Molly

I WAS IDLING IN FRONT of the Seattle SeaTac airport, waiting for Sandra to emerge from baggage claim. I’d convinced her to come stay with me for a week so she could get a break from city life and relax. I was excited to see her. I’d been away from ‘home’ for so long that her being here was going to be an escape for me as well.

There she was, a purse the size of a small suitcase barely hanging off her shoulder, cell phone to her ear, and two bags on wheels dragged behind her. She was dressed in all black, except for the string of pearls that were around her neck. Her hair was a jet-black and hair sprayed to perfection. I knew that even the strongest wind wasn’t going to budge a single strand. While she appeared frazzled with her small frame being weighed down by her bags, I knew better. She was the most organized woman on the planet.

I got out of the car to give her some assistance. While I would normally greet anybody else with a warm hug, Sandra wasn’t affectionate. I’d tried to hug her once and she’d gone stiff as a board and asked me what I was doing. It was an awkward moment for the both of us. Lesson learned that day. Not everyone is a hugger.

I smiled as I approached her. “Hey! Welcome to Seattle.”

She nodded to me as she continued her conversation with whoever it was on the line. “I don’t care if you have to hire a hooker off Waikiki Beach, Kai. You have a deadline and the publishers aren’t going to give a flip that you’re stressed. Get unstressed and make it happen.” She shoved her purse into my hand and hung up with the other. “Jesus Christ, you authors are going to give me a heart attack. Can you believe he said he had writers block because his wife was refusing him sex, and sex gives him the drive to write?” Her purse was nearly touching the ground as it hung from my hands. I gaped at her. “You live in fucking paradise. Take your ass to the beach, hire sex, dance some hula, I don’t care.”

She was shaking her head as she raised the liftgate of my small SUV. Her skinny arms hoisted in her luggage and she was mumbling under her breath.

“I’m your good pupil.” I grinned like an idiot.

She walked to the passenger side and opened the door. She glared at me over the top of the vehicle. “You can be just as bad as the rest of them. I recall not too long ago going rounds with you.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, and I pushed through.” We both climbed in and I set her purse on my lap. “Sandra, what in the hell do you have in this thing? The kitchen sink?”

She rolled her eyes and dragged the heavy purse over to her side. It made a thud as it hit the shifter. “Pretty much. I live my life out of this bag. Why, are you judging?”

“I’m not.”

She pulled down the sun visor and glanced at herself in the mirror. She reapplied her mauve lipstick and checked her hair. “Sure, you are. But that’s okay.”

I began the three-hour trip to Port Townsend and we chatted most of the way. I asked about her flight and if she picked up any souvenirs in Denver where she had a layover. On the ferry from Seattle to the Bremerton side, I tried with no avail to get her to step out onto the observation deck and smell the fresh sea air, but she refused. She said seagulls hated her and told me how one had snatched a hot dog out of her hands when she was a kid on a ferry from San Francisco to Alcatraz. She said birds were assholes and shit on everything they could find. It made me laugh.

The ride back was surprisingly quick when you had company. But as we pulled up to the house, she assessed my new place.

“Well, it certainly seems decent from the outside. What’s the catch?”

I laughed. “I told you, there are just a few things inside that need to be taken care of, but it’s home. It has good bones.”

Sandra was skeptical. I wouldn’t expect anything less from her. She was a very grounded woman. It took a lot to pull the wool over her eyes. And right now, there was no mistaking her reaction when we walked through the front door.

We were two steps inside when she said, “I’m going to need the closest Hilton.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” She twisted around and gave me a sour face. “The carpet looks like it has a film of dirt on it. Can I take my shoes off and not contract anything?”

I sighed. “I’m going to pull the carpet up soon. I’m not sure what’s under it yet. But I think your feet will be fine. I have slippers you can wear.”

That slightly appeased her. “I can’t believe you’re going to do the work yourself.” Her eyes bounced around the room, taking in every imperfection.

I stood a little taller. “Well, as much of it as I can. I don’t think I’ll be able to do some of it. Like the toilet in my bedroom may be too heavy for me to lift out, and I need to take down the shower door and replace it with a different one. Those are the bigger projects I will hire someone for.”

She began to walk around and inspect everything. “Do I even want to know where I’m sleeping? I thought you said this was going to be a vacation.”

