Page 81 of Delay of Game
“These are some nice steps,” Fieste marveled as I exited my truck.
“Rob fixed those!” Astrid beamed at me as she followed Fieste toward the curb with her boxes.
“Solid work, man.” Fieste set down the boxes and returned to the steps. “Maybe you don’t need a third pair of hands after all.”
“We don’t,” I said as Astrid countered with, “Of course we do!”
She shot me an indulgent grin, and her palm glanced off my arm as she sidled up beside me, her bare arm brushing mine and sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m glad you had some free time to come by today.”
“You didn’t want me here last night.” I hated the petulant whining in my voice, the desperation.
She tilted her head, eyes piercing me and filling me with guilt. Like she knew. The expression fell away just as fast. “I couldn’t find a key last night. Sorry about that.”
“Can I get the grand tour?” Fieste bounded onto the front porch, his head on a swivel. He nodded toward the corner of the porch. “You’ve got a wasp’s nest up there, you know.”
“Good eyes,” I said, grinning at Astrid. Having Fieste around might not be all bad. “Maybe you should take care of that first.”
“Yeah, no problem.” His voice faltered as he edged away from the nest.
“I think there’s some bug spray in the shed out back. We can check after the tour,” Astrid said.
Maybe the asshole would get stung.
They retreated into the house, and my stomach churned at every soft laugh, my ears perked to overhear their conversation. When they wandered upstairs, I headed for the kitchen in search of my toolbox, pulling out the pry bar, mallet, and a tape measure.
I pushed away the heavy oak buffet that blocked the back entrance. The imprints from the legs left clear patches of pale yellow linoleum, and dust coated the door where it’d beenblocked. Wiping away the dust, I shook the doorknob, surprised when it gave way and the door swung open immediately.
“For fuck’s sake,” I swore.
“What’d I do?” Astrid’s soft voice surprised me.
I jolted. “Did you know this door wasn’t even locked? All someone had to do was push this thing out of their way to get inside your house.”
I kicked the buffet for good measure.
She frowned. “Looks pretty heavy to me. I think I was fine.”
“Don’t joke, Astrid. It’s unsafe. Something could have happened.”
“Nothing did.”
I pursed my lips. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
“My boyfriend?” she echoed, her doe eyes growing wide.
“Fieste.”
“Ethan,” she said, not bothering to answer me. “He’s in the shed, checking for bug spray. Do you need him?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
She walked closer, dragging her fingertips along the buffet. “What can I do today?”
“Stay out of my way,” I said, sucking in the scent of baby powder and flowers that clung to her.
“So, help Ethan?”
“No.” My grip on the pry bar tightened. “Go out for coffee or something.”
