That arrangement might work in Jen’s favor, too. In a flip, you want to keep costs down, and I only need to charge enough to pay the kids for their labor. The skills and responsibility they’d learn in the process would more than make up for the revenue I'd forego on a little side project. I could pop in to assess and give instructions then leave the kids to it. Plus, putting Wes in charge might put some distance between me and Jen, which, given the way my body is reacting, would be a good thing. This just might have potential.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here rubbing my jaw and staring at the polished red toes peeking out from under that long dress, and dammit even those are cute and distracting, but evidently it’s too long for her liking.
“Are you wavering because I’m a woman or because this is my first flip?” The coy tone from earlier is gone, replaced with disappointment.
“I’m not wavering, I’m planning.” I frown, confused by the sudden change in her demeanor.
“Planning how to answer?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, which pushes that shapely chest up a bit further. I force my eyes to hers to stay focused on the conversation.
“Planning how to staff a last-minute job I wasn’t counting on.”
“So you have no problem with me being a woman?”
“Not unless you’re always this touchy. Why would you even think that?”
“You’ve been skeptical from the start.” I can’t tell if the little crease between her brows means she’s angry or hurt.
“I’m skeptical because you want me to help you flip a property I’ve never seen, not because you’re a woman.”
“But you don’t like the idea of me working on it.” All her earlier bravado is gone, and even though it was sort of grating on me, I miss it.
It’s been a long time since a woman threw me off balance. Hell, it’s been a long time since I really talked to a woman seeing as how I don’t like to socialize, and on the rare occasions I do go out, women seem more inclined to make themselves likeable than to challenge me. Maybe that’s why I’m still having this conversation.
“I don’t like the idea of any client working on a project. More often than not, it’s a headache for me and the crew.”
“So, me doing the work is a deal breaker?” She deflates. I don’t know why that makes me feel guilty, but it does.
“I didn’t say that.” I backtrack. “It’s just not how I usually work.”
“Maybe it’s time for a change?” she hints, those chocolate eyes twinkling with a trace of that earlier spark, and before I realize it, I’m nodding.
“Perfect.” She beams, her smile so big it almost makes me crack one of my own, which is not normal. I am definitely getting in over my head. Time to lay some ground rules.
“I can’t agree to anything until I take a look at it.” If the project is too big in scope or if it looks to be above Wes’s skill set, I’ll decline, but if it looks doable, I’ll let the kids take it on. If not, I’ll point her toward another contractor and invite her for a date. “When can I see it?”
“I don’t take possession until mid-May, but I’ll call the realtor today.” Jen’s eyes light up like Christmas morning, and damn if that doesn’t make me feel like a hero. It’s been a long time since a woman looked at me like a hero, and I kind of like it, which means I really should keep my distance from this one, especially if she might become a client.
I have two strict rules about dating. No clients, and no parents at Wes’s school, ever. I’m too professional for the former, and I don’t want to set a bad example for Wes with the latter. And above all else, no relationships. I’ve been there and done that, and ten years later, I still haven’t recovered. Plus, I can’t imagine anything more uncomfortable for a kid than watching his parent try to date.
Although I’m not proud of it, I prefer encounters that satisfy a basic need, nothing more. Getting involved with clients or parents that you see on a regular basis puts me too close to relationship territory. No, thank you. If Jen wasn’t a potential client, maybe things would be different, but if I’m going to see her for work then I’ll only be seeing her for work. I can already tell it will be hard to convince my body to stick to that plan, so the less I see of her, the better.
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” I say evenly, trying not to be the hero and not to quash her excitement at the same time. “The sooner I can take a look the better. If it’s not a good fit, I want you to have enough time to find someone else.” I hand her my card. “Call me when you have something scheduled, okay?”
Jen plucks the card from my fingers with a smile. “Oh, I think we’ll fit. I’ll give you a call.” She turns and makes her way back to the house, her hips swaying slightly with each step, showing off a fine view. Damn right we’d fit, I think. And that is the problem. I haven’t fit with anyone in a long time, and it’s not something I’m looking for now.
That doesn’t stop me from noticing that I found talking to her more entertaining than any conversation I’ve had with a woman since, well…I shake my head to clear the thought. I’m not going there with Jen. Or any other woman.
Chapter 3
Jen
“How was lunch with your dad?” I ask Sawyer as she comes into the kitchen.
“Fine.” She shrugs, setting a box of leftovers on the counter.
“Where did he take you?” I reach for the plain brown container and put it in the fridge.
“Palate.”
I hate one-word answers. They aren’t that unusual for teen girls, but it’s always worse after Sawyer visits her father. “I see he took you shopping.” I nod toward the bag Sawyer has set on the floor. “Get anything nice?”
“Just the standard apology, a pair of shoes and a jacket,” Sawyer replies.
I silently curse my ex-husband, who has never learned that Sawyer doesn’t want his money, she just wants him. I want to hate Colt for that. I really do. But I also know that he thinks stuff is equivalent to love, making gifts the only way he knows how to show his feelings. Sawyer, miraculously, doesn’t confuse the two and doesn’t abuse her ability to extort whatever she wants from her father. She accepts what he gives but doesn’t seek out what she doesn’t need.