“It will be, I promise. I have things lined up for us to do. Sightseeing and whatnot.”

“I’m pretty sure we saw the whole town as we drove through.”

“Nah, there’s a whole other street to look at,” I joked. “It’s the shops that are fun. There’s a chocolate place that handmakes everything, a delicious seafood restaurant that brings fresh fish in straight from the docks, and an old-school diner that has the best ice cream I’ve ever had. It’s decorated like the ’50s soda shops. It’ll be fun, I promise. Plus, I have a few more things up my sleeve.”

“Does it require a paintbrush and jeans that can get ruined? ’Cause if so, count me out. I didn’t bring my ‘play clothes’,” she said facetiously.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to ask you to paint anything. Just sit back and relax.”

“Molly, I was kidding. You know I’d give you a hand if you needed it. I’d just need you to take me into town so I can get some cheap clothes to wear.”

“Thank you,” I said warmly. “I appreciate that.”

Sandra grabbed the handle of one suitcase. “Lead the way to my living quarters.”

The guest room was where I’d attempted to make it most presentable. I’d done my best by making sure she had a new bed, with fresh sheets and new bedding. She wasn’t going to be pleased with the guest bathroom, but she’d have to deal. These were my accommodations for the time being. I knew she wouldn’t ditch me and stay in a hotel. But Sandra was used to the finer things. She lived in a high-rise in downtown Boston, with views of the city and a security man who only let authorized people inside.

Going from that to this while on vacation were night and day. I’d never really lived with high-class things or taken lavish vacations like she had. My parents had a small two-bedroom house outside of the city. My dad worked for the cable company and Mom was at the department store. Money wasn’t being raked in, but we had enough to get by.

Well, until he left.

Sandra sat down on her bed and rolled her shoulders, like she was wearing the weight of the world on them. “The house suits you.”

“What do you mean?” Considering what she’d just said in the living room, I didn’t know if I should take that as an insult or compliment.

“I mean, it’s homey. I see the potential here.” She looked around. This room only needed new paint and flooring. I’d fix it when she left. “I wouldn’t have bought it, but you’ve always been one to like projects.”

This was true. I was this way with my writing, and she knew I enjoyed making little crafts. I’d dragged her to a pumpkin farm last year so I could grab a few gourds and paint them to decorate my porch. While she said I was like a pre-school kid, she loved the finished product.

“Do you need time to rest?” I asked.

She raised a brow. “Woman, do I ever rest? Have you ever actually seen me sleep?”

I chuckled. “Do you sleep?”

“Hell no. Sleep is for the weak. That’s why God created Adderall.”

We both chuckled. “Okay, I’ll let you get settled. That dresser is empty and there are some hangers in the closet. The bathroom is across the hall. And I swear if I so much as hear you bitch about it, I will hide the Adderall and trade it out for Ambien.”

She grabbed at her chest. “You wouldn’t!”

“That’s what I thought.” I winked. “I’m going to go make some coffee.”

I stepped out and walked into the kitchen. It faced the front of the house and there was a small window that looked out on the street. I looked at Blake’s place, which appeared to be quiet. I had yet to use the number on the business card I’d tossed into a basket near the sink. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to throw it away, which was my first reaction when I found it. I knew his company name and where I could find the number, but there was something about having a piece of something he gave me.

I mindlessly moved about, filling the pot with water, the filter with grounds, and turning it on. I had yet to graduate to a single cup maker. I enjoyed the old-school coffee pots I’d always had. My mind went back to Blake. I hadn’t seen him since he was in my yard that day. A few times I’d caught myself looking out my front window around the time most people came home, but I either only saw his car parked or when it was gone. I was growing annoyed with my curious thoughts I’d had about him.

“I’m going to need the biggest cup you have.” Sandra brought me out of my thoughts.

I took two mugs down from the cupboard. I only had the extra-large ones. The regular-sized ones were too little, and I was too lazy to refill them that often.

“So, what are the plans for today?”

I glanced outside. “Considering it’s getting dark out, I think I’ll run into town and grab some takeout and a bottle of wine. Do you still like lo mein?”

She sipped her black coffee. “Mhmm. Damn, you make a good cup.”

“It’s not me, it’s the coffee.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter. “Grab some of those Rangoon things too. They’re worth the extra cardio.”

