Page 51 of Cocky Prince
Her pretty, petal-colored lips compress. “It’s not gentlemanly to ask a lady’s age.”
Never lets me get away with anything. God, I love that. “It’s only ungentlemanly when you’re forty or above.”
“I think you mean thirty or above, but just so you know I’m confident in my womanhood, I happen to be twenty-seven.”
Same age as me. “When is your birthday?”
“August thirty-first. I’ll be twenty-eight in a couple of months.”
I nod. “Virgo.”
“How did you know?” She peers at the powder I’m pouring into a bucket.
This shit is messy. I should probably move it outside. “I have four brothers. Among the five of us, we take up half the zodiac.”
Hayden’s jaw drops. “Fourbrothers? There are five of you walking around?”
It is a scary prospect, but them’s the breaks.
She continues to stare as though dazed. I point at the bucket. “This is going to get messy. Is there someplace in the yard where I can blend it? I’ll need an electrical outlet.”
Her eyes refocus and she stands. “Yeah, sure. This way.” She smacks the back of her jeans, as if to dust them off, though there’s nothing on them. Doesn’t stop me from checking out her cute ass.
I follow her out and blatantly ogle her, because that’s what I do, though I don’t recall being this much of a dog before. Matter of fact, I can’t recall the last woman I ogled. It seems I reserve that for my feisty coworker.
“When’syourbirthday?” she asks as she leads me to the back door. We step onto a small deck. A metal table with a yellow flowering plant on top separates two lounge chairs. It’s charming, just like the rest of Hayden’s house.
“February fifteenth,” I say. “Same age as you.”
“Not quite.” She pats me on the shoulder with her tiny hand. “I have a few months on you.”
I chuckle at the ridiculousness of that statement. “You’re only five and a half months older.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she says, and walks down the deck steps to a fenced-in yard, shooting me a mischievous grin.
This is how things go down over the next few hours: I mud, then build the new jamb in her bedroom while the mud is drying—taking breaks with Hayden for beers and burgers she picked up from the joint a few blocks away—and we banter. The hours pass, and it’s not until ten p.m. that I realize how late it is.
Hayden is in the kitchen, futzing around with something or other. I’m not really sure what, as I’ve been in the zone working on the bedroom wall. I put away my tools and bring in the shop vac I brought from home. Not much I can do about the dust that’s collected. I brought a few drop cloths, and we covered the bedding with a sheet, but this work is messy. Dust is everywhere.
I vacuum up the debris on the floor and return my tools to the truck. I’m finished, with the exception of sanding, painting, and shelving, but that will have to wait until the mud dries.
I look around to make sure I’ve grabbed everything. Hayden’s home is clean and orderly, the exact opposite of her office, which surprises me. The colors in her bedroom are cool tones, and calming. It’s been a long week. More than once I’ve looked longingly at her bed. The headache that’s been brewing these last couple of days in spits and spurts is going full force now, and it feels like my temples are pulsating.
I stop in the doorway of her bedroom and close my eyes, rubbing the sides of my head.
“You okay?”
The damn headache has muted my senses. I didn’t hear her approach, but Hayden is standing only two feet away. At some point, she changed, because she’s in sleep pants and a tank top. My head hurts like hell, but I’m coherent enough to notice she’s still wearing her bra, much to my disappointment.
“Headache. I get them sometimes.” I wave behind at her room. “This is all I can do for today. I’ll have to return tomorrow after work. Or next weekend, if that’s okay?”
She chews her lip. “Of course, but are you sure? You’ve put in so many hours. I said it yesterday and I’ll say it again, we should call it even. You don’t owe me anything.”
“It’s been fun and I don’t mind.” I attempt a smile, but it comes out as a wince. The headache has my eyes tearing.
Before I know what’s happening, Hayden is dragging me by the arm toward her bed. She carefully pulls off the sheet we placed to protect it, and pushes down on my shoulders. “Sit.”
I do as she says, because I’m too tired to protest. Not that I would. What sane man would refuse a beautiful woman drawing him to her bed?
