Page 21 of The Non-Hook Up

He nods. “Yeah, I got my-”

We both jump as a sudden bang erupts through the house, followed by a powerful hissing sound coming from downstairs. I act before I have a chance to process what I am doing as I practically sprint down the stairs, following the sound and arriving in the kitchen where I feel my chest concave in on itself at what I see.

“Ah! Oh no no no no!” I cry out as I watch a powerful stream of water shoot out from where the faucet once was, hitting the ceiling with such force I don't even want to think about how much it will cost to fix this and how I’m going to get that money.

Not wanting to dwell on that too long, I carefully walk through the puddles, instantly getting sprayed with water as I make my way to the kitchen sink. Already panicked, I start turning knobs, knowing they won’t work but hoping.

I put my hand in the way of the stream, but it only spreads the spray further, drenching me until my clothes are sticking to me and my hair hangs in limp, wet strands around my face.

I squeal as I get the water in my eyes, blinking to see through it, when I’m lifted off my feet and placed on the other side of the kitchen island.

Before I can’t protest, Riley’s at the water and pulling his shirt over his head in one move, stunning me into silence as all I see is tanned skin stretched over tight muscle, each muscle working and moving as he scrunches his shirt and proceeds to wrap it around the spray, tying it off, surpassing the water and drenching the shirt.

A short-term solution, but it's better than what I was doing.

A second passes before Riley meets my eyes, his dark hair dripping over his forehead and droplets of water rolling down his cheeks, his eyes looking over my drenched hair down to my wet shirt that's currently clinging to me.

He blinks, looking away and focusing back on his shirt, suppressing the water before pushing his hair back off his forehead and proceeding to place his hand over the tied-up shirt. “Hold that there. I’ll go turn the water off, then run out to my car and get my tools.”

It takes me a second to realise that he is talking to me before I act, cautiously closing the distance between us and placing my hand inches from his over the shirt, holding it.

I can feel the heat from his body, and I can't suppress the blush that takes over my cheeks, looking down to try to hide it because that is the last thing I need. I don’t need to be acting on these feelings. These urges would do nothing but complicate things, so I quip, “You’re Mr Fix-It today, aren’t you.”

I feel his eyes on me when he says, “You want me to go?”

Letting a second of panic slip, I meet his eyes with my wide ones. “Don’t you dare leave me like this.”

One side of his mouth turns up in an amused smile before he nods, pulling his hand away from the bundled shirt, then starts to back away from me to leave. “I thought so. I’ll be back in a sec.”

He is back after five minutes, walking carefully through the kitchen with, unfortunately, a new shirt clinging to his wet body. I try not to show my disappointment, as he tells me that I can finally let go of the shirt when he starts to get to work.

He works away for what feels like hours, but I know is only five, maybe ten minutes, and the whole time, I am standing stiff, too unsure to move, the silence dancing between us growing so thick that I feel like it could smother me.

I watch each of Riley’s muscles as he focuses on his task, working with his expert hands, using tools I had no knowledge of or what to do with them.

With the silence dragging on for far too long, I force myself to speak, asking, “So how did you learn all of this?”

Riley answers without looking up. “My dad. Always believed a person should be able to fix their own problems.”

I raise my brows at that, wishing I was taught that myself, then maybe I wouldn’t be in the mess I am now. “I like that.”

He gives a small smile, still focusing on the task at hand. “He did too.”

I sigh. “I wish my dad taught me things that'd be helpful. I guess I shouldn’t say things like that, though.”

His hands stop moving as he finally looks at me, holding my eyes with a serious yet thoughtful expression. “Are they true?”

I think, already knowing the truth when I shrug. “I guess.”

“Then don’t be ashamed.” He returns to his work, then he says, “Maybe I could teach you.”

“I couldn’t ask that.”

Riley sighs, stopping again before looking back up at me. “Mia, you need to learn that accepting help is okay. It does not mean you’re a burden or that you are less than.”

I just stare at him, wondering if I am that easy to read or maybe just easy to read for him. I’ve never been against accepting help, but with the loss of my parents, I was made all too aware of how much I relied on people, and look where that has gotten me. Lost with no direction.

I can accept help, but I need to do some work myself to earn that help.

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