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“Nope,” I say, lifting my clip board. “I want to get these windows ordered. If we don’t get it done today, we’re going to miss the shipping window.”
“Come on, man,” he says, landing with a solid thump that shook the floor. “She’s been gone eleven months. Don’t you want to—”
Fuck yes, I want to. “I’ll see her later,” I say, cutting him off. “Same as everyone else.”
“Seriously?” Declan says, fiddling nervously with the measuring tape in his hand. “I’d think—”
“Yeah, Dec—seriously.” I look over my shoulder, calling over the first knucklehead in a hard hat I see.
“Yeah, Boss?” he says, jogging over. He’s a new guy, one of the temps we hired on full-time. We’ve been running two crews for months now, so that we can stay on schedule. We’ve got builds scheduled out for the next eighteen months, and we just submitted plans and a bid for our first commercial project. If we land it, we’ll have to hire on a third crew. We’re busy. Too busy for me to go chasing after Cari. That’s why I had Con pick her up from the airport. Because I didn’t have time.
Oh, is that why? Explain why you had him cancel her hotel reservations and take her back to the apartment.
Fuck.
“Help Mr. Micromanager finish re-measuring these windows.” I slap the clipboard into his hand. “I’m going to lunch.”
What the fuck am I doing here?
Trying to figure out exactly when I sustained a head injury, I press the buzzer next to the shiny new door I hung on its hinges less than a month ago. Around the same time, I heard through Tess that Cari was coming home. Until then, it was just an open doorway with a staircase leading to the apartment I spent the better part of a year completely gutting and renovating.
Quit knocking and use your key, pussy.
Yeah, I have a key. It’s stuck in the front pocket of my jeans, burning a hole in my leg, but I’m not going to use it. Because it’s not my place anymore, no matter how much of my spare time I spend here. I don’t live here anymore. Won’t again. Not without her.
So, I buzz again. Wait for her to open the door like a religious nut, looking to spread my crazy, while wondering how many times I can push the buzzer before I cross over into creepy stalker territory.
I’ll ask her if she wants to grab some lunch. I won’t push. I won’t beg. I’ll just ask. If she has plans, then it’ll be no big deal. I’ll grab a burger downstairs, head over to check up on the job site Jeff is running across town and then head back to the office to finish the plans I’m drawing up for a meeting with potential buyers on Monday.
If she says yes...
I press the buzzer again. One more time. Three times is persistent but not creepy. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll leave. Three unanswered rings says, kick rocks, creepy stalker. I’m here for my art debut, not because we fucked a few times and you got all attached and weird about it—
The door opens, and there she is.
Cari.
Bare feet. Hair swept off her neck. Wearing yoga pants and a thin, loose-fitting shirt I’ve never seen before, the low, scooping neckline showing off her birthmark. The color of it deepens from pale pink to red wine in the space of a breath.
Instant. Hard-on.
Shit.
Her lips part, mouth opening slightly when she sees me. “Patrick...” Her tongue darts out to lick along her lower lip and I barely manage to stifle a groan. I want to grab her. Push my hands through her hair. Pull her against me. Put my mouth on her. Bury myself inside her.
Someone needs to follow me around with a spray bottle full of vinegar.
“Hey,” I say, amazed at how human I sound. “Just swinging by to check on things—thought I’d stop in and see if you’d like to grab a bite.”
“Uhh...” she looks over her shoulder, chewing on her bottom lip for a second. She looks nervous. Apprehensive. “Sure,” she finally says, just as I’m about to cut and run. She moves back, opening the door a bit wider, giving me room to pass through the door. When I don’t, we stand there at the foot of the stairs, too close for either of us to be comfortable, looking at each other like neither of us knows what to do next.
I clear my throat. “I thought we’d go to Benny’s,” I say, shoving my hands into the pockets of my coat in a last-ditch effort to keep them to myself.
“That would be perfect.” She smiles, and some of her nervousness evaporates. “Let me grab some shoes and—” She looks down at her shirt front and blushes. “change my clothes.”
I make the mistake of looking, my mouth open to tell her she looks perfect the way she is. Her nipples are clearly visible through the thin cotton of her shirt. She’s not wearing a bra.
Jesus.