Page 9 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

I crank the country music, and we work for several more hours until every screw and seam are covered. Afterward, Sunny sweeps stray dust into piles as I put away tools. She hums under her breath as she bends down for the dustpan, her ass cheeks showing.

I catch myself staring and force my eyes away, needing to be a gentleman.

When she rises, she stretches, arms lifting overhead until her shirt shifts and reveals the bare slope of her waist. My eyes drag over that exposed inch of skin like it might answer every damn question I didn’t mean to ask.

She’s doing this on purpose, to tempt me, and I’d be a fucking liar if I said it wasn’t working.

There’s drywall dust in her hair, a streak of spackle on her forearm, and she manages to look like every good decision I haven’t made yet.

“If you keep it up, you might become my permanent handy-helper.”

Or my wife . But that part I keep to myself.

“This is day one. You won’t be saying that for long,” she says. “No one keeps me forever.”

I shoot her a smile. “Give me a chance.”

She arches a brow. Her eyes are warmer, even a little dangerous. “You’re relentless.”

“You’re right,” I tell her.

Once everything is picked up, my eyes scan over what we accomplished, and I’m proud.

She watches me for a long beat, her eyes dancing with mischief as I zero in on her.

“I can’t believe we finished so much.”

“We’re a good team,” I say, grinning. “Have to warn ya though. You’re gonna feel every moment of working with me tomorrow.”

She chews on that bottom lip again, and I take a step forward, gently grabbing her chin.

“Please, stop doing that.”

“What?” She looks up at me.

“Biting on your lip like that. Drives me fuckin’ wild,” I mutter. And, damn, I want to kiss her more than I want my next breath.

“It’s a habit when I’m nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” I whisper.

“Yes, because I feel like I already know you and shouldn’t,” she admits.

That hits deep in my heart, and I take a step back. Not because I want to, but because I need to, before I rush this and fuck up any chance I might have. My hands flex at my sides like they’re still reaching for her.

“I understand what you mean.”

She doesn’t seem surprised. It’s mutual.

“Yeah?” she asks, louder than a whisper.

“Yeah,” I confirm, my voice rougher than it was a second ago. It’s not something I can deny.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she says.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Be single,” she admits.

“You just have to be ,” I mutter. “That’s it. Nothing else.”

For a beat, neither of us moves as the current between us hums.

She clears her throat, breaks the gaze, but not like she’s retreating, more like she’s gaining control.

“I could use a shot of something hard,” she says, but there’s grit under her tone.

“Got plenty in the kitchen,” I offer.

She hesitates for half a second before she turns. And, God, the way her hips sway when she walks away is like a dare.

“Will you join me?”

“Fuck yes,” I mutter under my breath, hands braced on my hips.

I watch her go, every cell in my body trailing after her like I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t know how long she’ll stay, but I’ll take every damn second of getting to know her better.

I join her in the kitchen and pull bottles out of the cabinet. Her fingertips tap the tequila bottle like she’s sizing it up.

“Is that a worm?” she asks, holding it up with a raised brow.

“It’s how you know it’s legit,” I say, grabbing two shot glasses and filling them full.

We pick them up, and she lifts hers without hesitation. “To learning new things.”

“To meeting the right people,” I add.

She taps her glass to mine. “All of the above.”

We knock them back, and it burns more than I remembered. She doesn’t blink, just refills both glasses with a practiced flick of her wrist.

“One’s never enough,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that’s playful.

I follow her lead, but she doesn’t have to ask twice.

“Can I ask you something?” She lifts her second shot.

“You can ask me anything, anytime,” I say, leaning into the counter like I want her closer—because I do.

“How old are you?”

That makes me smile. “Twenty-eight.”

Her lips twitch like she’s holding something back. “That explains a lot.”

“Does it?”

Her teeth catch her bottom lip, and it takes everything in me not to reach for her.

“Yeah. The cooking. The muscles. The confidence. All classic signs of a man in his late twenties with too much charm and not enough fear.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Her eyes drag over me, and there is no hesitation or hiding it this time. “You’re too young.”

“For you?” I ask, even though I already know.

She flushes, but doesn’t look away.

I step a little closer. Not enough to crowd her, but enough to let her feel it. “I’m old enough to teach you a thing or two.”

“You’re too much to handle.”

I feel her breath catch before I hear it. She doesn’t move back or blink.

“Then find less,” I say, shooting her a wink, and we down that shot of tequila.

“Oh, trust me, I have.” The words land sharp, like a knife in wood. Her eyes flick away for the first time since we started drinking. “Shitty exes.”

“I figured. I have a few of those myself,” I say, gentler now, but I don’t press.

She doesn’t need to explain, unless she wants to. I don’t give a shit about her past relationships.

She grabs the bottle like she’s ready to steer it somewhere lighter.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Thirty-four,” she says.

I let out a low chuckle and shake my head.

“What?” she asks.

“You’re worried about six years?” I lean in. “You acted like you were my mother’s age and I was a toddler.”

She blinks. “I don’t date anyone who doesn’t have a three or above in their age.”

“Who said anything about dating?” I ask, wearing the smirk I know drives her a little wild.

“I, uh …” Her throat tightens.

She takes a swig straight from the bottle like it’s a life preserver.

“Rules are made to be broken,” I tell her.

She takes another shot, and if I’m counting correctly, that’s four.

“You tryin’ to get shit-faced, darlin’?”

“Maybe,” she whispers, staring at my lips. “I should probably take a shower.”

“Go ahead. You earned it. Also, we have unlimited hot water.”

“We,” she repeats.

“It’s our place until you leave,” I tell her.

Her eyes stay on mine for a moment too long, like she’s working up the nerve to say something she’s not ready to let out. But in the end, she stays quiet. I can see the alcohol making its way through her system, her eyes somewhat glassy.

“Thank you for everything,” she says. “You don’t know how much I needed this.”

“I think I do.” I take another shot. “Have a nice shower.”

Sunny walks away, her silhouette vanishing down the hall like a decision I can’t chase.

I stay rooted in place, like if I move, I’ll lose the thread of what passed between us. We built something today. It might not look like much to anyone else, but to me, it was real.

A moment later, I hear the shower turn on.

The stream runs steady, and even though I can’t see her, I can feel her presence everywhere—the echo of her laugh, the press of her hand still faint on my chest. My thoughts start pulling in directions they shouldn’t, all heat and bare skin and closeness I promised myself I’d take slowly if I found it again.

I try not to imagine her under the water with steam curling around her sexy body. I try—oh, God knows I try—but fail. Before I get wrapped in the fantasy of her, I hear a moan.

It’s soft and quiet, and it lands like a match in dry hay.

I drag my hand across my jaw and try to focus on anything else, but it’s no use.

She’s not just in my house anymore; she’s under my skin, and nothing about it feels wrong. I only hope we survive each other.

I’m not searching for a fling. I want forever.