Of course Oliver had his misgivings, he told me. He still made it clear that it was a risky investment, but he’d do it for her if she got it at the right price. And since I’m the handyman he trusts, he wants me to at least give her a heads-up on what all this place needs. So here I am, driving to meet her at her childhood home.
Normally, I’d be calling it a day and heading home by this point, two fat checks and a nice wad of cash in my pocket and nothing on my mind but grabbing a shower. Instead, I’m driving all the way into the next county to meet Cassie and the homeowner to do a quick walkthrough.
Pulling up, I can see the sun setting behind the house and it does look nice. Of course, that’s probably because it’s mostly in shadow and you can’t see the porch hanging on by a thread that was readily obvious in the pictures this morning. Cassie’s memories are seriously giving her rose-tinted goggles on this, I suspect, but I’ll do my best to help her out.
I pull around back to the dooryard and see a backyard that’s half jungle, half fire ant hill, and I cringe some more. The pecan trees are nice, though. I can see Cassie and an older man standing inside. Parking my truck, I walk to the door, carefully stepping over the suspicious-looking steps on the way up. It looks like more than the front porch will have to be replaced.
Opening the screen, I step inside. Cassie stops mid-sentence and stares at me, her mouth half hanging open in surprise. I realize that I might be a little unsightly after a day of work. I’m sure my hair is messy from running my fingers through it, my shirt has been wet then dried multiple times today—and it probably smells like a locker room—and my hands are still dirty from the roofing patch. Figuring I’d better start off on the right foot since she’s with the owner, I hold my smartass comment about rendering her speechless and put an embarrassed smile on my face. Besides, he knows why I’m here. I don’t need to be freshly shaven and wearing a suit.
“Hey, Cassie, sorry I’m late. Just finished up for the day and got here as fast as I could.” To the man, who doesn’t look that put-out at all, I give a respectful nod. “I’d offer my hand, sir, but you probably don’t want it. I’m Caleb Strong. I contract with Steele Solutions.”
Cassie still hasn’t said a word, and I wonder for an instant if I’ve somehow offended her by showing up not smelling like Head & Shoulders. The man notices it, too, and breaks the silence. “Hello, I’m Frank Wannamaker. And don’t worry, I’ve heard about you. I have a church friend who’s mentioned you—Rebecca Miller?”
“Mrs. Miller?” I say, then smile. She’s one of my favorite clients, friendly and professional with no funny business. The four days I was repairing her wall, I got lunch and ice cold tea almost every hour. “I hope her wall’s doing well. Laying stone is an interesting challenge compared to brick.”
Finally, after an awkward moment, Cassie shakes her head and returns to her speech. She’s apparently discussing comp values and the sales price he’s asking. I can quickly tell that Mr. Wannamaker is slightly overwhelmed but charmed at the same time. “Miss White, let’s sit down,” he finally says. “This wasn’t really my house, but my brother’s. When he decided to move down to Costa Rica to join some retirement community, I bought it off him to make sure he was taken care of. So I just want to get my money out of it.”
Reassured that Cassie’s got Frank well under control, I raise my voice. “Excuse me, Cassie. Do you mind if I look around a bit while y’all talk? Let me get an idea of what needs done?”
When she nods, I wander off, walking through to the kitchen. I can still hear Cassie talking and laugh to myself. She’s gonna get this house at a great price and he’s not gonna know what hit him. She’s in full-blown Cassie Charmer mode. Yeah, that’s what she calls it when she’s in the zone. She’s mixing in giggles, little jokes, and business talk in this casual, overwhelming mix of hilarity that leaves people thinking she’s an airhead. I saw her do the same thing when I helped her out when she first moved to town and took her car shopping. She ended up driving off the lot in a car that left the salesman looking slightly stunned, and I’m sure, upset later over how much he’d let Cassie get away with.
