Page 45 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
“You just may be right,” I admit.
Audra laughs. “Of course I’m right!”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll try?” She echoes, faintly.
I nod. “I’ll try.”
She shakes her head. “Wrong—this isn’t something you try. You just let whatever happens happen, and you go into it without any expectations. Just enjoy yourself. That’s it. Super simple.”
“Whatever happens, happens,” I repeat, “and no expectations.”
“And tell Audra every last dirty, sordid detail, the moment he leaves.”
I laugh. “And tell Audra every last dirty, sordid detail the moment he leaves,” I repeat.
We drink more wine, and eat too much Chinese food, and then too much ice cream, and watch half of the latest season of The Bachelor on my laptop. Audra falls asleep on my couch—a regular occurrence on our nights in.
I’m half-asleep myself as I head upstairs, but when I get into bed, I can’t sleep from the excitement I feel. There’s trepidation, too—the fear of getting hurt hasn’t gone away or lessened, but I know Audra will help me through it if that happens. And Audra is right—I have to get back out there, or I never will.
And besides—everything I’ve experienced with Jesse so far tells me that regardless of how things end up with him, it’ll be worth it.
Earth-shaking, world-rocking, hard-core fucking? Yes, please.
I fall asleep trying to picture what that might feel like.
Chapter 10
I’m nowhere near bold enough to simply ask Jesse to come over so we can sleep together, so I’m oddly relieved when my kitchen sink starts leaking the next day.
I text him immediately, but have to edit my text several times before I’m comfortable with the wording: Hey, so my kitchen sink is leaking, both from where the faucet attaches to the sink and around the edges where it’s supposed to be sealed to the countertop. Any chance you have a pretty porcelain farmhouse sink just laying around?
The bubbles pop up immediately, and a text bloops in a second later: You just want me for my skill with power tools.
I let my fingers do the talking, and don’t edit or filter my reply. Yep. No ulterior motives here. Just pure opportunism.
Jesse: I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.
Me: that’s the tricky thing about text messages, it’s hard to infer stuff like that.
Jesse: Ryder is doing the electric for a remodel an old farmhouse remodel, and I think they’re actually doing a total gut job and going super modern on the inside, so there’s a possibility I may be able to score one.
Me: I was totally kidding about that. I’ll gladly pay for a new sink. I mean, you may even be able to fix the one I have, but I’ve always wanted a farmhouse sink. You don’t have to go scavenging for me.
Jesse: Hey, why pay for something if I can easily find it for free? I’m not promising anything, but I’ll swing by the job and look. Either way, I’ll get you fixed up ASAP.
Me: You’re the best.
Jesse: Don’t forget you said that when you’re trying to come up with ways to thank me. My previously stated methods of acceptable thanks still apply. ;-)
I laugh out loud at that, because, it being a day off with nowhere to go, I’m in my pajamas. I decide to “thank” him a little right away.
I stand in front of my full-length mirror in my bedroom and take a full-body selfie, making sure to twist and lift and work all the magic for the best pose—showing off cleavage and thigh and making my waist look smaller than it is.
I leave it unedited, and send it to him with a caption: here’s a little down payment on my thank you. :-*
I second-guess the kissing-face emoticon the moment I send it, but it’s too late to take it back.
He texts back instantly: Have mercy!
Me: fine. Here’s a little extra…mercy.
I face the mirror again and tug the neck of the shirt down a little, showing a bit more cleavage, snap a photo, and send it.
Jesse: I meant that as an epithet, but I’ll take the extra mercy. The only problem is now I’m installing cabinet hardware with a hard-on, which I can’t very well just disappear to take care of, if you know what I mean.
Me: Poor Jesse. Should I apologize?
Jesse: Hell no. Just saying. That’s what you do to me.
Me: It’s not even that hot. Just a little tugging on the shirt.
Jesse: It doesn’t take much where you’re concerned. I have to go, though. James is getting pissy that I’m texting instead of working. He’s a real slave driver. I’ll let you know what I come up with regarding the sink.
Me: Okay, thanks. See you soon?
Jesse: Not soon enough, but yeah.
Me: You’re sweet.
Jesse: and you’re hot. GTG. Bye for now.
I’m grinning like a fool, and vibrating with excitement. And trepidation. But mostly excitement.
