Page 9 of Mister Hockey
“Of course. And come in, please. It’s so wet.” Her brows wrinkled in panic. “I’m totally making you stand there. Sorry. Sorry.”
Her gorgeous round, silver-blue eyes were nearly at his level. Damn she was tall. “You know something? You apologize a lot,” he observed wryly.
“Bad habit. Sorry.” She smashed her lips, wincing. “See? I finally quit biting my nails, but making random apologies? Forget about it. I’ll be on my deathbed asking for forgiveness from the nurses.”
She backed away and he stepped over the threshold. The yellow-walled interior smelled like fresh paint. “Nice place.” And it was. Warm and cozy. A lot like its owner.
“I thought so too, until I got home today.” She plucked his jacket from the back of her love seat. “Now it’s being a jerk. My stupid roof has sprung a leak.”
The living room was lined with cardboard boxes, as if she’d recently moved in. Framed museum posters were stacked in the corner. The only things set up in here were her four bookshelves. “Can I be of any help?”
“How?” Her lips parted in apparent surprise. “You do home repairs?”
He shrugged, a knot loosening the too-tight muscles between his shoulders. “Once upon a time I worked summers as a handyman for a Sunnyvale contractor, an old football buddy of my brother’s. Let’s see the problem.”
“Um... well.” She fiddled with a string dangling off the wrist of her cardigan, and broke it with a sharp twist. “It’s in my bedroom.”
The silence lasted several awkward beats before a deep-set dimple made an appearance in her left cheek. He swallowed back an impulse to lick it. Was she fucking with him?
She must have noticed his hesitation because she made the sign of the cross over her heart. “Promise this isn’t a set up for a cheesy seventies porno. You might want to stick on that raincoat though. Fair warning.”
While he laughed, her gaze darted from his head to his toes, a quick appraisal, but an appraisal nevertheless. He didn’t quite know how to read her. Her demeanor wasn’t forwardly flirtatious, but that pink in her cheeks hinted that she didn’t mind what she saw.
And the feeling was mutual, more than mutual if the sudden snugness in his boxer briefs was any indication.
He tried and failed not to gawk at her ass as she walked ahead of him down a narrow hallway. It had been a long time since he’d held a soft woman.
When Breezy turned, they stood almost chest to chest, and her eyes. Fucking fuck. Those eyes were something else.
“Um.” She cleared her throat. “Here we are.”
Her bedroom.
He hoped his gaze stayed neutral, vaguely helpful, rather than reveal the dirty fantasies that swirled through his brain like an X-rated kaleidoscope.
Christ. His boxers were fitting snugger still, if he kept going like this he’d be tenting his sweats. He flexed his legs and wildly tried to focus on something—anything—that wasn’t Breezy on her knees, working that lush mouth over his cock, or having those two perfect-ten tits bouncing in his hands as she rode him reverse cowgirl.
Look, he wasn’t a pervert, but fuck it, he was a man... and a creative lover in the right moment.
Which this sure as hell wasn’t.
Paper cut to the eyeball. No, wait paper cuts to the dick. Yeah, a legal document right on the tip.
That ball-shrinking thought worked its necessary magic.
Without another word, she opened the door and the trouble was immediately obvious. A wet ring of plaster formed in the ceiling as a steady drizzledrip, drip, drippedinto a metal mixing bowl placed in the center of an antique brass bed.
“Total disaster, right?” Worry etched her words. “I closed on this place two weeks ago, and all my savings are sunk into the down payment. The home inspector made it sound like the roof had another five years of life. If it needs replacing then I can’t even afford tears.”
He pushed up his sweatshirt sleeves. Fantasies would have to wait. The damage wasn’t good, but there was no way of knowing what the problem’s extent was until he examined the source of the leak. “I’m going to need to access the attic. Where’s your crawl space?”
“There’s a trap door to the ceiling in the closet.” Small lines bracketed her pressed mouth. “I haven’t braved exploring up there yet, on account of spiders and—”
“Don’t worry. I’m on it.” He dropped his coat onto the foot of the bed and strode toward her bedroom’s closet.
“No! Stop.” She dive-bombed in front of the door, splaying out her arms as if to ward him off. “Not there. In the hallway!”
He froze, studying her face for a long second. Rain drummed hard on the roof, the noise growing in intensity. What was she hiding? Piles of dirty laundry? Her bras and underwear?
