Page 17 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
He shook his head, frowning at me. “You’ve got more grace than I do, if you can say that about the girl who fucked your husband.”
“I just…I’m trying to be the better person. I was loyal. I stayed with him until it was obviously no longer going to work, until it was clear it wasn’t just an indiscretion or two, but an ongoing choice. And yeah, those girls made the choice to sleep with a married man, so they’re not innocent, but the real blame lies with him.” I sigh. “Him, I give a lot less grace to.”
“Don’t blame you there.” He smiles at me. “Not only is he a lazy, stupid, useless son of a bitch who took on a project he didn’t have the skills or balls to see through, he bought a fixer-upper he couldn’t fix up.”
I laugh, but can’t quite meet his eyes. “That’s funny and sweet of you to say. I’m sure I wasn’t innocent in the situation, though.”
He blows a raspberry. “Oh bullshit. I mean sure, none of us is ever totally innocent. There’s always something we could have said or done or been better at, or something we missed, but in situations like you’re describing, there’s just no excuse. There’s nothing you could ever do to justify or excuse the way that deep-fried bull testicle of an ex of yours treated you.”
“Maybe you’re right.” I turn around and look at my new window. “I love my window, Jesse. I can’t thank you enough. Really, it’s…it’s too much.” I laugh. “Now I have to figure out how to fix the rest of my windows to match.”
“You’re welcome.”
We stand in silence, which Jesse eventually breaks. “I, um—your food is getting cold, and it smells pretty good.” At that moment, his stomach rumbles loudly, and he laughs to cover it. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to stop for lunch today, and my stomach is letting me know it doesn’t appreciate it.”
I would like to say I hesitated, that I thought it out, that I asked myself if I was really in a place to be doing this, but…I can’t honestly say that’s the truth.
The moment his tummy rumbled and he murmured his excuse, I was formulating in my head how to ask him to stay.
I gesture at the pan. “I, uh…I have more than I can eat by myself.” It’s true, although I’d done it on purpose out of habit, so I’d have leftovers during the week; I meet his eyes, tendering a hesitant, nervous smile. “Do you want to stay and eat with me?”
He blinks. “I—” he broke off, hesitating.
“If you don’t have other plans, I mean. I, um—I guess you have other plans, huh? A hot single guy like you is probably on a waitlist for dates,” I stammer, fumbling to cover my nerves. “I mean, it’s nothing special, but you’re—you know. You’re more than welcome to eat me. Eat with me! Shit. I mean—I mean eat with me.” Mortification rolls through me. “God, shoot me.”
Jesse is laughing. “Imogen—Jesus. You’re too much. Number one, I would love to stay and eat with you. I don’t have plans, or a waitlist for dates, or a little black book, for that matter. The food you made looks and smells amazing, and it’s special because you made it. Number…three? Four? Whatever. I would also absolutely eat you, because, Imogen, honey, I have no doubt that you taste fucking delicious. Last, I won’t shoot you, because I like you, and, in the words of The Man in Black, ‘there’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world—it would be a pity to damage yours.’”
“Oh god, you’re quoting Princess Bride.” I hold the back of my hand to my forehead and sway backward. “Swoon.”
He laughs. “The movie quotes really get you, don’t they?”
I laugh and nod. “They really do. I’d drop quotes to my ex all the time, and he’d never get them, and I was always like, what? How do you not know what that’s from? It’s just part of how I communicate.”
“Well that’s something I understand,” Jesse says, reaching for the buckle of his tool belt. “I’m the same way.”
Just as I’m in the process of pulling two plates out of the cabinet, my mind becomes distracted. I’ve become so used to seeing him with that tool belt on that I momentarily forgot it was separate from his actual pants. So, when he reached for that buckle and started loosening it, I maybe sort of panicked a little.
Excited, horny, frantic panic.
The thought of this hot, masculine, sexy, helpful man unbuckling his jeans is just…too much for my poor libido.
I drop the plates.
They smash on the floor with a deafening crash, shards and chunks flying in every direction. A shard of ceramic slices the outside of my calf, drawing a long but shallow gash.
