by Aurora Rey
“Oh, do tell.”
“She’s seriously hot. Not to be cliché, but when she’s walking around in jeans and a tool belt, it’s all I can do not to drool.”
Gina’s eyes lit up. “I really need to meet this woman. But it sounds like there might be a catch.”
Olivia sighed. “She doesn’t like me, or at least she didn’t.”
“Why on earth would she not like you? You’re almost annoyingly likable.”
Olivia had to laugh at the characterization. “I don’t know if it was because I’m Southern, or maybe that I’m a professor? I think she figured I was a snob.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Oh, she thought I was straight, too.”
Gina made a slow, exaggerated nod. “Oh.”
“Which made me mad.”
“Of course.”
“So we argued.”
“Naturally.”
“But we made up.”
“Did you apologize or did she?” Gina leaned forward, as if she were an investigative reporter.
“I did first, but then she did, too.”
“I see. And now?”
“That’s just it. She’s polite, friendly even, but formal. But then I think I catch her staring at me.”
“You mean when you’re not staring at her?”
Olivia smirked. “Funny. True, but still funny.”
“You want to win her over, don’t you?”
She really did. “Is that bad?”
“Not at all. I’m curious, though. Do you want her to like you or do you want her to sleep with you?”
Olivia shrugged and tried her best to look innocent. “Is it wrong to want both?”
Gina smiled and lifted her paper cup in a toast. “Never.”
Olivia went back into the house to serve up dinner. It was a Moroccan stew that came all prepped and ready for the slow cooker. She sampled it and was pleasantly surprised. She added a bit of pepper then ladled it into bowls, tucking half a pita into each. When she turned, Gina was hovering in the doorway. “Need any help?”
“We are all set.” Olivia handed her one of the bowls and grabbed spoons from the plastic bin where she was storing her utensils. They returned to the table outside. Olivia raised her wine. “Here’s to our last week without students.”
Gina curled her lip. “Could you not? I am not ready.”
Olivia shook her head and chuckled. “I think it’s a little late for that now.”
“I know, but I don’t have to like it.” Gina took a bite of her food. “Hey, this is good.”
“Right? No prep whatsoever. I was going to recommend them to you, given your thoughts on cooking.”
“You know me so well.” Gina seemed to think for a moment. “Maybe I can get it cooking and hide the package, convince Kel I made it from scratch.”
“Your secret would be safe with me.”
“So I don’t think we were done talking about your contractor. What’s her name?”
“Joss.”
“Joss. That’s a great name. I don’t think we were done talking about Joss.”
“We weren’t?”
“No. We established that you want to sleep with her, but we didn’t establish whether or not it was going to happen.”
Olivia considered it. “I don’t know. I don’t think she’s the type who’s readily seduced. And I wouldn’t want it to be like a conquest anyway. That feels so skeevy.”
Gina took a bite and then pointed with her spoon. “You know what you need? A reverse seduction.”
“Excuse me?”
“A reverse seduction. You seduce her, but make her think she’s seducing you. Classic femme move.”
Olivia frowned. “I don’t think she’s a seducer, either. She strikes me more as the old-fashioned, chivalrous type.”
Gina huffed. “Well, I didn’t mean seduction seduction. I meant flirt, go on a date, then maybe sleep together. I only meant that you should make her think it’s her idea.”
Olivia had to laugh at Gina’s description. “You make it sound so reasonable.”
“I am reasonable,” Gina insisted.
Olivia raised a brow in response.
“I am. You haven’t dated anyone since I’ve known you. You haven’t even been interested in anyone really.”
“That’s not true. I went on three dates with Marissa.”
It was Gina’s turn to raise a brow. “You did that because Scott set you up and you didn’t want him to feel bad. Didn’t she lick your face?”
Olivia cringed, remembering her third—and final—date with Marissa. What had started out as a normal kiss had gotten really weird, really fast. “Yes.”
“So, as I was saying, you haven’t been interested in anyone since you moved to Ithaca. I think it’s high time.”
Gina had a point. Not only had she not dated since moving to Ithaca, she’d hardly dated since breaking up with Amanda, the cardiology resident her parents thought was the best thing since sliced bread. “You’re right. I’m just not sure if setting my sights on a woman who seems bound and determined not to like me is the way to go.”
Gina shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to win her over.”
They finished dinner and Gina headed home. Olivia contemplated working on the floors upstairs, but decided to give herself the night off. Instead, she wandered around the house with the paint chips she’d picked up. Her mother and sister leaned toward pastels. Olivia made a point of selecting bolder colors. Nothing too loud, but the last thing she wanted was for everything to blend into a boring oblivion.
Maybe she should ask Joss about colors. It would be the perfect conversation starter and a way to ask some semi-personal questions. Besides, Joss had surely seen plenty of bad choices and could steer her away from things that looked great on a small piece of cardboard, but terrible on a wall. She’d probably even know a thing or two about shades that would go with the style and era of the house. As much as she’d become enamored with her old farmhouse, she didn’t know all that much about them in general.
If she could get Joss to start talking about things in her comfort zone, who knew where it might lead?