Somehow, though, she never makes people too mad at her about her charm. She’s just too bubbly, nice, and supposedly airheaded to ever catch blame for it. I’ve teased her about it . . . multiple times, but damn if she’s not good. She could sell ice to an Eskimo and he’d walk away feeling like he won. As I check out one of the smaller bedrooms, she walks in smiling from ear to ear. “Cass, I pulled up some of the carpet, and you’re right, the floors can be refinished, but—”
“DONE!” Cassie says before starting to twirl and sing off-key. She’s cute as hell, but she can’t sing to save her life. “Cass gon’ give it to ya—”
“What?” I interrupt her, throwing up my hands in a futile attempt at stopping her. “You already agreed on a price? Don’t you want to know what the reno will cost or run it by Oliver first?”
Cassie doesn’t stop her dancing, shaking her ass in a way that has me looking at her hips, but she stops singing at least. “Nope, doesn’t matter. It’s low enough that there’s no way he’ll turn it down. I told him I grew up here with my mama and I wanted to fix it up right. Showed him the corner of the fireplace where I chipped my front tooth and the faint little lines on the doorway to the kitchen where my height is marked. He said that was ‘right nice’ and agreed to my low-ball starting offer! Already gave me the keys and said we can finish the paperwork tomorrow, but he was good with a handshake offer!”
She continues her little celebration, grabbing my hands to try to make me dance. I’m not much of a dancer, at least not without having music, but I try my best, figuring if I don’t, she’s going to start singing again. And I can’t have that. “Watch it, I’m still dirty from working all day. I’ll get you dirty.”
Cassie laughs, undeterred. “I don’t care. Celebrate with me!”
“Figures you’d like to get a little dirty, wouldn’t you? Just how dirty do you like it?” I reply with a raised eyebrow and a deep voice. But it’s a joke, it’s always a joke. This is what we’ve done from the first time we met. We make crude comments, double entendres, and tease each other mercilessly. It’s been the cornerstone of our relationship. I don’t think we’ve ever really said anything serious to each other, and when we have, I’m not sure if we’re telling the truth or just joking again.
Cassie stops, her eyes gleaming in the dim overhead light, a seductive smile on her lips that has me feeling shaky. Maybe we’ve always joked, but right this minute, with that sultry look in her eyes, I wonder if I’ve been going about this all wrong. “You don’t know the half of it. And my toys will never tell,” she says cheekily. “They’re sooo good to me.”
The sudden image of Cassie playing with a sex toy sends another tingle through my body, and when I reply, my voice is huskier, deeper, more demanding. This time, though, I’m not joking, even if she is. “Toys? Oh, hell, you’ll have to tell me those stories . . . slowly and in detail. Come on, I’ll even buy you a celebratory dinner.”
Chapter 9
Caleb
We walk outside and decide to take my truck to grab dinner. I open the door for her, because my mom raised me right, and then close her in before heading to the driver side. I open up, but as I do, the wind shifts, and I realize I’ve forgotten something. Reaching into my back bench, I grab my little ‘clean bag’ and unzip it. “At least let me put on a clean shirt.”
“Great, I’m going to dinner with Sasquatch,” Cassie jokes. “You know, I’ve got some perfume in my purse, if you want.”
“Not in a million years,” I say, reaching behind my neck and pulling my tee over my head. I use it to do a little wipe down over my abs and back, and then I do my pits last before grabbing a small bottle of hand sanitizer, rubbing it up my forearms and over my hands. I look up and realize that Cassie is staring at me, jaw hanging wide open. “See something you like?”
Cassie shakes herself, seemingly mentally and ph
ysically, and grabs my shirt, tossing it at my face. “You wish. Just daydreaming about the house. Now drive!”
I let her off the hook because she wasn’t thinking about the house. She was thinking about me. I could see it in her eyes. It makes me smile, even if I know she doesn’t really mean anything by it. We’ve been friends for a while now, to the point where we once went on a double date. That was a disaster, though, because my date instantly got jealous of my jokes with Cassie and didn’t get that we just tease each other like that. But seriously, it’s not a big deal. Slipping my clean shirt on, I throw the sweaty one at her as I climb into the truck. She squeals, as expected, and threatens to throw it out her window before tossing it behind her into the back.
