Page 10 of Fighting for You
My worry eases hearing my brother sent him, but it does raise a lot of questions. “How do you know Hayes?”
“How doyouknow Hayes?” he volleys back.
“He’s my brother,” I say.
“What?” He looks taken aback. “He told me his sister lives in Charleston.”
“I used to,” I say, shifting my eyes from his. “I had to move back seven months ago. Why are you here?”
“I heard you’re wet,” he says and then chuckles when my face flames again, and my eyes widen. “I’m here to fix a leak?”
I take a deep breath and will—in vain—my blush to fade. I weigh my options, but seeing as he’s my best bet at getting the sink fixed today, I stand back and make room for him to enter. Brooks steps inside, and I’m hit with a whiff of bergamot and leather. I don’t know how he does it, but it smells sweet and dangerous at the same time.
His head swivels around as he takes in my home. He seems too big for the space, I feel his presence everywhere. His eyes are on me as I turn to close and lock the door, and when I turn back around, our eyes meet.
“Paranoid much?” he teases, eyeing the many locks.
“Just… security-conscious.”
He hums and continues looking around the small space. I haven’t gotten a chance to paint yet, so all the walls are a muted gray. I’ve added splashes of color with the vibrant paintings I’ve collected over the years. There’s no underlying theme to the art, I chose pieces that spoke to me at different moments in my life. The set of six paintings of brightly colored fish and coral hanging in the entryway brought me peace when I was studying for finals in my last year of nursing school. Coming across the large abstract one titled “Lucky Penny” that hangs above my couch in the living room felt fortuitous when I was waiting to hear if I got into my top choice nursing program.
I shuffle around behind him, watching as he catalogs my space. As my discomfort rises, I redirect him to the issue at hand, “Follow me, it’s upstairs.” I step around him and climb thestairs, somewhere around the third step from the top, I realize Brooks is about fifteen seconds from stepping into my bedroom. The thought of him there—a space I’ve invited no man but my brother into, and that was only to help me move in my bed—sends a jolt down my spine, half anxiousness, half anticipation.
By the time we broach the bedroom, the anxiousness wins, and I usher him straight to the bathroom.
“So, I don’t know what happened. I woke up and found water all over the floor, and then when I tried to turn it off underneath, the knob just… came off,” I say and show him the rusted piece of metal I left on the counter as proof.
Brooks looks from me to the knob and back. His lips quirk like he’s fighting back a smile, but then he steels himself and drops down to stick his head into the cabinet. He feels around at the pipes and utters a few “hmmms” before popping back up.
He steps closer and looks at me from under his gorgeous, full lashes. “Want to show me your downstairs?” he murmurs.
I rear back from him and squeak out, “Excuse me?”
The smile he gives me is sinful. “Your basement.” He cocks his head with a glint in his eyes. “What did you think I meant?”
I swallow thickly and avoid his gaze as my face burns. “Uhh… nothing. Follow me.” I lead him back downstairs and around the corner to the door going to the basement. I open it and switch on the light before motioning him to go ahead. Brooks is about halfway down the stairs when he realizes I’m not following him.
Turning around, he says, “You coming?”
I shift around on my feet and play with the doorknob as I continue to lean on the door. “No, I—I don’t like basements…” I feel silly and juvenile saying it out loud, but I’ve never liked basements. Maybe it’s growing up in South Carolina where most homes don’t have them, or maybe basements are just inherently creepy, I’m not sure.
He looks at me a moment longer, eyes roaming up and down the length of me again. Then with a narrowing of his eyes and a click of his tongue, he says, “You stay up there, Doc. Would hate to see anything dirty up those cute stockings.” Then, with a wink he turns and takes the rest of the stairs down before disappearing past where I can see him.
His words and the heat in his gaze as he eyed me up and down stay at the forefront of my mind, making something in my belly coil. I think I like the way he looks at me.
I’m still turning over his words when his boots thud up the stairs, and he’s suddenly next to me.
“I’ve turned off the water to the house,” he says looking down at me. I feel every inch of our height difference in this moment, and I’m caught on the masculinity of his face in the morning light: the angular nose, deep set eyes, and day-old scruff. It takes a few moments of me staring at him for his words to land.
“What do you mean? I have to shower, do laundry. How am I supposed to get anything done with no running water?” I say, trying not to get too upset because I know it won’t help the situation.
“Well, you’re always welcome to come shower at my place.” He smiles wickedly. “But I hope you know, I’m very serious about the environment, we’d have to hop in together. You know, for water conservation,” he says.
I give him my best attempt at a dead stare. “I think I’ll just go in to work and use one there. Thanks for the generous offer though, Killer.” Recalling the nickname I gave him the night I patched him up, it’s hard to keep a straight face. His lame flirting is sweet in its own way, and it’s making my belly swoop in an unfamiliar but exhilarating manner.
He smiles and nods then continues, “Well, it looks like you need a new shutoff valve and cold supply line.”
“Oh, okay. Will those be hard to find? How long do we have to keep the water off?” I ask, dreading his answer. My mind is already conjuring ways to get my scrubs washed for the next few weeks—maybe I can go stay with Hayes for a while. Though I remember how well that went when I first came back, before I bought this place, and think better of it. His studio apartment above the tattoo shop is barely big enough to fit him. We were at each other’s throats for those few months.
