Not unheard of, I guess. Especially out in these parts. But not common practice in my little place in the world.
“Next up, we check to see if the floor is level.”
“Isn’t it already level?”
“How long has this house been here?”
“Good point. I’ll go get it.”
She bounds out of the bathroom, hands covered in her gardening gloves. I made her put her boots on, and she groused at how much she hates wearing shoes inside, until the first time she dropped something onto her foot. Funnily enough, her complaints died out into nothing after that.
It's a shame, really. I would have preferred to have her in a bikini all day. Or wearing nothing but her birthday suit.
“What if it’s not level?” she asks, handing me the extra-long level.
“Then we’ll throw down a layer of that quick-dry cement I bought this morning and share a beer while we wait for it to harden.”
“And then?”
“We wiggle the bathtub into its spot, make sure it fits, then take it back out again.” I can see her getting ready to interrupt me, and I reach out and cover her mouth with my hand. “Then, we build the drain. That has to be done separately. You didn’t have one of those.”
I take the offered tool, then drop into a squat into the corner. It’s not level, not that I remotely expected it to be, but it’s not as bad as it could be. I grab the instructions for the new tub, measuring to ensure the drain is in the correct spot. That’s the hardest part, getting the drain right.
“Then we’ll install the tub. After that, I’ll go into the crawl space and listen and look for any leaks. If all looks good, we’ll be done. At least for today.”
“Today? What’s left for tomorrow?”
I look at her through my eyelashes, then give the studs a hard glare.
“Oh!” she giggles, smacking herself in the forehead, and I chuckle at how adorable she is. “The walls!”
“Yes. The walls. We’ll head back to Lowes or Home Depot. We need drywall, and then tiles. I know you said you wanted to keep the fifties vibe, but I’m not sure if that carries into pink subway tiles in the bathroom.”
She grins at me, sitting down on the toilet.
“Probably not.”
“I looked at tile this morning. We can probably do the whole shower for less than a hundred bucks if you go with the inexpensive stuff.”
Her smile transforms into a hard stare.
“I don’t like you buying shit for my house, by the way. If you’re going to make runs to the store, warn me first and I’ll give you my card. Give me the receipt from today and I’ll Venmo you the cash.”
“Kinda like I tried to pay you for food and keeping me out of the rain, and you told me quite colorfully to stick it up my ass and rotate.”
“Hmm,” is all she says as she scrambles out of the way as I rise from my squat.
I don’t care how much money she makes as an IT person. I still make more.
I grin at her, wiping my gloves off on my jeans.
“I’ll mix the concrete. You get me a beer.”
*****
It takes us longer than I’d hoped it would, but seven hours later, I’m sitting in her new sunken bathtub with Shelby’s wet head against my chest.
“I am sore, as hell,” she moans, and I bring my hands to her shoulders, digging my thumbs into her muscles. “If I’d had known replacing the tub would be so much work, I never would have bought the stupid thing. Or would have hired someone else to do it.”
I lean my head back, forgetting for the dozenth time that there isn’t a wall behind me to rest it on yet.
“We’re not done yet, either. We still have to put the walls up.”
“Oh, hell no,” she says, her chest rising with her scoff. “It took me three years to get the bathtub in. I can wait another three years for the walls.”
“So, you’re not going to take a shower for three years either, Cobra?” I ask, gently reminding her the walls are there for a reason.
“Ugghhhhh,” she whines, flinging her head around on my chest. “I’ll tell you what. You install the walls, and the tile, and I’ll suck your dick afterwards. Maybe in between, too, depending on how much work there is.”
It’s a little unbecoming how quickly I agree to her terms.
Chapter 10
Shelby
"How have you never read the Lord of the Rings before?"
He barely glances at me before he drops his gaze back to the book in his hand, nimbly turning the page.
"I thought it was a nerd thing," he answers me, long after I think he's going to ignore the question.
Of course, he did—Mr. Too Cool for School.
"Hmmm. Now?"
My own book is of the fantasy genre tonight. However, I'm reading on my kindle instead of paperback like Derrick is. He's not actually reading Lord of the Rings. He finished that one a few days ago. From the looks of it, he's about halfway through The Return of the King.
"Samwise is a badass," he states without hesitation. I giggle under my breath before bringing Laurell K. Hamilton's latest back to my face.
It doesn't keep my attention for long, though. No matter how hard I try, my eyes keep drifting back to the man in bed with me.
He's over the covers, where I'm buried underneath them. Wearing nothing but a pair of red boxers, the brightness of the fabric standing in stark contrast to the inky wings embedded in his back. He's lying on his belly, his head and elbows off the foot of the bed. I have no idea how that can be comfortable for him. Except for maybe because he has an eight pack instead of a permanent food baby and twenty pounds of boobs like me.
"I can feel you staring at me," he intones, without ever taking his eyes off his book.
"I'm not," I stutter out, trying to sound offended.
"You are. I spent six years in the Air Force, Cobra. Situational awareness is something they teach you early on."
I give up on pretenses, putting my Paperwhite down on my bedside table.
"So, what if I am?"
He drops his book to the floor, rising on his hands and knees and crawling toward me.
"I guess the question would be why."
I slink down in the blankets, pushing my covers to the side when his phone goes off from his bedside table. He rolls his eyes, continuing his slow advance across the mattress until it goes off again. And then again, before the second time even finished.
"Shit," he growls, reaching onto the table and then flopping onto his belly again to read what's going on.
His face contorts as I watch him, going from worried, to ecstatic, to concerned again, all in quick succession.
"They've lifted the flight bans," he says in a flat voice, glancing at me before turning back to his phone.
Excitement for him, followed by something deep and painful, shoots through me. I ignore the feeling cutting me like a knife, tucking it away to examine later. Like after I'm dead.
"International flights are still grounded, but they've given the go-ahead for interstate travel, so long as we follow certain guidelines. I have to be at the airport at 6."
He looks at me, then back at his phone. As if he can't believe what he's reading.