Page 12 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)
Dex
I’m not a plumber, but I can damn well pretend to be one.
I hoist the toolbox out of my sports car, the toolbox I borrowed from a buddy’s buddy who is a plumber. It was a massive pain in the ass to meet him, pick up the tools, explain the situation, and then listen to his insistence that he could easily drop in himself as a favor.
Should I have let him? Sure.
Would it have saved me a shit ton of time and a headache?
Absolutely.
But I didn’t, because I never listen. Not even to my own inner voice, which honestly wasn’t talking that loud. Besides, I don’t need some other dude, down on his knees, eyeballing Margot’s leaky plumbing.
I give the door of her condo a few quick knocks, ignoring the doorbell that’s glowing at me—something about ringing an actual doorbell gives me anxiety. Like, it’s such an aggressive way to announce your arrival, and I don’t see a camera, so I can’t make a face at one.
I step back, waiting.
Nothing.
“Is she leaving me out here on purpose? She’s expecting me,” I grumble, knowing full well that Margot could in fact be purposely leaving me on her porch to suffer. I don’t know her well, but this seems like something she would do to get a rise out of me.
Minutes later, the door opens and she stands there, somewhat out of breath as she regards me through the crack as if she weren’t expecting me.
“Oh!” she declares. “How long have you been waiting? I was on the treadmill and didn’t hear you knock.”
Treadmill my ass.
She isn’t wearing workout clothes, and she sure isn’t wearing sneakers.
Margot pulls the door all the way open and sidesteps, allowing me room so I can enter her place; the small foyer is cute and cozy. Her condo is larger than it looks from the outside, with high ceilings and tall doorframes.
It’s modern and chic.
Huh.
My head is on a swivel as I walk toward the kitchen. She has an open layout, and I can see the sink from the door, taking in the light-gray couch, the dark-gray tile surrounding the fireplace, the shiplap accent wall, and dark beams across the ceiling.
The backsplash in her kitchen is dark gray too. Stainless steel appliances.
The place is spotless.
“Wanna show me what the problem is, ma’am?” I tease, setting the toolbox on the stone counter.
“You’re going to just jump right into it?” She laughs. “No foreplay? No ‘How have you been?’”
I didn’t realize she wanted niceties, but if she wants to chat before I try to fix her plumbing, who am I to argue?
“How have you been?” I ask, because she told me to, grinning when she giggles.
“I could use a drink.”
“Same.”
Margot nods, going around to the other side of the counter and pulling open a cabinet. It has a crisp white door, and inside are white plates, stacked neatly above cut-crystal drinking glasses.
She takes out two and sets them on the counter.
“What’ll it be?”
“Got any beer?” That’s an easy enough request, yeah?
She pulls a face. “Er. Not really, but I can make you something? I have Coke and vodka.” She scratches her head. “Rum. And wine? That’s all I have, sorry. Maybe once I start dating someone, I’ll stock up.”
I almost say “Ouch,” but then I remember—she and I are not dating. She and I are not flirting. We are not looking for the same things.
“I’ll do wine, thanks.”
She hesitates. “Uh—is it okay if I put it in this glass?”
“You don’t have wineglasses?” I ask critically. “Everyone has wineglasses.”
She shrugs. “I don’t sit around drinking wine, so I’m not about to run out and spend money on something I don’t need.”
Fair enough.
I watch as she removes a bottle of white wine from a different cabinet, then watch as she hands it over to me.
I peel off the metal wrapping, then twist off the top, pulling out the cork.
“Thanks.” She smiles, pouring as I ease onto a barstool, gazing at her as I would a bartender. “You’re so strong.”
I blink at her.
Then,
“Don’t be an asshole—you could totally have gotten that off yourself.”
“Obviously.” Margot laughs as she slides the glass across the center island toward my waiting hand. “But you’re here to help me, and I figured we should start right away.”
Is she flirting with me?
Hard to say.