I don’t even know why she felt the need to exercise. She was thin already, and the smoking certainly helped with that. Come to think of it, I don’t even know how she could breathe with all the smoking and exercise.

“You got it.”

I wasn’t gone long. When I came back home, Sandra was eyeballing the business card.

“Who’s Blake Whitmore, and why isn’t he demolishing these shitty counters?” She flipped the business card over and read the back.

I set the bag of food down and walked across the kitchen, snatching the card from her hands. “He’s a contractor who lives across the street. And I’m not having him do anything here. The guy is a jerk.”

She crossed her arms and smirked. “Wait… Blake as in the one you broke the law over and took his mail, Blake? Now here’s a subject I think needs talked about.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Sure, it does. Look how defensive you’re getting.”

I turned and started taking the Styrofoam containers out of the bag, trying to ignore her.

“Is this Blake person attractive? Have you tickled his pickle? If you’re holding out on me and have had sex since you’ve been here, I’m quitting as you friend and agent.”

“What?” I nearly shouted. “I haven’t tickled anything. I just said the guy was an asshole. Why would I be interested in someone like that?”

She was growing more intrigued by the second. I wasn’t masking my thoughts very well. “Molly, I’ve known you for a couple years now. In those two years, you’ve had one serious relationship, and he was the only person you’ve slept with. I know when someone has sparked your interest.”

“I’ve barely even spoken. You can’t judge based off me saying the man is an asshole.”

“Yes, I can. Most of the time you’re indifferent. You having an opinion means this one is interesting.”

“The length of my interest extends about as far as his driveway, where he will stay put. I’m not having him in this house.”

She approached me and bumped my side with her hip. “Not even to tighten your screws or clean out the cobwebs?”

That elicited a laugh from me. “I have no cobwebs, thank you very much.”

Sandra scoffed. “Psh, yes, you do. And don’t say your battery-operated friend is doing the job. Nothing cleans you out as nicely as a hot man with a decent-sized dick.”

“Why are you so crass?”

“Why are you such a prude?”

“I’m not.”

Sandra grabbed her box of food and I pointed to the drawer with the forks. “It’s just sex, Molly. It doesn’t always have to be more than that.”

Yes, it did. Sexual acts were a big deal. They were emotional, physical, connective, and wonderful. Well, wonderful most of the time. I didn’t do casual sex. And a one-night stand with my neighbor from hell was out of the question. Not that a passing dream or two about it once in a while will hurt.

“I’d rather wait till I’m in a relationship with a man before I take that leap.”

She slurped up a forkful of noodles and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “How many partners have you had in your lifetime?”

Oh God, did I have to say the number out loud? “A few.” When she waved her hand at me to keep going, I knew she wouldn’t shut up till I told her. “Fine. My number is three. I’ve been with three people.”

She coughed. “Oh, honey, I’m about to tell you the same thing I told Kai and go get a male escort. Three? Really? That’s all?”

I sank down against the counter and plucked at my sweet and sour chicken. “Why is three a bad number? How many have you been with?”

“Thirty-six,” she proudly stated, without skipping a beat.

Now I was the one choking. “You’ve got to be kidding me! How have you not gotten an STD or pregnant yet?”

She frowned. “It’s called condoms, birth control, and not being a moron when you sleep with someone.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” I said sheepishly. I truly didn’t mean to offend her. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say that high of a number. I always thought that’s what men would say if asked how many conquests they’ve had.”

Sandra set down her food and picked up her wine glass. When she drank down the full cup, I knew she was about to get serious with me. “Molly, I realize you may have lived a sheltered life. I know you took care of your mom for a year or two before she passed. But you can’t pass judgement on people who use sex as an outlet to relieve stress, or hell, just because we like it. Also”—she pointed at me— “it really does wonders. Shit, it’s better than acupuncture most of the time.”

I laughed. “How is it so easy for you?”

She shrugged. “It’s not that it’s easy, but I put my expectations out there from the start. I walk into a date or relationship being upfront. They know I can’t give them a lot of my time, or to not expect me to be the doting girlfriend who’ll go meet the family. I’ve found that saying what you want and being direct has been beneficial for everyone involved.”

I blinked a few times, slightly confused. “And they are okay with this?”

