Page 134 of By A Thread

“Only you can be surrounded by hot guys who clearly want to tear your clothes off yet still end up fully clothed and home alone on a Friday night.”

“I think it’s the universe telling me I have too much shit going on to worry about men right now,” I told her. It was also probably a kick in the teeth from said universe, reminding me that a man whose most important relationship in life was the hatred he had for his father would not make a good frenemy-with-benefits.

The universe was right. Focusing on my dad, the house, and my job was all I had room for. Until I could fix up and sell this house, until my dad’s bills were settled, I had no right to spread my focus around.

“You know, babe. Sometimes it’s up to us to tell the universe what we want. Not the other way around.”

“My friend, the strip-club-owning sage.”

“Spend enough time around naked people and you learn to see beneath the surface real quick,” she said. “How is your dad?”

I perked up. “We had a good day this week. We had dinner together, and he remembered me. We talked about the neighbors—current, not deceased or moved away twenty years ago,” I told her.

“Babe, that’s awesome.”

“The good days are getting fewer and farther between.” I sighed, then pushed back at the melancholy that was trying to smother me. “But I’m going to hang on tight to every single one.”

“It blows,” she said succinctly.

“It really does.”

“Hey, so besides interrogating you about your newfound social media fame, I was calling to tell you I’ve got a free day tomorrow and some muscle that could use a workout. Want some help around the house? I figure we could get that tub out to the curb and tackle patching the floor. I’ve been watching DIY videos.”

This was a relationship I could count on. Faith had always been there for me, and I was grateful beyond words for her. Maybe I didn’t have Dominic Russo down on one knee in front of me, but I had Faith. “I love you.”

“Love you back. Even if you’re carelessly discarding gorgeous, virile men left and right.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll bring coffee,” she chirped.

We disconnected, and I saw that I had a new text on my work phone.

Dominic: You’re beautiful. And not just tonight.

My stupid, stupid heart gave a pathetic limp.

* * *

It turnedout that Faith’s muscle was not actually attached to her own body. She brought a short, six-packed dancer named Rocco and a long-legged bartender who went by Rick during the week and Peaches Von Titz on the weekends.

“If I get hemorrhoids from this, I’m gonna be pissed,” Faith gritted out.

“Why are bathtubs so heavy?” I wheezed.

Rocco and Peaches had muscled the cast iron tub out of the living room onto the porch and were dragging the new tub enclosure upstairs where it would live in the hallway until I patched the floor and could afford a reputable plumber.

Meanwhile, Faith and I were trying not to rupture our spleens carrying the tub down the front steps.

Faith was decked out in her winter weekend warrior best. A pair of carpenter jeans worn low enough to show off the skull and crossbones belly button ring beneath the cropped hem of her long-sleeve thermal. She’d tailored the shirt herself, adding a hot pink lace-up corset closure. Her sleek, pink-tipped ponytail bobbed on top of her head.

With a cacophony of sound effects and several breaks, we were finally able to deposit the tub at the curb where Mr. Mohammad’s antiquing friend with a pickup truck and strong nephews would retrieve it later today. Trying to catch my breath, I slid into the tub and hung my legs over the edge.

“Whatcha gonna do with the Range Rover?” Faith asked, climbing in next to me.

I eyed the SUV. “Return it without telling him.”

She got the glint that always appeared in her pretty, devious eyes when she had a truly sneaky idea.