Page 69 of Stuck With You
Something about Sarah coming a little unraveled sends waves of warmth to my cold-blooded insides. I try my damnedest not to smile, but I can’t.
“Oh, for real.” Her head falls back as if begging the sky for patience, and the hair falling out of her ponytail catches in the light breeze.
“Carson, you and Trig run and get a pump and hoses from the shop,” I order, still watching Sarah. “Wind, see how many fans you can scrounge up.”
The three men head to their trucks.
Sarah’s attention falls back on me.
“Call Samson and tell him not to bother.”
“Listen, I can’t—”
“We’ll turn off the main supply and get the water out to see what’s going on, but you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay until the problem is fixed.”
I step around her to pull my toolbox from the bed of my truck.
“Uh. . .what now?”
There’s a level of panicked sarcasm in her tone that tugs at my gut, so I keep on marching to my truck and focusing on a problem I can solve.
I start toward her house but stumble, almost falling flat on my face, when I hear Krissy’s voice.
“It’s ok. You can stay with us.”
______
“No,” Sarah and I say in unison.
I have avoided this conversation for the last two hours, hoping the idea would disappear as if it had never been mentioned. But I should know better with Krissy.
She grabs my arm with some kind of superhuman strength and hauls me to the living room. The dog follows, sitting at our feet.
“They cannot stay with us,” I growl-whisper.
“Why not?” Krissy hisses back.
“Because.”
“Because why?” There’s an amused dare in her tone that makes my head want to explode.
The little instigator knows why, and she’s intent on making me say it.
She backs off, a smartass smirk appearing.
I cannot have this woman in my space. My actual sacred personal space where I’m still trying to figure shit out. Shit, that might actually have to do with her!
“You need this,” Krissy says calmly and quietly as if she’s suddenly a therapist.
The guys and I have spent the last two hours pumping water out of the basement to find that the water main running in from the street is either clogged or damaged by a tree root.
After a phone call to the city, it could be Monday before someone is available to inspect it. Until then, the water is off, and the basement will be drying out to prevent mold from growing.
What I need is a cold shower and to forget the sound of Sarah’s panicked tone, as well as the tight-ass leggings she’s wearing and the sliver of skin that keeps peeking out from under her short shirt.
I run a hand over my face to gather my defenses.
“They cannot stay with us. We are neighbors, not BFFs.”
