He looked like something out of a GQ spread for the sort of clothes you never found in the local department stores. He looked….
Sexy?
Derrick gave the wayward mental voice a narrow look.
Stylish.
He put on his best attitude of easy-going professionalism, extending his hand.
“Mr. Hayes? I’m Derrick Chance. You called me about some shelves you wanted installed?”
“Of course. Come in.”
The second things he noticed were Mr. Hayes’ fingers, long, lean and well-manicured. A pianist’s hands, LeeAnn would say, putting everything in a musician’s context as she was apt to do. If the clothing hadn’t been a clue, the handshake would have definitely made it clear that whatever line of work Mr. Hayes was in, it didn’t involve manual labor. There was a confidence to the grip of those smooth fingers. They squeezed a little harder at the last instant and lingered in letting go. It made Derrick feel as though he had to grasp for his composure for the second time in half a minute. He didn’t think he sounded any less calm or professional than usual, but it took a lot more effort to get there.
As he met Mr. Hayes’ eyes behind narrow, dark-rimmed glasses, something a little wicked and self-satisfied twinkled in them. Derrick wondered if Mr. Hayes knew he’d thrown Derrick off his stride, and if he was pleased with himself for doing it.
“So, sir, which room did you want the shelves installed in? I’ll need to take some measurements, get an idea of the layout.”
“Call me Gavin, and the room’s this way.” Mr. Hayes held out an arm, gesturing down the hall. “Last door on the left before you reach the great room.”
“And this is for a home office?” Derrick asked, leading the way. “Tell me about the work you want done.”
“Just some basic shelves,” Gavin said behind him as they entered the office. It smelled of paint, and small, jagged holes marred the wall. “I’m trying to reclaim the room, make it into something useful.” His voice was full of self-deprecating amusement. “But as you can see, I’m really not all that handy.”
“That’s okay.” Derrick shrugged, smiling over his shoulder. Whatever Gavin’s talents were, they weren’t along the line of home improvement and repair. “That’s why you hired me.”
“I think I like that decision more all the time,” Gavin murmured, a half-grin turning up the corner of his mouth. His gold-brown eyes flicked down Derrick’s body before returning to his face.
Derrick went still, trying not to stammer. He’d been out of the dating game for a while, but he was reasonably certain Gavin had just given him the once-over.
“Thanks,” he managed after a moment, clearing his throat. He could feel warmth creeping up the back of his neck and prayed it wouldn’t reach his face. Grappling for his composure became more difficult when his pulse had picked up and his breath felt a little shorter. Somehow, his casually professional banter had left him feeling like he was on treacherous ground.
He gestured to the damaged wall, scrabbling for safer conversational footing. “You tried to install shelves before?”
“I did.” Mr. Hayes laughed, rubbing a hand across his forehead as he sank into the chair by the desk with an eye-catching fluidity. He gestured with an economy of motion that seemed….
Sensual?
Unusual.
“Turns out, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Derrick shrugged again, seeking refuge in paying attention to the job at hand before he left Gavin another opening to flirt, if he’d even done so in the first place.
“It’s easy enough to repair. We’ll make two appointments, one for me to come back and patch the drywall, and another to install the shelves. You still have the primer and paint you used on this wall?”
He unslung his backpack from his shoulder and set it down by his feet, squatting to pull out his tape measure, drafting pad and pencil.
“I do. I can touch it up, that’s not a problem.”
That was better, Derrick thought as he took the measurements he’d need, noting them neatly on a blank page of his pad. That tingling rush of adrenaline he’d felt when he’d thought Gavin had checked him out faded. Focused on his work, he could regain his equilibrium.
“I was glad to get your call,” he said as he juggled the drafting pad, trying to sketch a rough idea of the design he had in mind. “Mostly I handle home and appliance repairs. I don’t get calls to do woodwork very often, though I enjoy it. Most people find it easier to buy pre-built shelves, or have them made by cabinetmakers.”
Gavin’s reply was almost too soft to be heard. “That’s a crime.”
