Page 10 of Delay of Game (Norwalk Breakers #4)

TEN

ROB

Astrid did not have a to-do list.

She had a book.

Based on the list, the house was a disaster.

I sat across from Astrid at a small but solid oak table situated in the middle of the cozy and incredibly dated kitchen.

The cherry-pink accent wall hinted Astrid could paint a room, and the appliances were top of the line with a Sub-Zero fridge and an O’Keefe and Merritt gas range that had survived past looking dated into vintage.

I forced my attention on the well-worn yellow notepad and not the light dusting of glitter on Astrid’s nose or the way her cheeks flushed pink every time I held eye contact or the thought of her sexy bunny costume.

Flipping through the notepad, I read every line item on the first three pages before abandoning that to find out how many pages of repairs she had.

Twenty-three.

Twenty-three pages of single-lined bulletin points starting at the top line and ending at the bottom.

“And you think you’re going to have this done by when exactly?” I asked.

“Eight weeks.” She squirmed in her seat, fingertips brushing invisible crumbs off the table. “Which is…”

“Practically impossible?” I asked, flipping back to page five where she listed all the chipped, cracked, and torn linoleum floors in the house. “When did you plan on getting this done? Schools starts on Monday.”

“After work?”

“Any reason you didn’t knock some of this out during the summer?”

Tears sprung to her eyes. “I kept meaning to, but Aunt Mercy couldn’t fit all her things to her new home and every time I tried to pack it up so I could get something done, I just…couldn’t.”

Fearing another encounter that left her in tears, I backed off asking anymore questions. “Okay, no problem. We’ll get some of this done at least.”

“You don’t have to help me.” She wiped her eyes and straightened. “I can do it myself.”

I scoffed “I saw that pink tool kit. You are not equipped to deal with this level of repairs without a mentor.”

“So, you’re mentoring me?”

“I’m sure as hell not fixing all this shit solo. We’ll make more progress if I teach you along the way.”

She didn’t shy away, instead nodding her head gratefully. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Thank my mom,” I grumbled, but I couldn’t ignore the soft swell of warmth flooding my stomach.

“So, where should we start?” Her voice wavered.

I turned back through the stack of pages to the beginning. “Right, now? A drink.”

Maybe two.

She bolted up and scurried to the fridge. “I don’t have much. Milk, water, tea, coffee.”

I blanched, wrenching my eyes from the notepad. “It’s after five. If I have a cup of coffee right now, I’ll be up all night.”

Her face smoothed, head cocking to one side as a grin spread across her face. “Alright, old man, how about a nightcap then? Do you drink whiskey?”

“Fuck yes.” I set down the notepad and ran a hand over my face.

She pulled a step stool out of the closet, still barely reaching the cabinets over the fridge. Her shirt hiked up past the waistband of her jeans, revealing a band of creamy soft skin and the swell of her hips.

I sucked in a breath and forced my eyes away. A pen sat next to the coffeemaker on the counter, and I leaned back my chair to swipe it.

“There’s some huge stuff on this list. What’s your budget?” Compulsively, I clicked the pen. Anything to keep my eyes off of her.

“Um…I’m not sure. Not much.”

My eyes inched back her way as she stood on her toes, reaching for a dusty bottle in the back. Her ass wiggled as she sorted through the bottles. My fingertips dug into the table as I stopped myself from standing up to help her. To wrap my hands around her bare skin and pull her back flush with my…

“Got it!” she cried triumphantly, bottle in hand. She used the neck to shut the cabinet before climbing down and grabbed two rocks glasses off the countertop, pouring a healthy serving of whiskey into each. “Ice or no ice?”

“If it’s shit whiskey, ice. If it’s decent, no ice.”

She rolled her eyes, leaving it neat, and handed me the glass before she sat back down.

I took a tentative sip, my throat growing warm without any burn. “Okay, this doesn’t suck.”

“My aunt liked good whiskey.” She winced. “ Likes good whiskey. But they don’t let residents drink at the home.”

She bit her tongue between her teeth, eyes drifting off and then refocusing. She sipped her drink casually, but her shoulders stayed tense.

“She has good taste,” I said, setting pen to paper. “How about we condense this list? You don’t need to write down every ding in the drywall. We just need to skim coat the room.”

“I like crossing things off lists,” she admitted shyly.

“And yet, I don’t see anything that’s been crossed off.”

Her cheeks burned pink as she studied her whiskey. Her attention perked when I ripped out a blank piece of paper. “And you’re adding more?”

“I’m streamlining.” I scribbled on the paper. “Repair drywall.”

“How much will that cost?”

“Are any of the holes bigger than a fist?”

She laughed. “You think we’re punching walls around here?”

