Page 123 of Story of My Life
“Screws,” I ordered.
She handed them over, and I held them between my teeth.
“Anchors.”
The plastic wall anchors appeared in my open palm. I laid them out on the top step of the ladder.
“Drill.”
She hefted it up, looking excited and shiny eyed. Made me feel damn heroic.
“Wait!” she said when I lined up one of the anchors. “Can I watch you do it so I can do the second window myself?”
“Sure.” I understood the desire to make something your own. Putting the work in forged a deeper connection. I still felt a sense of pride driving through town and seeing old projects. At my old job, the projects had been bigger. Office buildings and strip malls. But there was always something special about seeing what your own hands were capable of.
I made quick work of screwing the curtain rod into place and gave it a testing tug.
“It looks amazing.” Hazel clapped her hands as I straightened the white linen panels.
“You know we’re just gonna have to take them down when the painters come.”
“I know. But at least for now, it feels more permanent and less like I’m living in limbo.”
“All right, Trouble. Your turn,” I said, dismounting.
She gathered up my tools while I carted the ladder over to the second window.
“No way,” I said, when she reached for the first step.
“What?”
I pointed at her fuzzy flip-flops. “Not in that footwear.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but I shook my head. “I saw you get smacked in the head by a bald eagle carrying a fish. I’m not sayin’ it was your fault, but I am sayin’ trouble follows you. Closed-toed shoes. Now.”
She stomped out of the room as loudly as her furry footwear would allow, muttering uncomplimentary things about me and my attitude as she went. She returned a minute later in sneakers.
“Better?”
“Don’t get all attitudey with me over job safety.”
“I think I’ve got plenty of reasons to get attitudey with you,” she said as she climbed the ladder. “You’ve been an ass all week.”
“Yeah, well, I had my reasons,” I muttered, trying not to enjoy the fact that I had her long, bare legs and the very briefhem of her shorts directly in my line of sight. I could see the under-curves of her ass cheeks. My grip on the ladder tightened.
“I feel entitled to know your reasons. And what do I measure?” She looked over her shoulder at me.
“Let’s focus on one shit show at a time.” I tore off two pieces of tape and stuck them to the leg of my jeans. “I’m coming up.”
I mounted the ladder behind her and immediately hated myself for it. I couldn’t afford to be this close to her. I didn’t know what it was about the smart-mouthed, interrogating pain in my ass, but I couldn’t trust my body around her. And a very selfish part of me wanted to find out what would happen if I just let go.
“We’re gonna measure the mount position to match the other window,” I instructed, wincing as her rear end coasted over my crotch when she stretched higher.
It took three times longer than it should have because all my brain wanted to do was rhapsodize about her shampoo and how soft her shirt was under my hands. About how warm and smooth her skin would be if I slipped a hand beneath the hem.
With gritted teeth, I walked Hazel through sinking the anchors and attaching the mounts to the wall. Every time she saidscreworrodormount, my stupid dick got harder.
I had to do something before I lost complete control. “Stay there,” I ordered. “I’ll get the curtain.”