“Pardon? What is?”
“That you don’t get to handle wood as often as you’d like.”
“Sorry?” Derrick blinked in confusion, missing the innuendo entirely for a split second before his brain made the connection. Heat raced up his neck and across his face, and that tight, breathless feeling again constricted his chest.
At the instant his face flushed, Gavin’s dangerous half-grin made another appearance, white teeth flashing before they caught his bottom lip. He let it slide out from between them, and his eyes gleamed with devilish amusement.
He had beautiful lips.
Shit.
Derrick stared, trying to keep his mouth from gaping open as he struggled to find a calm response that would put them back on professional terms without sounding uptight or censorious.
It could just be a dirty joke. It doesn’t mean he’s coming on to you.
Right. A dirty joke. That he could handle much better than the idea of Mr. Hayes flirting with him. It might be a little inappropriate for Gavin to be cracking those sorts of jokes to a handyman he’d just met, but some people didn’t have many boundaries.
A dirty joke. No problem. Roll with it and keep going. Good-natured professional face on.
Of course, professional face was a great deal more effective when his voice didn’t crack on the first syllable.
“He—Here’s what I’ve got in mind for your shelves,” he said, holding out the drafting pad. “You wanted them open-ended, right?”
“I did.” Gavin accepted the pad, nibbling his bottom lip as he looked over the drawing. As far as Derrick could tell, he was completely at ease. Whatever the reaction sizzling along Derrick’s nerves was, to all appearances, it was completely one-sided. “This looks perfect.”
He handed the pad back and Derrick added a few notes about the shade of stain to use, taking in the existing woodwork around the room. He squatted again, returning the sketch pad to his backpack and drawing out his day planner.
Gavin smiled. “I haven’t seen one of those in years.”
Derrick shrugged, flipping to the calendar. “I’m a creature of habit. It’ll take me a few days to make the shelves and stain them. Would the end of next week work, to come back and patch the wall and install them? What days would be best for you?”
“Do you do evening or weekend hours?” Gavin asked. “The less time I have to take off work, the better. Friday evening and Saturday would work best for me.”
“I make my own hours, so that shouldn’t be a problem.” Derrick grinned. “If you can get off work a little early on Friday, say late afternoon, I can patch the wall and it’ll have time to dry before I come back to install the shelves Saturday.”
“I can do that.” Gavin nodded, and pulled a phone out of his pocket, beginning to tap the touchscreen. “About four on Friday, then, and three on Saturday?”
Derrick nodded, making notes in his day planner, and slipped it into the backpack. “All right. I’ll see you at the end of next week.”
He offered his hand, and Gavin unfolded himself from his chair, rising with that unusual grace of his. His grasp was still firm, his palm and fingers still soft, and Derrick’s awareness of both seemed to have increased exponentially.
“Next weekend can’t get here soon enough,” he said smoothly, holding out his arm in invitation for Derrick to precede him back to the do
or. Derrick blinked, caught flat-footed, unsure how to read or react to the remark.
“I look forward to working with you, too,” he murmured, hoping he sounded more professional than he felt. It seemed to take just a little more effort than it ought to, to pull his hand out of Gavin’s grasp. He wasn’t sure if it is was his own confused reluctance to let go, or if Gavin really did let the handshake linger.
He felt Gavin’s presence behind him like a hot breath on the back of his neck; it became a challenge to resist looking over his shoulder, to see if Gavin was following as closely as it felt he was. He could hear the hissing slide of fabric from Gavin’s clothing as he moved.
“I’ll call Wednesday or Thursday to confirm,” he said, congratulating himself on getting it out without stammering. “Have a good week, Mr. Hayes.”
“Gavin.” Another flash of that devil-may-care grin accompanied the reminder.
“Right. Gavin.” He ducked his head and smiled, unexpectedly abashed. “I’ll be in touch, then.”
As he walked down the corridor toward the elevator, he wondered if it was just his imagination that made him think it took a long time for Gavin to close the door once he’d left.
