Page 78 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
“Audra, you look as incredible as ever. What about me?”
She glances at me. “Bitch, please. He’ll get hard at first sight.” She shoots me a look. “Promise me you’re not kidding about Franco being hot.”
I laugh. “You won’t believe me until you see him.”
“Because I need something jaw-dropping in my life. I’ve had a streak of guys that have been, at best, decently hot.” She grins salaciously. “And my jaw needs a little workout, anyway.”
I don’t say anything because I’m pretty sure if anyone can give Audra a run for her money, it’d be Franco.
The house is…incredible. Done in the French Manor style, it’s three stories, royal blue with slate gray roof tiles, surrounded by two acres of pristine grass—the area directly around the house itself is dirt still, because the landscaping hasn’t been done yet, according to Jesse. The house looks mostly done, which jives with Jesse’s reports that it’s down to finishing details. The front door is standing open, and I hear a radio blaring something unintelligible; more of Jesse’s screamy, thrashy, headache-inducing heavy metal. Overlapped around the music are the voices of the guys, each distinct, with a few others thrown in. I see a plumber’s van, someone that appears to specialize in renewable energy, and outside the house a crew of three young men are laying bricks in the circular driveway—which features a marble fountain that isn’t flowing with water yet.
Audra and I are each carrying giant bags full of carryout burgers and fries from a local pub and grill, and each of us has a twelve-pack of beer.
The bricklayers stop and whistle at us. “Hey-yo, you got some of that for us?” one of them asks, grinning at us.
Audra, always up for a little nonsense, hands her bag off to me, and cracks open the box of beer cans while sashaying sexily toward the three young men—who look to be barely out of high school, and probably hired to do the unskilled labor the more skilled crew doesn’t want to waste their time on.
“Sure, boys.” She puts a little extra pop to her hips as sidles over to them, offering them the beer. “Go ahead,” she says, breathily, leaning over a bit more than necessary.
They each take one, laughing and chattering. And then Audra sashays back to me, still putting on a show for them, just because. And she doesn’t look back as we enter the home itself, even though we both know all three are staring at us—Audra especially.
“You’re shameless,” I whisper-laugh.
She just smirks and shrugs as we enter the house. “It’s harmless fun. It’ll be a memorable part of the day for some young kids doing hard work on a hot day for probably shitty pay.”
“Actually,” a voice says, surprising us both into startled gasps. “They get paid double what most would pay for that job.”
I whirl, and see Franco at the window beside the open front door—he’d been in the process of painting the trim around the window. He’d seen the whole thing.
“Hi, Franco.” I try for familiar and friendly, hoping Jesse hasn’t said too much.
The wary hardness in his gaze tells me Jesse has definitely said something to his friends. “Imogen.” His gaze goes to Audra, looking her over. “Who’s your friend?”
Normally, this is where Audra takes over. Her patented seduction routine goes into overdrive, and she has the guy eating out of her hand, if not somewhere else, within seconds. Only, she’s mute. Staring at Franco, jaw open. I swear she has a dot of drool at the corner of her mouth.
I glance at Franco again, and understand: it’s a hot day and the other truck out front of the house is an HVAC technician, so the A/C in the house isn’t hooked up yet—meaning it’s hot in here, since it’s easily over ninety outside today. Which means Franco is shirtless, in the Sexy Contractor look—dirty, ripped, paint-spattered, faded jeans, heavy work boots, and a tool belt slung low around his hard, narrow hips. And Franco is, as I’ve said…jaw-dropping. A man with the dedication to his body that Franco shows…well, that’s like catnip to a fitness addict like Audra.
Franco frowns at me. “You both lose your voice?”
I start. “Oh. Sorry. This is my best friend, Audra.” I elbow her. “Audra, this is Franco. That friend of Jesse’s I was telling you about?”
“Abs!” Audra bursts out, apropos of nothing. She blinks, shakes her head, drags her wrist across the corner of her mouth, glancing at me worriedly, and then back at Franco. “Um. I mean. Audra. My name is—my name is Audra.”
A slow, amused smile spreads over Franco’s face. “Tits. I mean, Franco. My name is Franco.”
Audra, in a rare fit of extended dumbfounded speechlessness, glances down at her chest. Which, admittedly, she has put on rather obvious display: a “sports bra” that’s more lingerie than sports bra, and tight white form-fitting workout shorts that barely cover her ass. I’m pretty sure her sports bra has push-up technology, and god knows Audra’s monster tits don’t need any help in that department.