Truth be told, I don’t know where that maturity comes from. Probably her reaction to Colt’s immaturity. I’d like to think it’s my example Sawyer’s mimicking, but it probably has less to do with me being a strong, capable woman than it does with Colt being impulsive and immature, which she hates. Years ago, when we first met, I only saw the impulsive side of him, which I fell for. Okay, the fact that he had the face of an angel and a body built for mischief might have played a role. But as a college freshman with few responsibilities, his spontaneity and zest for living were wildly appealing, and I jumped.
Now, as a single mother, I hate that side of him, because more often than not it means he cancels or forgets the promises he makes to his daughter, and watching her suffer is the worst kind of pain.
The crazy thing is Colt isn’t incapable of being responsible. As a starting player for the Denver Stallions, he has a grueling regimen to stay in shape and a code of conduct to uphold for the team. He manages both with no problem. But off the field he makes bad decisions, fueled by the people around him.
“What kind of shoes did you pick?” I grasp at anything that might turn this Q&A session into an actual conversation.
“Some sort of boot his girlfriend swears by.” Sawyer shrugs.
“He brought his girlfriend?” I try to keep my tone light, like I’m curious, not furious.
“No, but I guess he got her the same pair or something. He assumes that means I’ll like them.”
Over the years, Colt has learned there is no end to women who are happy for his company, without placing demands on his time. Especially if he’s paying, hence the shopping trips he bestows upon his only daughter when he cancels on her because the latest girlfriend demands to be spoiled.
My heart breaks for Sawyer,
who has to bear the fallout of her father’s bad decisions, and it breaks a little for Colt, too, who has two people willing to love him the way he should be loved if only he had the ability to see it. But the young and impressionable man I married was unable to see beyond the moment right in front of him, both then and now. While he’s toned things down during the season, to compensate for his aging body, he’s still the same old Colt when he doesn’t have a responsibility to the team. I no longer mourn the marriage, and I no longer resent him as a man. As a father, well, that’s another story.
Colt takes care of us financially, Sawyer especially, and in that regard, I have no complaints. The alimony I receive is plenty fair, and even if it wasn’t, I would never abuse him like the others in his life by asking for more. So yeah, we aren’t wealthy, but Sawyer wants for nothing, and Colt would never let us go bankrupt. It’s the emotional bankruptcy I worry about, so while I’ve forgiven him as a man, I still resent him as a father.
“Do you? Like the shoes his girlfriend has, I mean?” I’m reaching, but I don’t know what else to say at this point.
“They’re supposed to be the latest thing, so I guess I’ll fit in at school. I’m going to my room.” Sawyer grabs the bag and heads for the stairs. This time I curse Colt’s girlfriend.
While things are generally civil between us, Colt's flings frustrate the living shit out of me, especially when he puts them first. I know Colt loves his daughter, and deep down she knows it, too. But that doesn’t make it any easier to excuse his ongoing confusion about how to express that love.
I grab a glass of water and my notebook and take them to the couch in the living room. I flip through the pages of the book, a collection of decorating ideas and materials I’ve assembled over the years, looking for ideas for my little flip. Doing this right could go a long way toward financial independence in the future, when Colt is no longer required to help support me. He probably would if I asked, but I won’t do that to him, so I need to do this for me.
I flip through my binder to the flooring section. The little bungalow has wood floors throughout, and from what I can tell, their condition is solid enough to remain in the house with some sanding and staining. The baths are another story. All the tile will need to come out, and so will the vanities. I might be able to refinish the bathtub in the full bath, which would save a bundle, but I need to be prepared to replace it. At minimum I’ll need tile for the floors and tub surround, but selecting that will be tricky. Tile can get cold in Denver, so I may want to look at other options.
Next, I flip to the section with kitchen cabinets. The bungalow has decent cabinets, but the layout could be improved. I’m not sure the existing cabinets could be used if the layout changes, but if they could all they’d need is a fresh coat of paint, a huge savings. If I need new cabinets, well, that would cut into profits, but I should be able to cover it with my budget.
The big question marks are plumbing and electric. The house isn’t ancient, so with luck it doesn’t have knob and tube wiring. If that’s the case, I could leave the walls intact and just give them a fresh coat of paint. Plumbing shouldn’t be out of date, either, but if I rearrange the kitchen I might need to relocate some pipes. I’ll talk to Anthony about the pros and cons of that option.
Anthony. My mind wanders from the house to the most attractive guy I’ve ever laid eyes on, which is saying something, since my ex had once appeared in a photo spread featuring the hottest athletes in North America. Where Colt is hot, Anthony is breathtaking. Yes, that’s an odd way to describe a guy, and no, I’m not exaggerating with that description. The guy literally stole my breath the first time I saw him, with those deep, rich eyes and square jaw that seemed determined to remain serious even as his soft lips fought a smile.
I know I confounded him, which inwardly thrills me. My confidence and bold nature tend to turn men off, but Anthony had seemed intrigued. It makes me want to keep pushing his buttons to see how he’ll react.