“No, not all of them. Would you believe that there are men out there who want to be wined and dined and shown a good time?” She grinned devilishly. “In all seriousness, it’s like I said. Some like relationships, and some are fine with the single life.”

I piped up, “I enjoy being single.”

She refilled her glass. “Sure, you’re fine being single, Molly. But you don’t enjoy it. I’m well aware based on what you’ve told me before, you like being cared for. For example”—her hand swept out in front of her as her eyes scanned the house— “you may be ready to take on the world with your online tutorials and getting your hands dirty, but deep down I know you’d prefer to have a man come in and do the work for you and you delegate what you like and don’t like.”

I set my fork down and let that sink in. Was she actually right about that? Would I prefer to be the ‘stereotypical female’ and let a male be my Mister Fixit while I chose paint colors and tile, or was I truly happy being alone, tackling the projects and not having someone to lean on when I didn’t know what to do? I knew the answer to my own question before I’d even finished the thought. But nothing was going to change my current status. I had a house full of problems and Mister Right wasn’t anywhere to be found.

She pointed at me. “You know I’m right.”

I sighed and looked at the floor, suddenly feeling tired and ready to go to bed. “Yeah, okay, maybe.”

Sandra was forward with expressing her thoughts, but she was quick to pick up on my change in mood. “You’re young. You don’t have an expiration to be happily in love and married with kids and living your life like a fifties sitcom. Okay? We’re not the Joan Cleaver’s of the world. You’re smart, funny, you have built your own name and empire with your writing. When the right man comes along, he will fit in seamlessly and all you’ll need him for will be picking out your children’s names, the best sex of your life, and making you deliriously happy.”

“Think so?” I asked hopefully.

“I know so. So turn that frown upside-down and don’t make me hug you. It would be very bad for the both of us.”

That earned her a grin. “I don’t know how a man hasn’t found you and taken you off the market yet.”

“Oh, Jesus, I’ve never been on the market. Too many men to take advantage of, and one cock for life will never be my cup of tea.”

We both had a laugh. I managed to stay up for another hour before I yawned and said we should get some rest. I planned on doing some walking around the shops and pier tomorrow. Sandra went off to her room, and I went to mine. After I changed into a pair of plaid flannel pajama bottoms I’d bought from the men’s section at Target and a gray spaghetti strap tank top, I plopped on the edge of my bed and rubbed my eyes. It’d been a long day. While Sandra may have been exhausting me with her assessments of my life, I adored having her here. She was the added sunshine that Port Townsend needed, even on its mildly warm days.

Scooting back on my butt and lying down, I was just rolling over on my side to get comfy when I heard an obnoxious screech coming from the hall. I jumped out of bed and rushed to see what was going on, hoping like hell it wasn’t an intruder because I didn’t think I had the energy to defend myself against an attacker or another raccoon.

Out in the hall was Sandra standing with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, a robe covering her, and she was hopping around like her feet were on fire. I glanced down and on the contrary, her feet were soaking wet, and so was my hallway floor.

“Oh my God, what happened?” I sloshed through the water and peered into the bathroom.

She pulled the toothbrush from her mouth. “Your toilet. I flushed it and it won’t stop running. The water kept coming up and now it’s overflowing.”

Damn it, what was I supposed to do? There was a growing pool of water on my floor, and no matter how tight I turned the shut off valve behind the toilet, the water was still spilling over the edge. I felt the panic rising.

“Why isn’t it shutting off?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Jesus, I think I’m standing in piss water, in my eighty-dollar slippers from Neiman Marcus.”

“Your slippers are the last of my worries. Fuck, why won’t this thing shut off?” I growled. I twisted and turned it every which way, and to no avail. It wasn’t helping. Then a thought popped into my head. I shouldn’t do it, but what other choice did I have at the moment? I had at least an inch of water in my bathroom, and soon it would trail out to my living room and bedrooms. I did the unthinkable and stood up.

“I’ll be right back.” I started toward the front door.

“Where are you going?” she called after me.

I didn’t bother answering her. I needed my house to not fill up with water, and while I had no clue what I was doing, I knew someone who did. I marched across the street and rapped on the front door of Blake’s house. I stood there, shifting from leg to leg, unsure if I was making a complete fool of myself, or if maybe I should’ve just called a twenty-four-hour plumber, but it was too late now. I didn’t hear footsteps, and no lights were on.

I knocked again.

