“I miss you too,” she said softly, and the words were music to my ears.
“Does that mean you forgive me?” I flashed the smile I’d used a million times to soften up Becca’s mother after I’d done or said some dumbass thing. It had worked ninety percent of the time, much to Roman’s dismay. She’d never let him get away with shit.
“That means I’m working on it.” Becca looked like she wanted to say more, but I didn’t push. I was just happy to be back on speaking terms. Besides, I’d met my daily quota for heart-to-hearts. Hell, I’d met my monthly quota.
“Have you eaten yet?” I asked, grateful to be moving on to something more normal.
She shook her head. “But I need to study for this test, so I can’t go anywhere.”
I wasn’t in the mood to go out anyway, so I took out my phone. “I’ll order something. Is that cool?”
“I really do need to study. That wasn’t an excuse.”
I had half a mind to ask if the thing she’d had the other night had been an excuse, but I didn’t want to reopen that can of worms. If it had been an excuse, maybe I’d deserved it. Maybe.
“You won’t even know I’m here.”
She frowned at me like she was trying to figure out if she could believe me, which was justified. I had a history of being a pest when she had work to do and I didn’t. As she studied, those cute wrinkles on her forehead formed, and I grinned at her.
“What?” she asked without looking up.
“Nothing.” I stretched out next to her on the bed and dozed until the Chinese food arrived. Even though I was starving, I waited ten extra minutes—a freaking eternity—for her to get to a stopping point before digging in. Because I’m thoughtful as fuck.
She rooted around in the bag. “Is there duck sauce?”
“Here.” I tossed a packet into her lap. “But seriously, you should try the mustard.”
She wrinkled her nose, something that always made her look extra cute. Damn. She was full of cute expressions this evening.
“Mustard is gross.”
“But this is special Chinese mustard.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
As we ate, I rolled my shoulders, trying to work out the tension that had been there all week and finally feeling some relief. Spending time with Becca was good for me. Damn, I’d missed her. I hadn’t realized how much until now.
She cast a suspicious glance my way. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Just like… weird.” Well, that clears it up.
I laughed. “I’m just happy to be hanging out with you again.”
“Happy enough to help me with my shower?” She batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.
The blood drained from my face. “Is it full of hair?”
“Huh?”
“The drain, because I’ll gag if there’s a giant hairball in there.” I’d shared a bathroom with my sister growing up, and our drain would always be full of her hair. I’d literally had nightmares about it.
“No. I already pulled all the hair out.”
I shuddered as visions of long hair clumped together with soap ran through my mind. Suddenly the Chinese food wasn’t sitting so well in my stomach.
Becca rolled her eyes.
“It’s a legit phobia,” I protested. I didn’t give her shit about her clown phobia. Oh, wait. There was that one time, but I’d been fifteen. I hadn’t known she would literally pee her pants if I climbed into her bedroom window on Halloween, dressed like a clown. Yeah… we didn’t talk about that incident.
She ran her fingers through her long locks. “It’s just hair.”
“No, it’s not. It’s…” I swallowed. “Can we stop talking about it, please?” I wasn’t normally a puker, but my stomach might make an exception if we kept going, especially after eating greasy Chinese food.
“Sure, whatever. Anyway, the drain is fine. It’s the showerhead that’s the problem. I bought a new one. The old one is stuck on there, though.”
I flexed my arms. “So you need my muscles.” I did my best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression, which was pretty damn pathetic. Looks like it’s time for a Terminator marathon. I wondered if Becca would watch them all with me. There were no clowns in it, so I might be able to talk her into it, especially if I invoked her movies are genderless argument.
“Actually, yes,” she said wearily, like it pained her to admit it. Becca had a can-do attitude and didn’t admit defeat easily.
After we stowed the leftovers in the fridge, we went into her bathroom, and she handed me a gigantic wrench. It was the length of her entire arm.
“Well, that’s the problem,” I commented. “You don’t have a big enough wrench.”
She shot me a wry look. “Very funny. Lucy borrowed it from the drama tech room. It was the only one she could find.” It was comically large, making me wonder if it was used as a prop in a play rather than as an actual tool. “If it’s too big for you to handle—”
“Don’t worry. I’m used to large… equipment.” I wriggled my eyebrows and grinned.
She rolled her eyes. “I’d expect nothing less on account of how big of a tool you are.”
“Touché.” I stepped into the tub, keeping a tight hold on the wrench. If I dropped it on my foot, I would likely end up with a broken toe. I could just imagine having to explain that injury to Coach Coyle. No, thank you. I screwed the wrench onto the showerhead and gave it a light tug. The sucker was on there good and tight. The apartment building was at least twenty years old, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the showerhead was the original.
“Can you get it?” Becca asked impatiently. She had a tendency to micromanage, but I was used to it.
“Give me a second. I don’t want to break something and cause a bigger problem than a crappy showerhead.”
She sank down onto the toilet seat so I could work. It took a fair amount of torque to get the thing loose. There was no way Becca would have been able to do it herself. I handed her the old piece of junk and quickly installed the new one.
“There.” I stepped out of the tub and reached for the shower spigot to test it out. “Good as—shit.”
Becca had chosen the exact second I turned on the spigot to step into the shower to check out my handiwork. She gasped as she took a direct hit from the cold spray. “Turn it off!” she shrieked.
“Shit!” I fumbled with the spigot, my hands suddenly having trouble grasping it. When I finally got it off, she turned to me, her eyes wide and wet strands of hair clinging to her face. My gaze traveled south, and I swallowed. Becca’s shirt wasn’t white, but it might as well have been. The thin, pale-blue material was see-through when wet, and she looked like she’d taken first place in a wet T-shirt contest. The material clung to her, outlining the gorgeous curve of her breasts. Her nipples were fully erect, and the sight of them made me fully erect.
“Cold,” Becca managed to say through chattering teeth.
“Shit,” I said, which was obviously my word of choice for the last minute. I yanked a towel off the rack and wrapped it around her, rubbing her arms and pulling her against my chest.