Friday night, I went home, riled up and not really sure why. I’ve never reacted to Cassie’s flirting with some dude that way. Hell, I’ve even introduced her to a few. But that guy was slimy and didn’t deserve her.
“Bullshit,” I mutter, chastising myself. “Great, now I’m talking to myself too. Cassie is officially driving me crazy.” But I can’t stop. No, if I’m honest with myself, he wasn’t slimy and was just talking to her. I just didn’t like it. And now she hasn’t even stopped by her house to check on the progress. Her car’s still parked in the dooryard, even.
It’s obvious she’s avoiding me. Yeah, she might be busy, but she said she wanted to be involved every step of the way. I need to apologize, but fuck, I don’t even know how to start.
I don’t fully understand why I reacted to that guy the way I did. It can’t just be that Cassie and I were flirting in the parking lot. Hell, we’ve done that for over a year, and the closest we’ve ever gotten to moving past jokes and flirting was our runs together. I mean, I’ve seen guys literally grind on Cassie sometimes when we’ve gone out playing wingman for each other, and I didn’t bat an eye.
I’m gonna have to suck it up and act like an adult, though, because I need to go over tile choices for the bathrooms with Cassie. They have to be ordered and there’s a few weeks’ lead time to get them in, so I’ve got to talk to her . . . tonight. Whether her not showing up is through my fault or hers—and yeah, it’s mostly mine—I have to heal this rift.
Running my fingers through my hair, I dial her number and listen to the rings, not sure if I’m hoping for voicemail or for her to answer. When I get the recording, I’m disappointed . . . guess that answers that. I leave a stammering message. ”Hey, Cass. I, uh . . . need you to make some decisions so I can, uh . . . order supplies. Can you swing by tonight on your way home? Or, shit, I just remembered your car’s still here. Gimme a call and I’ll come get you. I’ll be here ‘till six thirty or so. Yeah, so . . . see ya.” I hang up, shaking my head. “You are such a fucking dumbass, Caleb. Swing by, when her car’s out back. Why not just hit yourself in the head with your hammer? Or better yet, smack yourself in the dick. You’re thinking with it too much.”
It’s true. For the past few days, I can’t get my mind off Cassie. Maybe it’s that I’ve spent a lot of time in her house, but it feels like more than that. From the moment I saw her come into Oliver’s office that morning, it’s been like a switch was thrown in my head. She’s more than just a cool girl, the girl I can throw taunts and jokes at without worrying about being taken the wrong way. Now . . . fuck it, I want her. Not as a friend, not as a jogging buddy.
I want to have Cassie. I want to feel her ass in my hands, to run my lips along the curve of her neck, to feel her wrap her body around my cock and make her moan and squeal as I send shockwaves through her body. I’ve thought about fucking her in passing before, but now I crave it.
Whatever. It’s not gonna happen. If it were, it would have long before now. Besides, I’ve got shit to do today. I don’t have time to worry about some damn crush or whatever this is. So back to work. After I cut the supports over the master bedroom, I delayed on the installation, hoping that Cassie could be here to help me out. Instead, I’ve focused mostly on demo the last few days, making the house look like a shell inside. There are walls with no drywall, just the studs allowing you to see from one room to the next. And today is kitchen day. It’s a full gut job too, but I’m going to try to save the cabinets to donate. They’re not in bad shape, just dated, and they don’t work for the open floor plan Cassie has in mind. Saving might be the right thing to do, but it’s not the fast way.
I almost wish I could just roll in and swing my sledgehammer and knock some shit around. Flat-out mindless destruction always does wonders for the mood. The high after going apeshit on an old brick wall or fence is nearly godlike. Giving it a thought for a moment, I know I’m not doing that. Cassie’d be mad, and I’d be mad at myself later. With a big sigh, I head into the kitchen, turn on some tunes on my portable boom box, and get started. Hopefully, I can have it all empty before Cassie comes by tonight . . . if she does.
