Page 9 of The Summer Dare
The streaming water from above slows. The moment it shuts off, I hear Lanie let out a deep breath.
As I emerge from under the sink, it’s then I notice her long muscular legs standing beside me. She’s at least got pants on—if you consider sleep shorts pants. But compared to yesterday, it’s better than nothing.
However, her light pink tank is drenched and does nothing to conceal her erect nipples.
I do my best to avert my eyes.
But I’m a guy.
I notice her beautiful pert breasts standing at attention. If dry, the fabric would do its job, but wet—yeah—that leaves little to the imagination.
And she has perfect breasts.
Round, plump, and more than a handful.
I am so fucking screwed.
“Ohmigod, thank you,” she gushes as she rushes to a cabinet to get some towels. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“No problem,” I offer instinctually. Noting there aren’t nearly enough towels, I offer, “Where are the bathroom towels?”
“In the hall, second door on the right,” she says, pointing off to the kitchen.
Darting in that direction, I hear her add, “I’m so glad you got here, I tried to turn off the valve but it wouldn’t budge. I was just about to give up and go look for a tool chest when you barged in. I can’t thank you enough for showing up when you did.”
“Let’s get this cleaned up then inspect the damage. If you want, I’ll fix it first thing this morning,” I offer, dropping to my knees to soak up the small lake that’s formed in the kitchen.
Shit. There’s a lot of water here. How long had this been gushing?
When she’s quiet and doesn’t move I glance her way.
She hesitantly looks from the sink to me, then back to the sink before asking, “You sure?”
Nodding, I get back to work before too much damage is done. “What do you think general contractors are for?”
“Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”
“Nope. Do you happen to have a wet/dry vac? It might be easier than sopping this mess up with towels.”
Looking toward the garage, she hesitates. “I have no idea. But I’ll check.”
With a limited amount of towels, I make quick work of scooping up a sopping wet one, quickly wring out the excess water, then throw it on the floor to keep the water contained. It may be a vain attempt, but as I scurry between towels, I hope like hell it soaks up more water in the process.
When the door to the garage bangs open with a giant shop vac in her hands, Lanie huffs, “I’ve got this. Will it work?”
Relieved, I rush to her. “Absolutely. Let’s make sure it’s empty and the filter’s off before we put this sucker to work.” Feeling its weight, I ask, “Do you have a garbage bag?”
Rushing to the sink, she grabs a large trash bag. I empty the contents and filter and within minutes, and water’s finally coming off the floor. With the roar of the machine, between us, we wordlessly work together. She keeps the mess from spreading by taking my lead from before and wringing out the towels and creating barriers to contain the excess water around us.
The moment I click off the machine, my ears ring in the silence, though I manage to hear Lanie exhale as if she’s exhausted. “Ah… thank God, this is almost over.”
As I reach for a towel, my arm brushes against hers and I quickly mutter, “Sorry,” when I see her shiver in response.
Standing with a puzzled expression she asks, “What the hell do you have to be sorry for? You literally just saved my house from being flooded.” She slowly looks me over from head to toe before adding, “If anything, I’m the one that should be apologizing. You and I are both soaked to the bone. Please tell me you at least have a change of clothes nearby.”
“Uh, I can’t say it’s real close, but my place is just outside of town—so is anything really that far in Seaside? I’ll swing by and change before heading to get a faucet.”
I really hope I brought another pair of boots with me for the summer because these will be miserable to wear the rest of the day. Maybe if I set them out in the sun, they’ll dry before I return to the job site.
