Page 21 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make you bad. Just…a certain kind of man. You’re kind, and considerate, and generous, and skilled.” I hesitate over the next words, but again my mouth betrays me. “And hot as fuck.”
“Hot as fuck, huh?” His smirk is heated and humorous.
“Um. Sexy as sin?”
“I’m not a romance novel hero, so I’ll stick with hot as fuck, if you don’t mind.”
“My point is that yeah, actually, you are a sort of romance novel hero.”
He frowns. “How do you mean?”
“You show up looking the way you look, and you fix my window, and you flirt with me, and you say things that make me literally and figuratively swoon.” I shrug. “Ergo, you are a romance novel hero.”
“I’m not flirting with you, Imogen.”
My heart sinks. “You’re—you’re not?” God, have I just totally read this whole thing wrong?
He leans even closer, so close we could kiss, if either of were so inclined. “Nope. I’m hitting on you.”
Hope blooms, desire blossoms, and need burns sun-hot. “Oh. I see.”
At that moment, a horn blares, and then a few seconds later, a fist pounds on my front door. Puzzled as to who it could be and what they would need so urgently, I trot to the front door and crack it open.
The man on the other side of the screen door is even taller than Jesse, with arms the size of my waist. His hair and his beard are neatly cut and combed, and both are brown sprinkled with silver. He has a pair of Oakleys on his face, and his phone is clutched in one hand, and he looks furious.
“Um, can I help you?” I ask.
“Where the fuck is Jesse? His truck’s here and his phone is off.”
“Who are you?” I demand, not opening the door further than a small sliver.
“James Bod,” the man says through gritted, grinding teeth. “His boss.”
I hear Jesse’s tread behind me. “Yo, James, what up?”
“Why’s your phone off, you fuckin’ tool?” James demands, his voice an angry bark.
“Whoa, back off, James,” Jesse says, sounding taken aback. “Take a breath, man. What’s crawled up your ass?”
“The plumber fucked up at the Thompson job. The whole fucking basement is flooded! I need all hands so we can save the project, and my top employee has his goddamn phone turned off!”
Jesse shoulders past me and opens the door all the way, talking to James through the screen door. “Okay, well sorry for actually having a fucking life, James. Jesus.”
“The basement is flooded, Jesse. Waist deep.” James runs his hand through his hair. “It’s a clusterfuck, buddy. It’s gonna mean a total redo on the entire basement.”
Jesse groans. “Fuck, man. Seriously? We were damn near done with the basement. All but paint and switch plates.”
“Right, which is why I need you to get your ass over there.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
James turns around on a heel and trots down the steps, but then halts at the bottom and trots back up. “Sorry I was a dick,” he says to me, looking sheepish. “It was unprofessional of me, and I apologize.”
I smile at him. “Thank you for the apology, Mr. Bod. I accept. And it’s fine. Emergencies are like that.”
He juts his chin at the interior of the house. “My brother-in-law fix you up all right?”
I frown. “Your brother-in-law?”
James jerks a thumb at Jesse, who had jogged into my kitchen to retrieve his tool belt. “That joker. My brother-in-law.”
“Jesse is your brother-in-law?”
Jesse nods at me as he pauses by the door. “Yep. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the day and his mood.” He turns to face me. “Sorry about this. Thanks for dinner.”
“It’s okay. Duty calls, right?” I smile up at him, feeling a stupid, annoying, persistent flutter in my belly—and regions southward—at the smile on his lips and the promise in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll find something else for you to fix.”
Jesse laughs. “Imogen, babe—trust me, there’s plenty around here for me to fix.”
“Hey, Don Juan, let’s go,” James growls. “Flirt with the clientele on your own time. Or better yet, don’t flirt with the clientele at all.”
Jesse nudges open the screen door, giving me a brilliant grin and a sly wink. “The job’s done, Jamie. So she’s not a client at the moment, just a former client. And don’t be a dick.”
James shakes his head as the two of them jog toward their trucks, still bantering. “I’ll show you a dick if you don’t get your ass in your truck.”
“Yeah, and I’d need a scanning electron microscope to even see the damn thing, you fuckin’ micro-peen chump.” Jesse whacks James upside the head. “Douche.”
“Hey, asshole. I can fire you, you know. Brother-in-law or not, best friend or not, I will fire your ass.” James reaches his truck—it’s almost a match for Jesse’s, being huge and black with every accent chromed out, sporting huge knobby tires and a lift kit, a back rack, and toolbox.
