Page 3 of The Four Leaf

He chuckles, and I instantly wish he hadn’t. The sound is deep and gruff. “Because you have to talk to these things and be gentle with them. Something like handyman foreplay, so you loosen them up.”

I try my best not to notice the way his words make my insides tingle and shove the pliers into his solid chest. “By all means.”

Adrian’s warm hand brushes against mine as he accepts the tool with a sly smile. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Don’t try to make me feel like an ass. I literally saw you on FaceTime before your game to wish you luck.”

He throws an arm casually around one of my shoulders andsidehugs me, like a decade-old friendshould. Still, the pang in my chest is hard to ignore. “Because I lose any game when I don’t get to talk to you beforehand. Look, I’ll take care of Doris, and you can go work on the rest of your list. Then, we’re getting drinks, since I haven’t been home in two weeks.”

I scoff and shove his arm off playfully, like my stomach isn’t experiencing a tsunami from the massive butterfly frenzy. “Yeah, if you get that thing to go leak-free for more than three minutes, drinks are on me.”

Adrian holds out a big hand. “Yeah?”

Reluctant at his confidence, but also sure Doris is the literal worst and won’t stop leaking for anyone, I shake. “Deal.”

It’s funny how I don’t get jittery or nervous when our hands touch. Believe it or not, it’s actually calming.

“Good luck,” I mutter as I grab the few things I’ll need to finish the rest of the hall.

He smirks, pushing up his sleeves and revealing thick, tan forearms. Something about it feels dangerous as hell. “Ah, Bambi. You know anytime you wish me luck, I never fail.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.” I quickly turn around, desperate to get some air not flooded with his warm scent. It’s a mix of things I’ve never been able to describe but reminds me of the Venus flytrap. Pleasant and alluring, waiting for its prey to hop in its lap.

With a dismissive wave, I hurry to the next room and continue with the myriad of things on my list, all while ignoring the damned butterflies.

Thirty minutes later, my first list is complete. My arms are killing me, and my hands are covered in black soot from one of the air vent closets, but everything is done and ready for guests. The second list can wait till my body isn’t bordering on collapse.

I trail back to room 3T, and find that no matter how much I readied myself to see Adrian, I’m never truly prepared.

He’s on his back with his shirt off. Sweat glistens across his muscles and glides down the dips and valleys of each one. They contract every time he rotates his hand to tighten the trap into place.

Heavy grunts echo in the small space and collide with my libido, weakening my knees and forcing me to lean into the threshold. The effect is frustrating as always, and I make a mental note to scroll on Tinder later to distract me.

With a dramatic sigh that does little to drown out his groans, I kick his bent knee. “I know you said foreplay, but this is a little much, Adrian.”

His laugh fills the air as he draws himself out of the cabinet. “We’ll see if you have that same condescending tone when you realize she’s fixed.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“See for yourself.” He gestures to the plumbing, but when his eyes drop over my frame, my breath stalls.

For a moment, I assume he’s assessing the mess I’m sporting from the stupid air vent, but the way his eyes darken and linger say something else entirely. His tongue peeks out, sweeping across his lips as his gaze moves upward, and by the time he meets my eyes, I’m flushed and barely pulling in air.

Then, just as quickly as everything became dense, he smiles and speaks in a casual tone that makes me feel like I’ve imagined the entire thing. “Right now, you remind me of that time you got yourself all dirty. What did I used to call you back then?”

He pauses, as if he really needs to think about it while I’m already cringing at the memory. “It was Stinky Sam.”

Adrian snaps his fingers. “That’s right. After you fell into the mud.”

“First of all, you pushed me into the mud. Second, this is dust.”

He takes a step forward, a grin planted firmly on his face. “We were wrestling, and youlost.”

“Because Ilostfocus. You were acting like you–” I stop myself, snapping my mouth shut. It’s enough to be reminded of the one time I tried to make a move, only to be shoved not only into the friend zone, but into actual mud as well.

He takes another step, and my pulse begins to quicken. His voice lowers. “Acting like what?”

I shake my head, forcing my chin up to meet his gaze. He knows what I’m talking about. We were eleven, and at the park, while our parents fumigated a hall. We were in the woodsy spot because the trails were boring, playing a classic game of tag. It had rained that week and there were plenty of mud puddles I was having trouble avoiding, considering I’m more on the clumsy side.

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