AT WORK ON Monday, all I could think about was Jake. How good his body had felt under mine. We’d felt so right together. But also about how damn smug he’d been. Why did guys with such good bodies always know it? Why did they always know how to drive a girl crazy with it? It wasn’t fair.

The good thing about working at a library was that it was quiet and gave me time to think. But today that counted as a bad thing. While I was working on the electronic catalog, I wished I were allowed to slip my earphones in, use music to overpower my thoughts.

Again and again, my mind returned to Stacie, Jake’s possible girlfriend. I’d met her a few times. She’d been on the fringes of the group Jake and I used to hang out with. It was mostly couples. Stacie was single, but she sometimes hung out with us at clubs. She’d usually worn a microscopic skirt and a tank top that barely covered her breasts. Her huge wavy hair screamed ‘bottle blonde.’ Good thing Jake preferred redheads—or at least he used to.

I refocused, refusing to follow that train of thought. Instead, I wondered how our old group was doing. I hadn’t seen them very much in the months since the breakup. I kept up with Alison and her fiancé, Drew, on Facebook. And I’d had lunch with Lisa a few weeks ago. But I hadn’t seen her husband Mike or any of the others for quite some time. I missed them. I wondered if Jake and Stacie went out with them now. It was a painful thought.

That evening, I turned on the music the minute I walked through my door. Though I couldn’t drown out my thoughts at work, I certainly could at home. After a few hours of loud music, I was feeling much better. Maybe it was the way I’d danced my ass off while making dinner. Or maybe it was the fact that dinner had been a sinfully delicious Caesar salad and half a calzone.

The only trouble was, by bedtime I was still revved up. Good music did that to me, so I decided to take a bath before trying to sleep. I placed some candles around the tub and dimmed the lights. I stepped out of my clothes and turned the tap all the way to hot. Five minutes later, when the water filling the tub was still ice cold, I knew I had a problem.

* * *

I tried to fix it. I really did. For the first time in my life, I attempted to tackle a home repair project on my own. I went online. I read articles. I got some DIY home repair books from work. I located the pilot light, determined it was off, and after watching many videos online, tried to re-light it myself. But it wouldn’t stay lit up. After another round of research, I tried adjusting the gas valve, but that didn’t seem to be the problem. Damn.

Bathing was a nightmare. On Tuesday morning, I heated some water on the stove and did a sort of sponge-bath. On Wednesday morning, I took a ninety-second cold shower that was pure agony. On Thursday morning, I went over to Lisa’s house to shower and wash my hair. And on Thursday night, I made the call.

Or, well, I didn’t quite have the nerve to make an actual phone call. Texting was a reasonable alternative in this day and age, right? I sent the message and then sat on the sofa and turned on the TV. But instead of focusing on it, my mind went straight to the issue I’d been avoiding all week. I knew Jake would demand more as payment this time. The question was, did I want to do more with him?

It’d been so hot last time. One of the best Fiona’s Finests we’d ever shared. If it had happened when we were living together, we would’ve been all over each other for hours after that. But now everything was different. He wasn’t mine anymore.

That made me think of Stacie. Was he with her? Although that thought had haunted me for months, it was seeming less and less likely. Jake was many things: a cocky bastard, a guy fully capable of forgetting his mom’s birthday, and a man completely unable to lower the toilet seat after using it. But he wasn’t a cheater. I knew that as well as I knew my own name. So if he had been with her, and I still hoped he hadn’t, I very much doubted that he was with her now.

The phone rang in my hand. “Hey, Jake. Thanks for calling back,” I said, a little amazed at how calm my voice sounded. Mind over hormones, I supposed.

“Calling back implies that you were brave enough to call me instead of texting in the first place,” he said, sounding amused.

His being a jerk made it easier to talk to him. “I was trying to be polite. You did have a point about me calling you about this stuff a lot. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“More like you were afraid to find out what my going rates are this time.”

“I’m not afraid,” I said, which was only half a lie. I was afraid, but also a little excited. “It’s like you said, you set the rates, and I decide if I want to pay them.”

“How long has the hot water been out?”

“Since Monday night.”

He laughed. “So, if you weren’t afraid to find out what the price is, you must’ve been afraid that you’d like it too much. Like you did last time.”

“Jake, just tell me what you want.”

“Right, this is a business phone call,” he said, trying to sound like a professional businessman. He might have pulled it off, too, if his voice hadn’t had such a sexy rumble to it.

“Let’s see … the price for fixing a water heater … and allowing a lovely lady to soak her smokin’ hot body in equally hot water is …”

“Jake!”

“An orgasm.”

“What?”

“I’m fairly certain you heard me,” he said, maddeningly smug.

“I … yeah I heard, but … what, I mean … given how?” Again, I was apprehensive about what he was going to say next, but my body was betraying me. It wanted to know.

“That would be up to you. Once a contractor sets his price, it’s up the client to decide how to make the payment. Cash, check, credit card, etc. Although, if you want me to choose, I can think of something good. Let’s see … first, I think I’d have you take off all your clothes, and then I’d want you to—”

“A hand job,” I interrupted.

“C’mon, Red, we’re not in middle school anymore.”

“You said the customer got to choose how to pay.”

“All right,” he said, and I was pretty sure I could hear him roll his eyes. “But it’d better be a good one.”