses his arms over his chest, as though he’s waiting for me to protest. He looks like he wants me to. As though he’s a soldier ready for battle.

And I’m the person he’s trying to fight. Or fight for. I can’t tell which.

“Do you know how to use a sander?” I ask him.

He shoots me a withering look. “Of course I know how to use a fucking sander. And how to varnish. I built my own cabin when I was eighteen.”

I blink. I didn’t think this man had the ability to surprise me any more. But there it is.

“You did? Where?”

“At my father’s estate.”

“Your father has an estate?” I repeat, shocked. “Like not just some land but an estate?”

He shrugs. “We’re getting off the subject. What time are you starting on Saturday?”

“I won’t be able to drag Zoe out of bed until ten. But I’ll be getting everything ready before that.”

“Great. I’ll be there at nine. I’ll bring breakfast.”

I run the tip of my tongue over my dry lips, looking at him. “Why?” I ask.

“Why what? Why nine? I can make it earlier. Just give me a time and I’ll be there.”

“Why would you come over and sand my floor?” I ask. “You know nothing can happen.”

“Then or ever?”

His question feels like a little warning shot in my chest.

“Before you answer, know this. I’ll be there on Saturday no matter your answer. I want to help, but more importantly I want to spend time with you. Drama free, boring fucking time.”

My lips curl into a smile.

“I’ll make it so damn dull you’ll have problems keeping your eyes open,” he promises, his eyes warm.

“Just Saturday,” I whisper. “Nothing’s going to happen then.”

“And ever?” he asks, his eyes not leaving mine.

“Let’s just see how bored you can make me.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

TESSA

Just as promised, Linc knocks on my door at exactly nine on Saturday morning. His promptness makes me smile.

I’m wearing a ratty old pair of jeans and a black band t-shirt that keeps sliding off my shoulder, because dressing pretty just to renovate my floor seems stupid. Still, I check my reflection in the hall mirror as I pass it. My hair is up, my face scrubbed clean, because if I put on make up Zoe is going to notice.

And I don’t want her to think Linc visiting is anything out of the ordinary.

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