“The usual?” I ask as I crank the engine. The music starts up, and Cassie nods in approval as Disturbed comes on. It’s another thing that I like about Cassie. We both like a lot of different kinds of music so it’s easy to find something we both enjoy. She can appreciate good rock, and I’ve even seen her humming along the few times she’s heard country in my truck.
“As if there’s any question. Now floor it. I’m getting hungry!” And with that, we head off to her favorite burger joint, a converted train boxcar with outdoor seating that’s about halfway back to town called The Little Diner That Could. Cheesy name, and thankfully, even cheesier burgers. As we pull up out front, she clucks her tongue. “You realize it’s been awhile since we’ve hit this place up?”
“You’re the one burning the midnight oil on work stuff,” I tease.
“And you’re the one getting hit on by women old enough to be your mom with cookies and milk,” she says, and I swear I’m going to kill Mindy or Oliver. How many other people know about my customers doing that?
“Actually, recently, it’s been lemonade.”
“Lemonade and chocolate chip cookies? Revolting!”
“Peanut butter,” I protest, grimacing. Yeah, chocolate and lemonade are not a good mix at all. “Come on, let’s eat.”
I’m glad Cassie likes her burgers because I’m fucking starving. She can put away a burger almost as fast as I can. Her only bad habit is that she dips her fries in a chocolate milkshake. Disgusting, but it’s her favorite so I just don’t watch.
Walking into the diner, we grab our usual table in the corner where the breeze is at its strongest and wave at the waitress. A few minutes later, as we pick up our big, juicy burgers, I pause, holding it up like a drink. “And a toast—to Miss Cassie White . . . on a deal closed, on a project to be completed, on a first gig all to herself. You’re gonna kill it!”
“And to my grunting caveman, whom I know I’m going to bug the shit out of as I get the place redone,” Cassie says, raising her burger. We bump burgers in a slight mash of bacon, cheese, bread, and beef, but that’s us. So what if it’s not champagne? I ain’t a champagne kinda guy. Burger toasts seem just about right for us.
“So, what do you think?” Cassie says before she takes a huge bite of her burger. She’s somehow able to fit more food in her mouth than a girl her size should even attempt.
“Your manners are still horrible,” I tease, taking advantage of the fact that she’s got so much food in her mouth she can neither blow a raspberry nor stick her tongue out at me. “If you mean the house, I think I know some ways to shave a little off the repair bill.”
“Really?” Cassie half mumbles before swallowing. “Caleb, I appreciate that, but I don’t want to shortchange the house.”
“It’s not shortchanging,” I say around a half mouthful of my own burger. “But there are still ways we can get better profits without hurting the renovations. I was thinking . . . you mentioned in your spiel this morning that the place will probably need new appliances, right?”
“Yeah,” Cassie says, dipping a fry and noshing on it open-mouthed, smiling. If her lips weren’t so damn cute, I’d be upset. As it is, I’m still disturbed. “What, you know a guy who knows a guy?”
“Actually, we both know the guy,” I tell her. “I had to pull a water heater from one of Oliver’s properties two weeks ago. Nothing wrong with the thing. It was brand new when the old owners sold the property, but it just wasn’t big enough for a duplex. Oliver had me yank it, and I’ve got it at my place, waiting for the scrap guy. But . . .”
“Caleb, you keep this up and I’m gonna kiss you,” Cassie says before blushing. “I mean, I’ll let you give me a back massage.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, hiding my surprise at her choice of words. “Oh, one thing, though, and this is non-negotiable.”
“What’s that?” Cassie asks warily, taking another bite of burger. “I’m glad to pay.”
“No, not that. If I’m going to keep my other customers happy, Oliver happy, and somehow get that house done before you’re ready to retire, it’s going to mean working weekends. And not farting around for a few hours Saturday morning and then cutting out to go shopping type of work. I mean getting down and dirty for eight hours a day on weekends. But I want you there helping, either as my assistant or as my gopher.”
“Gopher?” Cassie asks. “Hey, I’ll have you know that the braces cured that very well!”
I shake my head, laughing. “That’s not what I mean. I mean if there’s something you can’t really help me with, you can be ready to get me any tools I need.”