I get the stove and water heater outside using my dolly, loading them into the trailer that I’m using to haul stuff to the scrapyard. But working alone is hard, even with a heavy-duty dolly. I have to muscle both of them inside the trailer, and it takes up a chunk of time. By the time I’m done, I’m covered in sweat again, and I peel off my shirt, wishing that the water were on in the house. I could really use a hosedown right now, but all I’ve got is about a gallon and a half of unsweetened tea in a cooler. Instead, I use a towel to wipe down and go back inside.
I start carefully unscrewing the cabinets from the walls, carrying them one by one out to the curb for the donation truck to grab them later this week. It’s finicky work. Some of the cabinets are long, and it takes time to make sure I don’t just tear an anchor out of the wall, damaging either a cabinet or the support post behind it.
Still, I make progress, and hours later, the kitchen is well on its way to being stripped. I’m squatted down, head under the sink, unscrewing the drain pipes so I can remove the last section of cabinets, when I hear a loud noise behind me. The unexpected sound makes me jump, and before I can stop myself, the bottom of my head smacks into the sink with a resounding BONG! that leaves me seeing stars. There’s a faint taste of blood in my mouth where I bit my lip.
I hear unsuccessfully suppressed giggles even as stars swim in front of my eyes, and I know who it is. I ease my way out from under the cabinet, holding the back of my head. “Holy fuck, Cass, you scared the shit out of me!”
She laughs, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s still in her work clothes, looking sleek and professional in her white silk blouse and slim burgundy slacks. Her sky-high heels add several inches to her tiny frame, bringing her face even closer to mine. As I peruse her body, I wonder for a moment how she got out here. “You deserved it for listening to Bon Jovi while you’re working. How old are you? Need me to get you a cane, Grandpa?”
“One, Bon Jovi is timeless and whips the shit out of half the acts out there today. Two, eighties rock fits right into my mood when I’m working like this, so get used to it. Besides, we’re close enough that we could have gone to high school together. So I’m more than young enough to throw you over my knee, brat.”
Cassie chuckles, and I hope for a moment that everything might just go back to normal, avoiding whatever awkwardness we had the other night. “Yeah, well, you’ve got an old soul then, Caleb. Where’d you leave your steel horse, cowboy?”
I laugh. “See, I knew you liked Bon Jovi. You probably know every word to the song you’re making fun of me for listening to.” I pause, seeing if she’ll agree or disagree, but she just sticks her tongue out at me. “How’d you get here anyway?”
“Oliver’s babysitter, Emily, gave me a ride. Her best friend lives out this way, so she didn’t mind. And I need to get my damn car anyway.”
I know Emily. She’s a nice girl, just a little shy. She’s apparently great with Oliver’s kids, though, and I think she’s just the kind that takes a while to relax enough to get to know. “Okay, well in the meantime, come here and help me, woman. I’m taking out the sink to get this last bit demo’d for the day.” Climbing back under the sink, I get back to work disconnecting the drain pipes, capping them off for later. I clamp off the feed hoses and disconnect them, making sure the hoses are clear before tapping on the bottom of the sink.
With a little bit of wedging, we slide our fingers underneath and pull the sink out. Once we get it out, I take the other end from Cassie and carry it outside to my trailer.
When I come back, she’s leaning over the hole in the countertop, looking at all I’ve done. “Wow, you know, I was thinking, and I’d like to—”
As Cassie talks, she taps the clamp that I’ve put on the cold water line, and it pops off, the hose popping free to squirt both of us from the chest up in cold water.
“Damn it,” I say, trying not to laugh. I reach down, and with blurry vision, I grab the pinch clamp from the floor by my left boot. I attach the clamp and then check the other.
“What just happened? Isn’t the water off, Mr. Fix-It?”
“Yes, the water is off, but there’s always a little left in the lines. The water company just shuts it off at the street and leaves it to the homeowner to bleed the pipes. Obviously, they didn’t here, and with the heat . . . guess the pressure was just enough to blow when you tapped the cap. Pun intended.” I finish my check. It’ll hold. “Anyway, that should be the worst and—”
I turn around, seeing Cassie, her shirt clinging to her body and her hair in wild disarray as she shakes it free, and time stops. The words instantly die in my throat, and the only thought I have is simple.
