Page 28 of Delay of Game
“Eight weeks.” She squirmed in her seat, fingertips brushing invisible crumbs off the table. “Which is…”
“Practically impossible?” I asked, flipping back to page five where she listed all the chipped, cracked, and torn linoleum floors in the house. “When did you plan on getting this done? Schools starts on Monday.”
“After work?”
“Any reason you didn’t knock some of this out during the summer?”
Tears sprung to her eyes. “I kept meaning to, but Aunt Mercy couldn’t fit all her things to her new home and every time I tried to pack it up so I could get something done, I just…couldn’t.”
Fearing another encounter that left her in tears, I backed off asking anymore questions. “Okay, no problem. We’ll get some of this done at least.”
“You don’t have to help me.” She wiped her eyes and straightened. “I can do it myself.”
I scoffed “I saw that pink tool kit. You are not equipped to deal with this level of repairs without a mentor.”
“So, you’re mentoring me?”
“I’m sure as hell not fixing all this shit solo. We’ll make more progress if I teach you along the way.”
She didn’t shy away, instead nodding her head gratefully. “That’s really nice of you.”
“Thank my mom,” I grumbled, but I couldn’t ignore the soft swell of warmth flooding my stomach.
“So, where should we start?” Her voice wavered.
I turned back through the stack of pages to the beginning. “Right, now? A drink.”
Maybe two.
She bolted up and scurried to the fridge. “I don’t have much. Milk, water, tea, coffee.”
I blanched, wrenching my eyes from the notepad. “It’s after five. If I have a cup of coffee right now, I’ll be up all night.”
Her face smoothed, head cocking to one side as a grin spread across her face. “Alright, old man, how about a nightcap then? Do you drink whiskey?”
“Fuck yes.” I set down the notepad and ran a hand over my face.
She pulled a step stool out of the closet, still barely reaching the cabinets over the fridge. Her shirt hiked up past the waistband of her jeans, revealing a band of creamy soft skin and the swell of her hips.
I sucked in a breath and forced my eyes away. A pen sat next to the coffeemaker on the counter, and I leaned back my chair to swipe it.
“There’s some huge stuff on this list. What’s your budget?” Compulsively, I clicked the pen. Anything to keep my eyes off of her.
“Um…I’m not sure. Not much.”
My eyes inched back her way as she stood on her toes, reaching for a dusty bottle in the back. Her ass wiggled as she sorted through the bottles. My fingertips dug into the table as I stopped myself from standing up to help her. To wrap my hands around her bare skin and pull her back flush with my…
“Got it!” she cried triumphantly, bottle in hand. She used the neck to shut the cabinet before climbing down and grabbed two rocks glasses off the countertop, pouring a healthy serving of whiskey into each. “Ice or no ice?”
“If it’s shit whiskey, ice. If it’s decent, no ice.”
She rolled her eyes, leaving it neat, and handed me the glass before she sat back down.
I took a tentative sip, my throat growing warm without any burn. “Okay, this doesn’t suck.”
“My aunt liked good whiskey.” She winced. “Likesgood whiskey. But they don’t let residents drink at the home.”
She bit her tongue between her teeth, eyes drifting off and then refocusing. She sipped her drink casually, but her shoulders stayed tense.