DERRICK MANAGED TO CONVINCE HIMSELF that whatever odd reaction he’d had to his new client, it had been due to factors concocted entirely in his own mind. Only his imagination made everything Gavin said sound flirtatious and laden with innuendo. He didn’t know why he’d had the stupid notion that it had been, but he would put a stop to it.
That resolve lasted until the moment Gavin opened the door and shook his hand. Like he’d driven too fast over a short, steep hill, Derrick felt his stomach drop.
It took effort not to stare at the fit of Gavin’s navy wool suit pants around his slim hips and thighs as he led the way back down the hall to the office.
“I’ve actually got a bit of work to do today,” Gavin said as Derrick forced himself to pay attention. “But if you’d prefer, I could move my laptop out of here. I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”
The offer tempted him. If he asked Gavin to leave the room, the confusion and distraction would go away with him. Derrick could do his job and leave. No big deal.
Yet the only thing less appealing than trying to work with that hollow, free-fall feeling in his gut was to try to work without it.
Derrick mustered a casual shrug and a grin he hoped wouldn’t give him away. “Unless you’ve put another hole in the wall over your desk, you won’t be in my way.”
Gavin blinked, and the cocky smile slid into place. “No, the wall over here’s fine. I’ll just get to work, then.”
He turned back to the open laptop and binders on his desk with one last glance over his shoulder. Derrick turned away, suppressing a confused sigh and digging his joint compound and putty knife out of his toolkit.
The silence as he worked felt awkward and loaded with awareness. He heard the slithering of pages and the tapping of computer keys, but it felt like Gavin kept staring at his back. He worked with slow precision, self-conscious and more painstaking than usual, unwilling to make an error in case Gavin was watching. He’d had clients hover over him before with far less impact on his peace of mind or attention to his work.
Finally, he wiped his putty knife clean with a rag he kept in his tool tote and began to put his tools away neatly.
“That’s an unusual toolkit,” Gavin noted behind him. Derrick froze for a moment, then made himself continue putting things back in their proper places as though unaffected by the fact that Gavin had indeed been watching him.
“Not really. It seems that way because it’s not the image most people get when they imagine a toolkit,” he answered casually. “Those big steel boxes, they’re great and they last forever. Good investment, but it’s not a lot of fun hauling them around. No shoulder strap.” He grinned, gesturing to the nylon webbing of the strap snaking around the floor by the base of the toolkit.
“So you’re a modern-day handyman,” Gavin teased. “Giving a hip twist to an old-fashioned profession. Changing with the times.”
For an instant, Derrick saw his outdated appliances and furniture back home.
Did it ever start up again?
The memory made Gavin’s light-hearted observation seem mocking. He shrugged it off, ducking his head with a self-conscious smile as he collapsed the telescoping trays within the toolkit.
“Not really. I’m actually pretty traditional most of the time. I mean, you saw my day planner, right? This was an impulse buy, about ten years back.”
He’d had a few of those, around that time, such as the laser surgery that had corrected his far-sightedness. Coming home from work one day a few weeks after his grandmother’s death, the weight of the steel toolkit he’d scavenged out of his grandfather’s garage when he’d started his handyman business had seemed too big an inconvenience to be borne. He’d bought the reinforced nylon tool tote that very afternoon.
He rushed past that memory.
“Anyway, I’m finished for today. This’ll need to dry overnight.” He gestured to the glaring white patches on the gunmetal gray wall. “I’ll make sure I sand it first thing tomorrow, get it set for you to prime and paint.”
“That sounds good.” Gavin unfolded himself from the desk chair, and Derrick wondered again what it was that made the way he moved so unique, or if it was all in his imagination. “You’ll be back tomorrow at three?”
Derrick nodded, rising and slinging the strap of his duffel over his shoulder. “Yeah, with the shelves. Looking at the wood you’ve got in here again, I think I did a good job of matching the stain. I think you’ll be pleased.”
