Page 8 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
Ugh.
Why am I even thinking about him? Why waste my time on this? I’m not in the market for anything with anyone. The ink on my divorce is barely dry.
But Jesse is just…so hot and impossible to ignore.
I was never a bad boy sort of girl—not that having long hair, a beard, and tattoos necessarily mean he’s bad or a bad boy, mind you. It’s just that I usually went for the clean-cut guys. The kind who wore A+F and J. Crew and played soccer or tennis and drove newer used cars they’d bought themselves by being responsible and working on the weekends.
Which had led me to date Nicholas in the first place. We met when I was twenty-eight, and he was thirty-two. He was a guidance counselor, drove a gray Ford Focus he’d bought used, wore polos and button downs even on Saturdays, owned precisely four pairs of shoes—all plain black or brown or tan oxfords, which he shined regularly—and watched CNN and Fox News religiously. He watched both, he said, to get an evenly balanced view of the news. His idea of exercise was walking from the parking lot to the door, and I doubt he knew a socket wrench from a screwdriver anymore than I did. Which made it all the more confusing that he wanted a fixer-upper, but he was insistent and I just went along with it, even though I thought it was a stupid idea.
The real question is, why did I date him in the first place? What had I seen in him? Well, he was steady and reliable, for one. Predictable. Staid. Paid attention to me, at first, at least.
So yeah, maybe I had some issues, but I knew I wanted a man I could rely on, who would be there for me, who I knew would treat me decently. A boring, middle-class, buttoned-up guidance counselor had seemed like a safe bet. And I’d been starved for attention. My last boyfriend before Nicholas had not been a great experience, and the breakup had been worse.
I was feeling bad about myself, when I met Nicholas at…well…Target, as a matter of fact. He was buying towels, and I was buying new bed sheets, because I’d wanted to erase any memory of the guy I’d been dating. We started talking about thread counts, and he asked me on a date, and I said yes.
He had all his hair back then, and no obvious belly. Not that I judge a man’s worth based on his hair or belly—I’m not that shallow. If the right guy came along and made me feel like—well, like Jesse made me feel last night…and happened to be balding and a little out of shape, I wouldn’t care.
I’d like to spend time with Jesse, though. Feel those hands on my hips…I bet he can dance, too. He probably has amazing rhythm.
“Imogen?” I hear a voice, and for a moment I can’t place who is talking to me. Jesse’s voice is deep and rough, and this one is rather high-pitched and soft.
“Huh?” I ask, blinking rapidly.
An amused snort greets me, and I see Dr. Bishara standing in front of me. “I have been trying to get your attention for several moments. Are you okay?”
I blink at him, still working on getting my bearings; right—I’m at work, and this is my boss. “Um. Yeah, I’m good, sorry. Just…spacing out, I guess.”
Dr. Bishara chuckles softly. “Spacing out, yes. Precisely.” He smiles at me. “You did the work of two people yesterday, Imogen. Why don’t you go home early?”
I want to, so badly. But I can’t. “I need the hours, Dr. Bishara. Why don’t you send Kathy home instead?”
“There will not be any more spacing out if I keep you here, will you?” His smile is gentle, but the question is sharp, pointed.
“Nope. I’m good.”
“Very well, then.”
The rest of the day goes by a bit faster, leaving me little time to spend thinking about Jesse, which is probably for the best.
Once the day is over I head home with plans to hit the shower, make a nice little dinner and chill out in the backyard. It rained a little bit this morning, but then it turned super hot and I’m dying to cool off…in more than one way.
Wait till Audra hears about my new handyman.
My phone rings as I’m getting into my car to head home.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Imogen, this is Jesse.” A brief pause. “The contractor from yesterday. I boarded up your window?”
“Yes, of course I remember you,” I say. As if I could forget him.
“So, I have a window for you. I could have you all fixed up tonight if you’ll be home.”
“Already? Yeah, sure. I’m on the way right now, actually.”
“Sweet. I’m in the area, as a matter of fact, so I’ll see you there in fifteen or twenty minutes?”