I fucking want her.
Want to read the rest? Get Mr. Fixit HERE.
Coming Soon!
Brand New Series Coming Soon! Add it to your Goodreads TBR!
Chapter 1
Katrina
“Checkmate, bitch,” I exclaim as I do a victory dance that’s comprised of some fist pumps and ass wiggles in my chair while my best friend Elise laughs at me. “This is what winning looks like….”
Elise does a little finger dance herself, cheering along with me. “You go girl. Winner winner, chicken dinner… now let’s eat!”
I laugh with her, joyful in celebrating my new promotion at work, regardless of the dirty looks the snooty ladies at the next table are shooting our way. I get their looks, I mean we are in the best restaurant in the city. While East Robinsville isn’t New York or Miami, this isn’t the sort of restaurant where five foot two inch women in work clothes go shaking their ass while doing something akin to a high school cheer chant.
But right now, I give exactly zero fucks. “Damn right we can eat! I’m the youngest person in the company to ever be promoted to Senior Developer and the first woman at that level. Glass ceiling… boom, busting through! Boys club… infiltrated.” I mime like I’m sneaking in, shoulders hunched and hands pressed tightly in front of me before splaying my arms wide with a huge grin. “Before they know it, I’m gonna have that boys club watching chick flicks and the whole damn thing’s going to be painted pink!”
Elise snorts, shaking her head again. “I still don’t have a fucking clue what you actually do, but even I understand the words promotion and raise. So huge congrats, honey.”
She’s right, no one really understands when I talk about my job, my brain has a tendency to talk in streams of binary zeroes and ones that make perfect sense to me, but not so much to the average person.
The part people do get is when my company turns those strings of numbers into apps that go viral. After my last app went number one, they were forced to give me a promotion or risk losing my skills to another development company.
I might be young at only twenty-six, female as evidenced by my long honey brown hair and curvy figure, but as much as I don’t fit the profile of computer nerd, they had to respect that my brain creates things that no one else does. I think it’s my female point of view that really helps. While a chunk of the other people in the programming field fit the stereotype of being slightly repressed geeks who are more comfortable watching animated ‘girlfriends’ from Japan than talking to an actual woman, I’m different. I understand that merely slapping a pink font on things or adding sparkly shit and giving more pre-loaded shopping options doesn’t make technology more ‘female-friendly.’
It’s insulting, honestly. But it gives me my edge, in that I know how to actually create apps that women like and want to use. Not just women, either, based off of sales.
And so I can celebrate with Elise, hold up our glasses of wine, clinking them together in a toast. Elise sips her wine, and nods in appreciation. “So you’re killing it on the job front, what else is going on? How are things with you and Kevin?”
My joyful buzz is instantly dulled, knowing that Elise doesn’t like Kevin. She’s been my best friend for long enough and knows I’ve been through the ringer with some previous boyfriends, and even though Kevin is fine--well-mannered, ambitious, and treats me right--she just doesn’t care for him for some reason.
“He’s fine,” I reply, knowing it’s not a great answer but I also know she’s going to roast me anyway. “He’s been working a lot of hours so I haven’t even seen him in a few days, but he texts me every morning and night. We’re supposed to go to dinner this weekend to celebrate.”
Elise sighs, giving me that look that makes her normally very cute face look sort of like a sarcastic basset hound. “I’m glad, I guess. Not to beat a dead horse,” too late, “but you really can do better. Kevin is just so… meh. There’s no spark, no fire between you two. It’s like you’re friends who fuck.”
I duck my chin, not wanting her to read on my face the woeful lack of fucking that has been happening, but I’m too transparent.
“Wait… you two do fuck, right?” Elise asks, flabbergasted. “I figured that was why you were staying with him. I was sure he must be great in the sack or you’d have dumped him a long time ago.”
I bite my lip, not wanting to get into this with her… again. But one of Elise’s greatest strengths is also one of her most annoying traits as well. She’s like a dog with a bone and isn’t going to let this go.