He braced himself for the lurch in his gut and the tingle that would set in when he accepted Gavin’s proffered hand, and discovered for his trouble that there just was no preparing for it.
If Gavin felt it, it didn’t show. “That’s good news. I can’t wait to see it.”
“Glad to hear it.” He gave Gavin a neutral smile, shaking his hand with what he hoped was a reasonable facsimile of customary easygoing professionalism. “I can show myself out, if you need to get back to work.”
“Nah, I’ll walk you out, if it’s all right with you. I need to go check my mail.”
The elevator ride was agony. Gavin leaned against the far wall, looking relaxed and gorgeous with his cuffs rolled up, his freckled forearms lean and lined with veins. Derrick had to force himself not to stare, not to indulge his fascination and try to puzzle out just why he kept reacting to Gavin the way he did. If he could just understand it, maybe he could stop it.
Of course, not staring made it seem like he was avoiding, and that was no good, either. Especially when he felt Gavin’s eyes on him, watching him with frank interest. Why couldn’t he just make easy, polite small talk, like he did with clients every day? It felt like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.
When the elevator chimed and opened to the ground floor, he suppressed a sigh of relief. He paused to allow Gavin to step out of the elevator first, but Gavin gestured him ahead with a flamboyant wave. “After you.”
As he stepped out of the elevator, he heard Gavin murmur, “View is better from back here.”
Shit. When he glanced over his shoulder, blushing, Gavin flashed him that mischievous smile. “Red’s a good color on you.”
Professional. Right. Professional.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at three, then,” Derrick managed without stumbling over the words too badly. Gavin’s grin faltered, for just an instant.
Shit. Had it been rude to ignore the flirtation? Had he offended Gavin?
Before he could apologize, Gavin smiled again. “Looking forward to it.” He turned away to his mailbox. Bewildered, Derrick ducked his head and turned away, taking his leave in awkward silence.
Devon hooted triumphantly as Derrick sank the striped eleven-ball in the side pocket, winning the game for Devon on his third turn.
He’d forgotten he was supposed to be solids.
&n
bsp; “Wanna play the next one for me, too, bro?” he taunted as Derrick shook his head in resignation, digging a twenty out of his wallet and handing it over.
“What next one?” Derrick snorted, crossing to the barstools along the wall near the pool tables of their favorite bar, refilling his beer glass from the pitcher they shared. He dismissed the notion of another game with a wave of his hand. “That’s two out of three to you, man. I’m done.”
“Can’t be done.” Devon lifted one huge, dark-skinned hand toward the flat-screen TV in the corner, where the Tigers duked it out with the Royals. “It’s not even the seventh inning yet.”
Derrick sipped his beer, watching the TV for a moment. Like half the rest of the state, he, too, was riveted by the Tigers’ inching ascent back up to the championship. At the moment, however, nothing exciting was happening. Normally he considered baseball to be precisely his sort of sport. Slow and steady, with occasional moments of rush and activity.
Tonight it just seemed plodding.
“Well, I can’t be out late anyway,” he said, unable to explain his distraction. “I’ve got a job tomorrow.”
“What?” Devon gave him a disbelieving look. “You never work on the weekends. You said you made it a policy because if you didn’t, you’d never have a weekend to yourself. Everyone would want to schedule for Saturday so they wouldn’t have to take time off work.”
Derrick shrugged. He didn’t want to think about how little consideration it had taken to pitch that rule he’d made for himself right out the window. “Had to make an exception this time.”
“You can at least hang out until we finish the beer,” Devon said.
One corner of Derrick’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Yeah, I can do that. Just don’t ask for another game of pool. I’m liable to forget which ball’s the cue.”
Devon snorted a soft laugh, the beads on his cornrows bouncing and clicking as he bounded over to his own bar stool. For such a huge man, Devon had the energy of a half-grown Labrador pup. His wife, Hannah, was far more sedate. She joked that she’d hired Derrick to take him out for walks on Friday evenings so she could have a break.
Inertia: Impulse, Book One Page 2