Page 2 of The Four Leaf

One of our long-time guests pats his round belly and grins my way. “I did, and now you got the poor girl running to the top floor.”

“Oh, yeah, because the third floor is so high up there. We’ll still be able to hear her journal entries from here. Dear diary, today Adrian did–”

“You are such a cunt, Will,” I hiss through my teeth, twirling on my heels, my hands gripping the clipboard so tight it squeaks under the pressure.

“I have one, and I like to lick them, but I’m not one, Sam. Have fun upstairs!” my sister calls after me, and I have toreallyfight the urge not to flip her off.

Her need for a reaction out of me has been an ongoing battle since fifth grade when I swore on a pinky promise I didn’t like-like Adrian. She knows I lied on it and refuses to let me live it down.

Winding through the tight crowd, I exit the bar and enter the lobby. From the looks of it, you’d think it wasn’t attached to one of the most popular pubs on the block. It’s empty of anyone except the receptionist and bellboy huddled across the wide counter.

When my parents renovated, they kept a lot of the detail and original lighting, but some things had to be redone to help modernize the place a bit. The check-in counter and doors have the original dark oak, while the gold metal accents have been restored to their previous shine. But things like the horrendous wallpaper and dingy carpets were replaced.

Overall, I really like how it somehow mixes both worlds. Cozy yet elegant. Historic yet contemporary.

I wave to the pair as I pass by and walk to the elevator on the left, then head to the top floor. Because the parade is on the east side of the building, the west is completely vacant. The rooms are booked with check-ins starting in a few hours, but for now, it will be a guest interruption-free zone while I work.

The long hall is similar to the lobby, sporting the rejuvenated original hardware, elaborate crown molding, and vintage sconces and chandeliers, but has also been given a modern feel as well. The walls are snowy gray, the doors dark oak, and the carpets a deep red.

I check over my list as I walk to the nearest maintenance closet. There’s one on each floor, so we don’t have to haul stuff up constantly. Deciding on running through the smaller jobs first, I grab my electrical bag and get started.

An hour later, I’ve managed to fix three loose light fixtures, two beeping smoke detectors, one crooked keyless entry, and four janky toilet flushers. I mean, I’m feeling insanely proud of myself, if I’m honest. Saved about a thousand bucks already, considering what the locals are charging right now, and barely broke a sweat.

See, I don’t need Adrian,I internally snap at my sister as I move down to the next room on my list, 3T. My eyes flash to my list and I stop mid-step.

Dammit.Instant karma has to be the worst possible thing. Or perhaps the wicked bad energy I know my sister is pushing through the floors. Either way, I’m now pouting because this is the room with the bad sink.

The sink that haunts my freaking nightmares. It has a mysterious leak no one can seem to find, and even with replacing the plumbing underneathtwice, it still drips.

With a heavy sigh, I unlock the door, prop it open, and haul my large bag inside. Unlike the typical hotels, our rooms open to a small living area with two chairs around a fireplace. It’s an electric built-in, but it gives the illusion of a vintage vibe. Behind the seating is the king-sized bed, and on the right is the door to the bathroom. It’s an odd setup, considering if the door is open, you have a direct view of the stand-in shower, but it hasn’t seemed to pose a problem thus far.

I drop my heavy tool bag on the floor outside of the bathroom and prop the door open. Inside, the perpetrating sink rests inside a beautifully refinished wooden cabinet with iron claw feet. Kneeling, I swing the doors open and expose the plumbing. Naturally, the little bowl I placed beneath last week is a quarter of the way full, and a droplet is growing heavy at the bottom of the pipe.

After turning off the pipe, I make quick work of emptying the bowl, cleaning the bottom, and throwing on gloves. My plan is to take out all the parts, put water in each one, and hope that I see something. If not, I’ll seal it with new plumber’s tape and will have to figure something out after the holiday rush.

I grab my trusty, adjustable pliers and get to work on the pipe. Normally, the pipes are a pain in the ass to loosen, but I guess today I’m due an extra workout, because no amount of turning is doing anything to budge it.

Deciding to readjust, I get on my knees and use both hands now, yanking with small bursts of energy. Now, having to run up and down this hotel, I’d say I’m a pretty in-shape person, but the way my ass is jiggling in my slacks makes me grateful there are no guests currently around who might see the show.

Again, I yank, this time with a frustrated growl, hoping it will give me some type of extra testosterone. But instead, my grip slips from the pliers, and I fall back awkwardly, hitting a very hard… person.

Before I even look up, I feel the burn lighting up my entire face, but when I see familiar hazel eyes and black tousled hair, I beg for the floor to collapse altogether.

“Hey, Adrian,” I breathe.

“Hey, Sammy.”

I’m pretty sure embarrassment is supposed to fly out the window when you do something like fall on your ass in front of your best friend. The one who’s also witnessed me being stuck in an air duct, eating my weight in chocolate after being stood up on a date, and sees me on FaceTime when I’m still half asleep, looking like a rag doll. But with the lingering, misplaced feelings I’ve yet to truly shake, it doesn’t. So not only is my body burning from the humiliation, but my core aches from the intense clench.

Mainly due to his smile.

Like everything else about the man, it’s sexy as sin, including the slightly larger canines, completing my Twilight fantasies. Team Jacob or Edward, it doesn’t really matter when they both can chase down their prey and tear them to shreds.Swoon.

Adrian leans down and grips me firmly by the shoulders before titling me forward. With my heart beating in my throat, I latch on to the counter and carefully hoist myself to my feet.

“Having a bit of trouble with Doris?” He gestures to the sink, threading one hand through his hair while the other disappears inside his jean pocket. The white Henley hugging his massive frame leaves nothing to the imagination, but instead, showcases the hours he spends ramming into other guys on the field.

Somehow, I feign annoyance and roll my eyes as I rip the gloves from my hands and brush invisible dust from my slacks. “I don’t know why you and Willow named this infernal thing.”

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