It’s not often I get to have fun with a guy. Being a single parent with a virtually absentee ex leaves little free time and zero privacy for entertaining the opposite sex. Not to mention, being a single parent has taught me to be confident. Independent. And those traits seems to intimidate the men I meet.
Anthony is the first guy since my divorce who doesn't seem intimidated by me. Irritated maybe, or even amused, but not intimidated. That’s a refreshing change, one that admittedly gives me butterflies. It makes me want to push the boundary a bit to see if his reaction is based purely on amusement, or if there might be some underlying respect. But first and foremost, I have to get myself set up for the future, which means the house comes before any butterflies, no matter how nice it had been to feel them again.
My phone beeps with a new text.
House open tomorrow at 11.
Wow, that was fast. My realtor is efficient, but I hadn’t expected her to move so quickly. I met Anthony only a few hours ago, and she's giving me an opportunity to see him again. Tomorrow. Can I call him already? Is that too fast?
Wait! What am I thinking? I’m calling him to set a date. Well, not a date, date, just a business date, and he did say the sooner he could see the place the better.
I’m being ridiculous right now. I’m not some lovestruck teenager who has to get up the nerve to call the boy she has a crush on. I’m a confident, independent woman whose prospective contractor just happens to make her body flutter with excitement. I’m only freaking out because it’s been so long since any man has done that to me. It will pass. Besides, if there’s anything I’ve learned over the years it’s to stay focused on what’s best for me and Sawyer. Anthony cannot be a distraction. A fun detour, maybe, but not a distraction.
I fish his card out of the pocket of my dress and dial his number.
“Strait Edge.” His deep voice rumbles, and damn if the butterflies don’t start flapping around the instant I hear him speak.
“Does the best have plans for tomorrow?” I tease before I can stop myself.
There’s a moment of silence. “Jen?” he asks cautiously.
I fight the ridiculous smile that pulls at my lips, hoping he can’t hear it in my voice. “Did you tell any other women today that you were the best?” Dammit, my mouth is going to get me in trouble, and there’s apparently nothing I can do about it.
“I said I was good at my job. You filled in the rest.” His response is measured, right up until he says I filled in the rest. He was trying not to smile when he said that. I can tell. Damn, it’s so fun to push his buttons. And to feel him push back.
“I suppose I did,” I concede. “So, are you busy tomorrow?”
“I’m expecting a lumber delivery at a job site.”
“On a Sunday?”
“We’re on a tight schedule.”
“Will that take all day?”
The pause seems to stretch for minutes. “No,” he finally says.
“Great! We have a date.”
“Jen, I don’t think it’s a good idea…”
“A date to look at my house,” I interrupt, but not before noticing the direction his thoughts went. Interesting. “You did say you wanted to see it sooner rather than later, right?”
I can practically hear him rubbing his jaw, something I already know he does when thinking.
“Yeah, I did.” He exhales.
“So we’re on? Eleven a.m.”
“Eleven a.m.,” he relents.
“Thank you. I’ll text you the address. See you then.” I disconnect before I’m tempted to rile him further. Losing my resolve on the first call means resisting the urge to toy with him going forward will be difficult.
Chapter 4
Anthony
I pull up to the curb in front of Jen’s house and put the truck in park, letting the engine idle while I observe the mess I’m potentially getting myself into. It looks to be a well-maintained little bungalow, although the curb appeal is seriously lacking, which doesn’t do it any favors. That said, no windows
are broken, no doors are hanging off the hinges, and no roof shingles appear to be missing. It could be worse.
Turning the truck off I check my watch. Fifteen minutes until I’m due to meet Jen. I can walk the perimeter and determine even before going inside if this is a diamond in the rough or a money pit.
I circle the house with my notebook, recording the condition of the foundation. No cracks and no apparent water damage, a good sign. The exterior stucco looks a little dull, but there don’t appear to be any holes or gaps around the doors and windows. I won’t know for sure until getting inside, but it looks like the window frames are solid as well, so hopefully that means the house is well insulated.
There’s a building behind the house, probably a garage, accessible from the alley beyond. It cuts into the yard a bit, although there’s still enough space for a cozy patio and some grass. I generally prefer to have some grass space, because in Colorado a lot of people buying starter homes are either young parents or dog owners, and grass is a welcome amenity. Unfortunately, the grass here is in bad shape, and the whole yard probably needs new sod.
I complete my circle of the house just as a red Land Rover pulls up behind my truck. My mind flashes back to the barbeque and the cute red toes poking out from beneath a long dress, and I just know the car belongs to Jen. It's a bad sign that I can recall exactly what those toes looked like, because I don’t even really like toes. Not compared to other features that might catch my eye anyway. Speaking of which, as she rounds the car, I get a glimpse of the workout leggings she’s wearing, which give me an even better view of her sleek legs and perfectly round ass than the one I’d caught yesterday. That’s an image I absolutely don’t need because it just confirms what I dreamed about last night. Actually, the real thing is even better than the dream, and that terrifies me.
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