“Okay, seriously?” I whispered. I saw his car in the carport, so why wasn’t he answering? Did he sleep like a log and not hear me? Maybe I should’ve called.

A cool breeze blew past me and I shivered. I realized I didn’t have a bra on, and the crisp air was causing my nipples to harden. I needed to forget this harebrained idea and go back to my house and look up an emergency plumber. After another second of waiting, I made up my mind. Turning on my heels, I started to march back to my house. I made it as far as the middle of his walkway before the door opened, and I heard a deep voice behind me.

“Well, this is interesting,” Blake said gruffly.

I twisted around to face him and wobbled on shaky legs when my eyes caught sight of the man standing before me. My God, he was beautiful. Blake’s thick brown hair was ruffled as if he’d had his head buried under his pillow. His dark eyes looked tired and smaller from a lack of sleep. He was standing shirtless and in a pair of navy boxer briefs. His biceps that were hidden by his T-shirt the last time I’d seen him were now exposed, and they matched every centimeter of golden tan skin that stretched over a wide chest. He had abs that rippled down to a defined V, and a very small dark trail of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his underwear. I couldn’t allow my eyes to travel any farther. I knew he was watching me, and I felt my cheeks redden at my perusal of his body. In the most awkward of timing, my nipples got even harder, as if they liked what they saw.

I cleared my throat and attempted to cross my arms to cover my chest. “I need your help, please.”

Intruding eyes made their way down the length of me as he inspected what little I was wearing. “I’d be glad to help, but I don’t usually get called upon like this.”

Wait… “What?” And then it occurred to me that he thought I was coming over for something other than actual help. “Excuse me, but I’m not here for some sort of meet up.” I nearly choked on my own tongue.

He smirked but shrugged. “Disappointing.”

What was this guy’s problem? He really was a cocky male chauvinistic piece of work. Did that many women fall at his feet for his attention that he thought my knocking was for a booty call? He made me feel so uncomfortable, yet he’d barely spoken a few words. Shaking my head, I needed to remember the problem at hand. I’d overanalyze his bullshit later.

“Do you know anything about plumbing?”

His brows came together, perplexed. “Some, why?”

I glanced over my shoulder at my house. “My guest bathroom toilet is overflowing and I tried shutting off the water, but it’s still running.”

He squared his shoulders. “Did you shut off the main line to the house?”

“The one behind the toilet?”

“Nooo,” he said slowly. “The main line.”

“Uh, there’s a main line?” How would I have known this?

He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Yes,” Blake replied, aggravated. “How do you think the whole house gets water? There’s a shutoff valve on the side of the house.”

“Oh. That was probably listed with the home owners manual I didn’t get,” I said, feeling like a complete idiot, but pathetically attempted a joke. “Okay then, I’ll go try that.” I turned to head the rest of the way down his path.

He sighed. “Let me get some pants on and I’ll be over in a second.”

Yes, please put pants on so I can concentrate, and Sandra might keep her hands to herself. I walked across the street and started for the side of the house, all the while mumbling under my breath about stupid attractive neighbors who should never answer their door in just their underwear. And seriously, why would the shutoff valve be on the outside of the house? Shouldn’t it be in the garage or under the kitchen sink or something? I honestly needed to start inspecting every inch of my house, or I was never going to make it through this remodel.

I searched everywhere I could, but the only thing I found was the spigot to the hose. This wasn’t good. Maybe he meant the other side? I was crossing in front of the house, when I saw Blake coming, still shirtless and looking edible as ever. He had a tool belt in hand and a pair of gray sweatpants on that were barely being held up by the curve of his ass. He walked past me, without much acknowledgement.

“Go in the house. I’ll shut it off and be there in a second,” he commanded.

I jerked my head back. “Shouldn’t I come with, so I can see what you’re doing?”

“No need. Go inside.” He disappeared around the corner, and I stood there with my mouth gaping.

He honestly thought I was going to do what he said, simply because he said it? Well, sorry, Mr. I’ll Tell You How High to Jump. This was my house, and I wasn’t going to stand around and watch while he fixed everything.

I’m going to watch while I help.

