Page 33 of Blue Collar Hotties

So goddamn perfect.

So goddamn sweet.

Need to taste her like this every day of my life. Any morning I don’t leave the house with Lenore’s tang on my tongue is a waste of time. An abject failure.

Her phone rings, jammed somewhere deep in the sofa cushions. We both ignore it, too busy wrestling, my head crammed between soft thighs. Those ten pin pricks in my shoulders make my gut clench, and I shove one hand down to my lap, pressing down on my bulgehard.

“Leave it,” Lenore gasps when her phone stops, then starts to ring again. “Oh my god, leave it.”

No fear. I wouldn’t stop now if a meteor struck. Wouldn’t pause for breath even if I was bleeding out on the floor.

When she comes, her belly tenses, her whole body locking up. And it’s just like she showed me last Friday night—eyelidsfluttering down, breath coming in short gasps, her hips rolling against my mouth, demanding every last scrap of sensation.

Lenore is a goddess. I’d live on my knees for her if I could, bringing her off like this every damn day.

She’s flushed tomato-red when she finally nudges me away, groaning deep in her throat. I rock back on my heels, legs going numb beneath me, and grin at my girl.

She smiles back, oddly shy after what we just shared.

And when her phone starts up again, she rolls her eyes and digs between the sofa cushions, a frown creasing her forehead.

“One second,” she whispers, before picking up and standing on wobbly feet. “Hello? Dad?” Lenore ducks into the kitchen, murmuring into the phone.

The Hattworths, then. Bitterness tastes sour in my mouth, and I press down harder on the rock-solid bulge under my jeans, willing it to go away. And you know, I feel like kind of an idiot, kneeling here for my girl on numb legs while she hides from me in the kitchen. While she tries not to let her dad hear me down the phone. Should shake these feelings off, but the longer she stays away, the more they settle in my gut.

My bones creak as I push to stand with a sigh.

And what would her family say if they knew about this? Their little Lenore dating a man with brick dust on his shirts. They’d be horrified, no doubt about it. Their snooty noses would all go straight in the air.

Does Lenore care about that? Care what her family thinks of me?

She’s been in that kitchen a long time.

I wait five more minutes, but the phone call drags on. With each passing second, my heart sinks. She’s not coming back out to me—not anytime soon.

Maybe I’m kidding myself here. Maybe she’s still not sure.

I let myself back out into the frosty night air.

Lenore

Ifeel like the world’s biggest jerk on Thursday morning, hurrying out of the elevator on the eighth floor, already short of breath. Gabe’s out there on the scaffolding, working alone on the top level, and I fling my bag and coat at the desk without slowing down, then beeline over to the windows.

They’re old and heavy, hardly ever opened, but with some sweating and cursing I push one open enough to talk.

Gabe crouches by the opening, one eyebrow raised. His boots are level with the window sill, half his body revealed and half behind glass.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

If he’s mad at me for taking that phone call, he doesn’t show it. Even though it was horribly rude, and I’ve been kicking myself for it all night, hoping and praying that I haven’t offended the one man whose opinion I care about.

“Hi. Listen, I’m so sorry about last night.”

Gabe shrugs, but his smile is more cautious than yesterday’s. Crap. “No worries, Lenore. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Except Idon’tneed to answer my family’s phone calls at all hours—that’s the annoying thing. And that’s what I was trying to explain to my dad last night in my kitchen, arguing round and round with him in circles, because as far as he’s concerned, I’m still a wayward child.

Should have just hung up and gone back out to Gabe. Or, no—should never have picked up in the first place. Should haveswitched my phone off, tossed it on the coffee table, then coaxed this handsome builder into trading places.

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