Cassie nods. “I know what you meant. This is my first solo project, and I have money riding on this just like Oliver does. What do you think I’m going to do, sit at home while you do everything? But are you sure about working weekends? Don’t you have plans?”
“Don’t have much going on right now,” I admit.
Cassie looks at me in surprise. “What about that brunette you picked up at the grocery store? She looked very interested in you.”
I laugh ruefully. “Susannah? We went out twice. Then she bought me a candle. Patchouli, with a picture of a kitten on the thing. Noped the fuck outta that quick, fast, and in a hurry.”
Cassie bursts out laughing. “Over a candle? You ditched her over a candle? I mean, it’s a pretty horrible idea for a candle, but to break up with her over it?”
I chuckle, shrugging. “It’s a power move. She’s trying to girly up my place so that when someone else comes over, she’s marked her territory. I am not getting tied up like that.”
“Not tied up like that, but how about other ways? I might have some pink fluffy handcuffs just your size. And I damn sure know how to use silk ropes,” she says as she licks her straw. “You’d be sure to enjoy it.”
I smirk. That’s the Cassie I’ve come to know and appreciate. I just have to make sure I don’t end up with milkshake on my head. Instead, I give her a wink. “Now that, I might consider. Depends on what you’re gonna do if I were at your mercy?”
Cassie looks me in the eye with a glint of mischievousness and takes a long draw of her shake, hollowing her cheeks. She swallows with an audible gulp and then licks her lips to catch a tiny drop left in the center of her top lip. I can’t help it. My eyes widen and I feel my cock swell in my jeans, and I know I’m in trouble. I mean, I’ve always known Cassie was cute, but now . . . goddammit, I’m in trouble if she’s just joking.
Cassie waits just a beat and then speaks up “Game. Set. Match. Winner, Cassie White. And the crowd goes wild.” She mimics a crowd cheering. Dammit, I should have known she was still being a wiseass.
Chapter 10
Cassie
As the water splashes over my shoulders, easing away the stress and excitement of the day, I sigh gratefully. I’ve always been a nighttime shower girl. Glad I’m not a man who needs to shave in the morning. I like being able to roll out of bed fifteen minutes before I have to go if need be. Not to mention, the warmth and massaging pulse of the water hitting me in that perfect spot between the base of my neck and my shoulder blades is one of the best ways to relax me enough to sleep. And other places, sometimes.
And boy, did I have a day that has me both keyed up and exhausted. I review the meeting with
the homeowner in my head as I pick up my washcloth and start scrubbing down my body. It couldn’t have gone better, and I don’t think I could’ve gotten a better deal. As soon as I got the man’s number on how much he paid his brother to take the property off his hands, I upped it by only ten percent, and he accepted. Even with that, I’m going to get the house for at least thirty percent under local market value.
It needs a lot of work, though, and I’m gonna need Caleb for most of the projects. I’ll have to get him to block out his schedule for several weeks so that we can hit the market before summer ends. He’s going to be a lifesaver, and ‘Mr. Fix-It’ could just be my ticket to turning this project into something that’ll make me feel good and give me a little money to top it off. I know I teased him tonight—I always do—but I don’t think I could do this without him.
As I think about Caleb, I flash back to when he walked into the house tonight. I know I gave him a little look about showing up like that, but holy fuck, he was walking sex on a stick. I know some women like clean-cut, suit-and-tie kinda guys, but not me. Give me the man who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty any day, his hair messed up from hard work and a day’s worth of stubble shadowing his cheeks, and I’m just about ready to fall back and spread my legs. Add in smelling like he just spent the past eight hours busting his ass and is ready to spend some well-deserved downtime with his woman? Oh, fuck, yes.
When Caleb took his shirt off, I almost drooled down my chin. I know he works out a lot. Hell, we’ve gone for runs together most Sundays since I got on a health kick a while back. The healthy eating might not have stuck because burgers are the angels’ sustenance, but the runs are awesome. But runs don’t give you a damn eight-pack. Yes, eight. I know because I’ve counted them.
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