Why couldn’t he have been some ogre who had a hairy back and a handlebar mustache, with a name like Frank or Merle? Seemed logical that someone in construction would be slightly overweight, a smoker, and not give a flip about their appearance. Although, I don’t think Blake cared what he looked like. I was just about to march around the corner and tell him he would show me exactly what he was doing so if it happened again, I could help myself, but Sandra popped her head out the front door.

“Umm, hello, you just left me.”

Crap. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I went to get some help.”

Her eyes glanced across the street, then back at me. “Well, hopefully you got some ’cause this floor is a mess. Where are your towels so I can sop it all up?”

My shoulders dropped. “I’ll get them.”

I walked in the house and to the hallway closet to grab every towel I owned. There was about a half an inch of water in the bathroom, and the hallway was soaked. I saw the toilet was no longer overflowing. Blake must’ve managed to shut it off. Big jerk was going to expect a thank you, and I was certain it might cause me physical pain to say it. It annoyed me that he was getting under my skin.

Sandra was behind me, and I handed her two towels to spread out and help wipe up what we could. The front screen door slammed shut, and I heard footsteps in the entry. My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized I still hadn’t put a sweater on over my tank top, and Blake Whitmore was now inside my house. I had all of a half a second to compose myself before he made an appearance a few feet away.

“Water’s off.”

I blew some hair out of my face. “I can see that.”

He approached me, and I ignored the intake of breath Sandra had sucked in at the sight of him. I know, Sandra. I know. His shirtless self was something to behold, and even I was struggling to maintain my composure. His shoulder brushed my bare arm as he went by to go into the bathroom, and a tingling went down to my fingertips as my skin was covered in goosebumps.

Both my friend and I stood in the doorway and watched as he took the lid off the toilet and fiddled around with a small chain. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from him. Muscle rippled across his shoulders and down his back as he worked. Part of me itched to reach out and touch his golden skin to see if it was as leathery as it appeared. I was so entranced in my own thoughts that I hadn’t even realized he’d glanced back. Sandra had made a noise, but he was looking directly at me.

His brow rose. “Did you purr at me?”

My shocked expression must’ve been all over my face. “What? No, of course I didn’t.” I shot around to Sandra. “Would you cut it out!” I scolded.

She smiled really big at him. “You’re the plumber?”

The side of his mouth tilted up. “No, I don’t deal with pipes.”

“Sure looks like it to me.” She flirted flippantly.

“I’m a contractor. I normally hire out for shit like this.”

Her eyes trailed down the length of him. “Too bad. I know someone who needs her pipes cleaned.”

“Sandra!” I shrieked.

She chortled. “Oh, come on, Molly. I’m just making light of the situation. There’s piss water all over the place. It’s the middle of the night. I think we could all use a little laugh.”

I couldn’t find the humor in her words as embarrassment predominantly rolled through me. “My pipes are fine. Every single one. Solid, sturdy, and clean.”

She nudged me. “I’m not referring to the house.”

Did she really think I wasn’t catching on to her innuendo? I was a writer, for heaven’s sake. I made this crap up for a living. I tried my best to ignore the fact Blake had stopped everything he was doing and was watching the exchange between Sandra and me.

“I know,” I gritted through my teeth and darted my eyes to the man in the room, then back to her. My cheeks were burning, and I knew she could pick up on me silently begging her to cut the shit, or I’d find some way to get even with her.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, looks like the water is done pouring out. How much to take care of this?”

“How much?” he asked, confused.

“Yes. You came over, you provided a service. So how much?”

Blake looked like he wasn’t sure if she meant it or not. “There’s no charge. I twisted a knob.”

“Okay, and any other plumber would have done the same and slapped a hundred dollar bill with it.” She looked over at me. “I don’t mind paying for it.” Her city roots were showing.

“Lady, I said I wasn’t a plumber. I was giving a hand. This kind of thing doesn’t cost a hundred dollars. And any plumber who charges that is ripping you off.”

Sandra blinked. “How about a beer as repayment then?”

“I don’t have beer,” I interjected.

“Wine?” She looked at him hopefully.

He cocked his overly attractive brow and put his hands on his hips. My eyes shot down to that glorious V then back up to his face. Thankfully he didn’t catch me this time.

“Do I look like I drink wine?”

She gave him a devious grin. “Maybe not, but you look like you could enjoy the finer things.” She leaned closer to him and touched his bicep with her pointer finger. Her flirtation kicked up a notch.