Olivia congratulated herself on her plan and looked at the choices she’d made so far. The powder room on the first floor would be a sagey green, but she couldn’t decide between one that was more gray and another that was more blue. She really wanted to do the kitchen in a dark red. In her mind, it felt French country, but she was afraid it might be too intense for the space.
The room giving her the most trouble was her bedroom. She’d picked up a dozen different options, including a blue-gray, a sea green, and something called salted caramel. She’d even picked up a shade of lavender, although she couldn’t imagine actually picking it. Knowing she wasn’t likely to make any decisions, Olivia arranged her samples by room. She made stacks and placed them on the kitchen cart.
Since she wasn’t doing any work on the house, Olivia decided she should attempt something productive before going to bed. Her syllabi and plans for the first couple weeks of classes were set, but she could always do some future planning before she had stacks of papers to grade. She picked up her work bag and took out the books she’d brought home from her office—poetry collections of Audre Lorde and Minnie Bruce Pratt. She’d been wanting to add some more modern work to her American lit survey course and was leaning toward poetry. If she could use some of her favorite works, and throw in some conversation about race, class, and gender, so much the better.
Olivia took her books and a pad of sticky notes to her makeshift bedroom. After getting undressed, she slid between the covers and smiled. Cool, clean cotton sheets on bare skin was in her top ten of favorite sensations and a luxury she never planned to take for granted. She angled the lamp that was sitting on a stack of boxes and opened the first book.
Two hours and about a dozen sticky notes later, Olivia had the beginnings of a unit, complete with a framework for class discussion on the juxtaposition of “self�
�� and “other.” Happy with her progress, she set her books aside and turned off the light.
There was a full moon and it shined through the temporary paper shades she’d stuck on the windows. As her eyes adjusted to the silvery light, Olivia found her mind wandering to Joss. It was so easy to imagine Joss there, in the room with her. Her skin would look pale in the light, but it would be warm and smooth. Olivia’s fingers would trace the lines of well-defined muscles, her mouth would seek the places where Joss was soft.
It startled Olivia how easily she could picture it, how quickly she’d become aroused. She hadn’t felt that flash of desire in a while. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Joss again arrived at Olivia’s by herself. The electrician showed up mid-morning to finish the upgrades to the outlets and add a couple of new breakers to the electric panel, but otherwise, it was just the two of them. Olivia enjoyed the relative quiet of only Joss working. It felt homey, intimate.
Olivia plowed ahead with project carpet removal, making slow but steady progress. She’d finally devised a pry and wiggle method that helped her get most of the staples out in one piece. She could only do it for a couple of hours at a time, though. In addition to testing the muscles in her arms, it was killing her knees. Since painting was another of her big projects, she decided it was a perfect time to seek Joss’s expert opinion.
She went downstairs and found Joss scoring drywall. Not wanting to break her concentration, Olivia waited until she put the blade down. “Hi.”
Something flashed in Joss’s eyes when she looked up. Olivia thought for a second it might be desire, but it might have been wishful thinking on her part. “Hi.”
“I don’t want to interrupt your work, but I’d love to get your opinion on something when you have a moment.”
“Now is as good a time as any. What’s up?”
Suddenly, Olivia felt silly. Too late to back out now. “I wanted to start painting in the rooms that weren’t going to have any work done but the floors.”
Joss nodded. “That’s smart. Since we’ll be sanding, it won’t matter if you get any drips.”
Since Joss seemed to think it was a good idea, Olivia decided not to tell her it was because she needed a break from the staples. “Oh, good. I…Actually, I was hoping you might be willing to look at some of the paint colors I was considering, give me your opinion.”
Joss looked surprised, but not turned off by the request. “Sure.”
“I picked out some I like, but I’m not sure how they’ll translate to walls. I’m sure you have a lot of experience with that.”
“I most certainly do.”
“I also would like to pick things that aren’t too far off the mark for the age and style of the house.”
“I definitely have a feel for that sort of thing, but if you want real authenticity, you should consider talking to an expert.”
Olivia smiled. “You’re enough of an expert for me.”
Joss looked at her like she was trying to decipher a double meaning. Perfect. “Okay, then. Show me what you have.”
Olivia spread out her paint chips on the makeshift table created by Joss’s sawhorses and the drywall. Joss went with the more gray of the greens for the downstairs bathroom and a honey tone for the one upstairs. “I like the gray, but it feels rather modern.”
Olivia nodded in agreement. “What about the kitchen? Is this red too dark?”
Joss studied it for a moment. “You know, I don’t think so. Between the cabinets and the windows, there isn’t so much wall space that it would be overwhelming.”
Olivia put her hand on Joss’s arm. “I am so happy to hear you say that.”
Joss looked at her arm and then cleared her throat. “You’ll, uh, want to make sure you go with something lighter, but complementary for the living and dining rooms, since they’ll all be visible at the same time.”
“Like maybe something mushroomy?” Was “mushroomy” a word?
“Absolutely. Just make sure it’s got warm undertones instead of cool.”