“No, of course not.” Astrid hadn’t so much as killed the wasps on the front porch. “Are they bigger than a golf ball?”

She shook her head.

“I have a vat of spackle and patches, so it won’t cost anything unless there are enough that we should replace the drywall entirely.”

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped her glass. “I don’t want pity repairs.”

“Pity repairs?”

Her lips thinned into a line. “Pity repairs. Pity dinner invitations. Pity conversation. I’m not a charity case.”

“You think you’re the charity case?” I couldn’t hold back a low chuckle.

Her mouth pursed, tiny lines forming at her brow. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

My stomach flipped, the laugh dying away. “I’ve got bad news for you, Astrid. In this particular instance, we’re both charity cases.”

She scoffed.

“I’m serious. Sure, you need help with this house, and I need help with…everything else.” I gulped down the whiskey.

“Everything else?” She raised an eyebrow.

My jaw tensed, working the words over in my mind before I forced them out. “Conversation, general public etiquette, interacting with other people. Fuck if I know. But my mom’s convinced that us hanging out would be good for me, even though…”

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for the rest of the sentence. And waited. And waited.

Damn. For a kindergarten teacher, she was shockingly patient in the face of silence.

“You’re way too young, and I have a kid and a demanding job.” I blew out my excuses in a single breath.

“Way too young for conversation and public interaction?” She laughed. “I’m twenty-five.”

“Exactly.”

“I think we’re allowed to interact in public without someone calling the police.” She rolled her eyes.

“That’s not what I meant. I was pointing out that this is a two-way street. You’re not a charity case.”

Her index finger looped around the rim of her glass, eyes following it before she huffed out a laugh. “Comparatively.”

I tilted my head, accepting the insult. “Besides, I like handy man shit. I either help you out or Mila talks me into building a dance studio in the backyard.”

“So, if I let you help around my house, I stop you from spoiling Mila?”

“She’s already spoiled,” I admitted. “You’re curtailing future spoiling.”

She inhaled. “Fine. I’ll take your charity. Labor only. I’m not taking your money.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. What about tools?”

“You don’t want to use my tool kit?” Her eyes flitted to the flimsy pink monstrosity she set down beside her purse.

“Is there a drill in there? Or a sander?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll bring over a toolbox tomorrow.” I drew a line down the sheet of paper, my name on one side, Astrid’s on the other. “You’re taking care of the wasps’ nest, right?”

She pursed her lips, and I added a third box at the bottom of the sheet entitled “Other,” writing “Wasp’s nest” under it.

“Alright, the wasp nest can wait. How about for tonight, you show me around?”

Mom waited up. The lights in the front entryway burned brightly and a faint blue glow emanated from the living room. I took a breath, kicking off my sneakers and mentally preparing myself for the deluge of questions.

How was your night? Where have you been? What were you doing up past midnight?

“Rob?” she called.

I pulled my coat off before she shuffled into the hallway. Her hair was matted in the back, eyes heavy, and there was an indent that cut across her cheek, the same texture as the piping on the living room throw pillows.

“Hey.” I leaned close and kissed her cheek. “Why are you still awake?”

“I wasn’t.” She yawned, stretching her hands overhead. “I fell asleep on the couch waiting for you to get home. How was your night?”

“Good.” I yawned back, the scent of whiskey still on my breath.

She clocked the smell, a sly smile forming on her face. “Just good? It’s late. Did you go out?”

I shook my head. No use lying about that. “Nah, I stopped by Astrid’s and helped her knock out a few things on her to-do list.”

The faint glimmer of hope in her eyes made my stomach turn. “And you stayed there past midnight?”

“Rewiring the bathroom. It was a death trap.”

Mom’s face fell. “But with Gracie at least?”

“I let her flip breakers.”

Astrid hung around while I blundered my way through the repairs. She handed me tools, didn’t tell me to stop swearing, and brought snacks without trying to rope me into conversation. The entire evening had been surprisingly pleasant. Amiable. Friendly.

“Well, I suppose that’s a start…” Mom said without much conviction. “You know, you could have invited her out for dinner. Or drinks. You didn’t have to just hang around her place.”

“Have you seen the house lately? She needs it gone, and no realtor in their right mind would take it now.”

“Oh.” Her face clouded as she searched for another way to get me to ask Astrid out.

I railroaded her with a hug.

“I’m beat. See you in the morning,” I said, retreating upstairs, away from more questions.

I stopped by Mila’s room, cracking open the door. She laid on top of her covers, a cadre of stuffed animals surrounding her and the light on. I pulled a blanket out from under her legs and covered her up, turning off the light before I snuck out of the room.

I had practice in the morning and a six A.M. alarm that would come way too soon. Shutting my bedroom door behind me, I stripped off my clothes and climbed into bed, still wide awake.