He reciprocated her smirk. “Every once in a while.”

I glanced back and forth between them, completely baffled by what was happening here. I knew she’d find him attractive, that was a given. But I didn’t think she’d throw herself at him in the first five minutes. I should have never asked him to come over. Given enough time, I would have figured out how to shut off the water on my own, I think.

I took a step forward, placing myself between them. The bathroom wasn’t that large, and it unfortunately brought me uncomfortably close to Blake. “Thank you for the help. I think I’ve got it from here.”

He tilted his head slightly to the side. The corner of his mouth lifted up like he was in on some joke I wasn’t privy to. “Is she always this bitchy?” he asked Sandra but kept his dark piercing eyes on me.

She laughed. “No, actually, she is too nice most of the time. But while you’re here, I might as well ask for her since she’ll likely try not to speak to you after this.”

I had no clue what she was doing.

“I know Molly is going to need a contractor to do some work around here, and whether she asks for your company to do it or hires someone else, would you be so kind to stop in once in a while and make sure they’re doing everything properly?” Her voice was oozing with honey. Honey I knew was laced with a concoction men would fall at her feet for.

I shot around to her. “Sandra, I’ve got it. I don’t need anybody looking in on me. I’ve already said I plan on doing most of the work myself. No babysitters necessary.”

She winked at me. “Just covering your basis. Your neighbor here looks perfectly capable of lending a hand if you need it.”

I gritted my teeth, knowing full and well what she was doing. She may have been flirting with him, but she was simply buttering him up and all but shoving me in his face like some matchmaker. I wanted to drown her in the nasty water on the floor. Never had she interfered or tried to set me up and now wasn’t the time for her to start. Finding a man wasn’t even on my top ten list of priorities, let alone giving Blake Whitmore my time and attention.

I mouthed the word don’t to her, to which she shrugged. I turned back to Blake.

“What are your plans for this place?” he inquired.

Was he genuinely curious or did he want to tell me what to do again? “Minor cosmetic things. Paint, tiling, nothing crazy.”

He did his usual grunt that I was beginning to get used to. “Mandy, this place needs way more than cosmetic work. These pipes, for example, need to be cleared, the tub has to be sanded down and reglazed, and I saw a handful of other things just walking from the front door to here.”

Okay, so what? “For the love of God, would you get my name right? It’s Molly. Molly,” I said more slowly. “And again, I’m good. I’m sure there are items that will require more attention than I may be capable of teaching myself, but I’ll take care of it. My house, my problem.”

I hadn’t noticed he’d leaned back on the counter, but he stood up completely and towered over me.

“I know what your name is. And I also know you’ll attempt to do all of this alone, only to hire someone to come in and fix what you screwed up, and they will do a half-ass job.”

I was completely flabbergasted. His automatic assumption that I was incapable of learning a trade and doing the work perfectly without help was offensive. It pissed me off. I get the whole ‘girls can’t do boy things’ mentality, but that was bullshit from years ago. Women play football, install sheetrock, and scratch themselves just the same as men today. As much as I wanted to stand in front of him and educate him on the ways of the new world, it would likely go in one ear and out the other. Men like Blake Whitmore didn’t listen to sensibilities.

He had his ways. I had mine.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Listen, while I truly appreciate you coming over and helping me in the middle of the night, I think I’ll take it from here. If I have an issue, I’ll give your office a call and schedule for someone to come out.”

His jaw was set in stone. “Not someone. Me. You call, you ask for me, and it’ll get taken care of.”

“Fine,” I responded, simply to pacify him.

Sandra was standing behind me and nudged me in the back. I inadvertently stepped forward, closer to Blake. His chest was so close to my face, the urge to reach out and touch the toned tan skin was making my fingers tingle. I dug my nails into my palms to resist. However, I wasn’t immune to the undertone of soap on him.

He raised a brow when he caught me staring. I felt so pathetic and weak. My eyes betrayed me over and over. “Have a good night, ladies.” He may have said it to both of us, but he stared directly at me.

Heaven help me he was definitely getting under my skin. He skimmed past me and tipped his head at my friend. As soon as I heard my front door shut, I turned to glare at Sandra.

“I’m going to kill you for that.”

She batted her lashes. “Mhmm. You’ll be thanking me. Trust me.”

I trusted her sensibilities with men about as far as I could throw her.