“Right.” Olivia took her hand away and looked right into Joss’s eyes. “My real dilemma is the bedroom.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“I can’t seem to settle on anything.”
“All right. What kind of feel are you going for?”
“I definitely want it to be a relaxing space. Sensual, but not in an obvious sort of way.” Olivia looked away, then back at Joss. “Does that make sense?”
“It does.”
Olivia wasn’t sure about Joss, but it felt like they were talking about a lot more than paint. “So do you have any wisdom to impart?”
“It’s all about the bed.”
Olivia had no idea if Joss was speaking literally or figuratively, but either way, her heart rate jumped considerably. “How so?”
It was Joss’s turn to offer a smile. It seemed playful almost, and full of promise. “Pick out your bedding first. I learned the hard way that it’s a lot harder to find a quilt or duvet cover you like. Once you have that, you can find a paint color that works with it.”
“Oh.” Okay, so not entirely full of promise, but it made a lot of sense. “That’s a really good idea.”
Joss shrugged but didn’t break eye contact. “You just need to figure out what you want your bed to say.”
Olivia had intended to be only mildly flirtatious, but Joss was making that nearly impossible. “Oh, I know what I want it to say. I just have to figure out the right way to say it.”
“Dare I ask?”
“I think you’re going to have to wait and see. Thank you again for your advice. It’s been immensely helpful.”
“Happy to help.”
Joss watched Olivia gather up her paint chips and disappear into the kitchen. She shook her head in an attempt to clear the fog that had settled over her brain. It did little to dispel the tingling on her arm where Olivia’s hand had been or the tightness in her belly that had taken hold when Olivia held her gaze.
Joss had spent the better part of the morning convincing herself that her attraction to Olivia was a passing infatuation, fueled by the fact that Olivia was the last person on the planet she should be pursuing. She’d even congratulated herself on keeping their conversation friendly and light. How in the hell had a conversation about paint colors turned so suggestive? It wasn’t at all how she wanted things with Olivia to go. But as she watched Olivia putter back and forth in the kitchen, humming a tune she couldn’t quite recognize, Joss realized that she wanted more rather than less. What the hell was she supposed to do with that?
Joss forced her attention back to the work in front of her. It sort of did the trick for about an hour and a half. She resumed cutting the drywall for the wall she’d finished framing the day before. When that was done, she started securing it to the studs with long screws. She was attaching the last piece when Olivia sashayed back in.
“They’re predicting rain by six, so I’m going to do my grilling now. Can I interest you in an early dinner?”
“Um…” This was a terrible idea.
“It’s nothing fancy. I picked up some pre-marinated chicken and potato salad, sliced some cucumbers and tomatoes. I have far more than I can eat.”
Joss nodded. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do after all the work you’ve been doing. It’s also nice to have company.”
“Can I give you a hand?” Sure. Because cooking with a woman wasn’t intimate at all.
“No need. You finish up whatever you’re doing. It’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“That’s perfect.” Olivia disappeared back into the kitchen and all Joss could do was shake her head. This was probably an improvement on bickering, but it felt far more dangerous. Every time she was around Olivia, Joss seemed to have absolutely no control over what came out of her mouth.
Olivia headed out to preheat the grill, congratulating herself
on getting Joss to agree to dinner. As much as she’d prefer to serve something a little nicer, Joss probably said yes in part because it seemed so casual. “Baby steps,” she said to the squirrel who chattered at her from a nearby tree.
After getting the chicken on the grill, Olivia pulled out the two salads and some fresh berries. She turned to Joss. “Will you have a beer?”
“If you are, sure.”
Olivia piled everything on a tray and carried it outside. She was just pulling the chicken off when Joss stepped outside, drying her hands on a paper towel. “Your timing is perfect.”
“Thank you again for sharing your dinner.”
“It’s my pleasure. With classes starting next week, it’s nice to be able to enjoy the last little bits of down time.”
They sat at the plastic patio table, filling their plates from the plastic bowls and containers Olivia had brought out. She lifted her bottle. “Here’s to excellent progress.”
“To progress.”
They talked a little about the house—what the order of projects would be, when Olivia would be able to start painting which walls. She realized that it was her enthusiasm for the work, and not just the finished product, that would win Joss over. The distinction would be important to someone like Joss. Olivia would have to remember that.
Not wanting to only talk shop, Olivia asked Joss questions about her family and what it was like to work with them.
“I started hanging around the office when I was about six. My dad took me to my first job site on my tenth birthday. He gave me my first hard hat and tool belt and I cried when my mom made me take them off for bed. I never wanted to do anything else.”
Olivia didn’t think she’d ever heard something so adorable. “If being a lawyer had involved a hard hat and tool belt, I might have gone into the family business, too.”
“Your parents are lawyers?”
“They started their own firm after they got married. Mostly wills and trusts, some divorce thrown in for good measure. When I told them I was applying to English programs instead of law school, I honestly thought they might disown me.”
“But they didn’t?”
“Oh, no. They save the drama for deposition meetings and trials. When they realized I wasn’t going to change my mind, it became all about getting into the best program, working with high-profile scholars.”