Page 26 of Delay of Game
Lily grinned, plopping the bag on a table and fanning her face in mock exhaustion. “They had markdowns on summer wear. And we’re still due a heat wave. I don’t want to end up at the beach with nothing new to wear.”
“Outstanding,” I said lamely, acutely aware of how perilously close my bank account hovered around zero.
I budgeted for the unpaid summer months, but when we lived together, I’d had to lean slightly more heavily on Aunt Mercy’s monthly checks. I would have loved a summer job. Mixing drinks at a local bar like Lily or lifeguarding at thepublic pool like the gym teacher Ryder, but somewhere along the way, the roommate situation with my great aunt turned into a caregiver position, and I didn’t have time for another job.
“I bought you a little something, too,” Lily crooned as she dug through the bag.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“Consider it a back-to-school present.” She pulled a pink box out and handed it over.
“A pink tool set?” I asked incredulously.
“You said you needed a screwdriver.” She leaned over the toolkit, splaying her hand under the photo on the box that showed its contents. “Now, you have a hammer and a screwdriver and a level. I don’t know what you need a level for, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you,” I said, tucking the tools under my purse. “I’m assuming this is your way of telling me you have no intention of helping me fix up the house.”
She grinned. “Not a chance.”
I sped down my street, pulling into the driveway with a wince. The clock read 6:05, and the black SUV parked on the curb only confirmed what I already knew: I was late.
And Rob didn’t strike me as the type of guy who appreciated tardiness. Collecting the empty bags, my purse, and the toolkit off the passenger seat, I hustled out of the car. Rob stood on the porch, his back to me and his head craned up toward the corner of the porch.
Too late, I weighed whether I should have spent a few minutes in the car to make sure I looked decent. I’d spent the afternoon organizing the art center and smoke bombed myselfwith a container of gold glitter. I’d rinsed most of it off, but certainly not all.
“Do you know you have wasps up here?” His voice echoed in the enclosed porch, but he didn’t tear his eyes away from it, giving me time to appreciate the sheer size of him. Broad shoulders, impossibly tall, and a surprisingly nice ass to boot. Too bad the look of concern on his fact kept me from fully appreciating his body.
“Wasps?”
“That’s a nest.” He pointed again.
I set down my bags and ducked around him, trying to get an unobstructed view while keeping my distance. The stacked boxes and furniture destined for donation made that attempt impossible. His thick scent of pepper and leather hit my nose and weakened my knees, just a little. I clenched my jaw and followed his gaze to the papery half-globe attached to the siding just below the overhang. “Are you sure?”
He huffed. “I’m sure as shit not touching it, but yeah, that’s a wasp's nest. We’ll need to check if there’s anything alive in it before we take it down.”
We? I snagged on the word, whipping my head into his bicep and smacking it with a thud.
“Ow.” I pressed my palm to my temple and stumbled back.
“Are you okay?” His face crumpled, confused. “What the hell happened?”
“We?” I winced, my cheek throbbing. “If you’re interested in the house, can’t we just work out an ‘as-is’ situation?”
His eyebrows raised. “What are you talking about? I’m notbuyingyour house. Why would I do that?”
“Isn’t that what you football players do? Scoop up real estate? Flip it? Gentrify it?” The faint throbbing died away, and I dropped my hand, stepping back to the other side of the porch.
“How many football players do you know again?” He frowned.
“None, but I read the gossip columns.”
“Ah, the gossip columns. Well, in that case, you should know that I don’t scoop up real estate. I have one piece of real estate, which is more than enough. Thanks though, for offering me your wasp-infested house.”
“Why are you here if you don’t want to buy it?” I dug my keys out of purse.
“I’m here to help you fix the place up.”
I fumbled with my keys, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. “You what? Why?”