“Look, he’s fine,” I finally reply, trying to figure out how much I need to feed Elise before she gives me a measure of peace. “He’s handsome, treats me well, and when we have sex, it’s good… I guess. I don’t believe in some Prince Charming that is going to sweep me off my feet to a castle where we’ll have romantic candlelit dinners, brilliant conversation, and bed-breaking sexcapades. I just want someone to share the good and bad times with, some companionship.”
Elise holds back as long as she can before she explodes, her snort and guffaw of derision getting even more looks our direction. “Then get a fucking dog and a rabbit. The buzzing kind that you can use rechargeable batteries on.”
One of the ladies at the next table huffs, seemingly aghast at Elise’s outburst, and they stand to move towards the bar on the other side of the restaurant, far away from us. “Well, if this is the sort of trash that passes for dinner conversation,” the older one says as she sticks her nose far enough into the air I wonder if it’s going to be clipped by the ceiling fans. “No wonder the country’s going to hell under these Millennials!”
She storms off before Elise or I can respond, but the second lady pauses slightly and talks out of the side of her mouth. “Sweetie, you do deserve more than fine.”
With a wink, she scurries off after her friend, leaving behind a grinning Elise. “See? Even snooty soccer moms know that you deserve more than meh.”
“I know. We’ve had this conversation on more than one occasion, so can we drop it?” I seethe between clenched teeth before calming slightly. “I want to celebrate and catch up, not argue about my love life.”
Always needing the last word, Elise drops her voice, muttering under her breath. “What love life?”
“That’s low.”
Elise holds her hands up, and I know I’ve at least gotten a temporary reprieve. “Okay then, if we’re sticking to work, I got a new assignment. I’m writing a blurb about a certain famous someone who got caught sending dick pics to a social media princess. Don’t ask me who because I can’t divulge that, yet. But it’ll be all there in black and white by next week’s column.”
Elise is an investigative journalist, a rather fantastic one whose talents are largely being wasted on celebrity news gossip for the tabloid paper she writes for. I can’t even call it a paper really, with the downfall of actual print news, most of her stuff ends up in cyberspace, where it’s digested, Tweeted, hashtagged and churned out for the two-minute attention span types to gloat over for a moment before they move on to… well, whatever the fuck they’re into.<
br />
Every once in awhile, she’ll get to do something much more newsworthy, but mostly it’s fact-checking and ass-covering before the paper publishes stories celebrities would rather see disappear. I know what burns her ass even more is when she has to cover the stories where some downward-trending celebrity manufactures a scandal just to get some social media buzz going before their latest attempt at rejuvenating a career that peaked about five years ago.
This one at least sounds halfway interesting, and frankly better than my love life, so I laugh. “Why would he send a dick pic to someone on social media? Wouldn’t he assume she’d post it? What a dumb ass!”
“No, it’s usually close-ups and they’re posted anonymously,” Elise says with a snort. “She knows of course because she sees the user name on their direct message, but she cut it out so that it’s posted to her page as an anonymous flash of flesh. Look…”
She pulls out her phone, clicking around to open an app, one I didn’t design but damn sure wish I had. It’s got one hell of a sweet interface. It takes Elise only a moment to find the page she wants.
“See?” she says, showing me her phone. “People send her messages with dick pics, tit pics, whatever. If she deems them sexy enough, she posts them with little blurbs and people can comment. She also does Q-and-A’s with followers, shows faceless pics of herself and gives advice sometimes. Kinda like porn but more ‘real people’ not silicone-stuffed, pump-sucked, fake moan scenes.”
She scrolls through, showing me one image after another of body part close-ups. Some of them… well damn, I gotta say that while they might not be professionals or anything, it’s a hell of a lot hotter than anything I’m getting right now. “Wow. That’s uhh… quite something. I don’t get it, but I guess lots of folks are into it… wait.”
She stops scrolling at my near shout, smirking. “What? See something you like?”
Baby Daddy Page 33