I chug the wine in my glass because wine ain’t shit and does nothing for me. I could drink the entire bottle before I felt buzzed. She watches me wide eyed as I down the glass.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a big dude.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You have?” I tease, genuinely curious about her feelings for me. Other than being disgusted by the fact that I don’t want to date a woman with kids, I don’t actually know—if I hadn’t said it ... would she go out with me?
She’s tough to read.
“Of course I have. I’m a teacher, it’s my job to notice stuff.”
Ahh. “Are you saying I act like a kid?”
Margot leans toward me, wine bottle in hand, pouring more into my glass as she says, “Did I say you act like a kid?”
No.
No she did not. But still, the implication that I’m like a kid clenches my butt cheeks a bit.
I want her to tell me more about how I’m a big dude, and how she’s noticed how big I am, and whether or not I’m her type. She did swipe on me after all ...
I take more time sipping the second glass she served me. The flavor is rich and full, and as a man who usually only drinks beer, I’m digging it.
Margot rests on her elbows as she leans against the counter, and damn if I don’t notice her cleavage, or the outline of her bra beneath her plain white shirt, or her tan collarbone.
A thin gold chain hangs around her neck with a tiny letter W .
It shimmers and winks at me, and I pull my eyes away so it doesn’t look like I’m staring at her tits.
Which I am.
I’m trying to determine how big they are without having any information. Would they fit in my hand? Is she wearing a push-up bra?
Admittedly I am an ass-and-tits guy.
Can’t help myself.
Margot, unfortunately, is wearing jeans—the slouchy kind they call boyfriend jeans—with rips and tears. They hang down past her hips, so I can’t get a look at her backside.
Bare feet.
Hair down.
It’s brown and long and in waves.
Little to no makeup.
“I like your freckles,” I tell her, drinking half the glass of wine.
Her hand goes up, two fingers touching her skin. Nose. Cheeks. “I used to hate them growing up.”
I didn’t notice them at the restaurant, and I hadn’t noticed them in her photos.
“Do you cover them with makeup?”
She nods. “Sometimes. Depends.”
Hmm. “That’s a shame.”
I kind of want to lick them.
I kind of want to lick her all over, down the middle of her chest, down her stomach, see what’s beneath that white shirt.
“Are you okay?” Margot asks. “You look weird.”
“Huh?” I give my head a shake. “Sorry. I was just daydreaming.” About what you might look like with no clothes on. Hey, just ’cause we’re not going to have a relationship doesn’t mean we can’t have fun—does it?
I wonder if she’d be up for a friends-with-benefits situation or if she has her heart set on meeting someone for the long term.
She sips.
I sip.
Finish the second glass and push it forward; the little buzz I begin to feel surprises the shit out of me.
I stand, pushing the stool back in. “I should get to work, eh? I don’t want to take up your entire night.”
“Sure.” She nods. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Where’s the issue?” I come around to her side of the counter to get to the sink.
Margot pulls the cabinet open and bends to peer beneath. “It’s in there.”
“It’s in there?” I laugh, arm brushing hers.
She doesn’t move to give me more space, which I take as a good sign. She’s not apprehensive of me, and she doesn’t need to create distance.
“Have a flashlight? I’m going to have to get down in there.” To be on the safe side I add, “And maybe a towel or two.” If anything I’ll need one for my head, to get comfortable.
“You’re actually going to crawl down under the cabinet?” She appears skeptical. “Are you going to fit?”
She wouldn’t believe the places I can fit myself, if you catch my drift .
Ha!
I don’t say it out loud—I don’t need her thinking I’m a pig.
As I get down on my hands and knees to look below her sink, she hands me a flashlight that materializes out of nowhere. I click it on, pointing it at her pipes.
“Yup, it’s leaking,” I announce as if I’ve just solved her problem—a problem she was well aware of. She knew there was a leak and did not need me to remind her.
The thing is, I have no goddamn idea how to fix a leak, and we both know it. We also both know I’m never going to freely admit being incompetent.
No.
What I’m going to do is get down under this sink and get inside her cabinet and make a bigger mess than she already has.