Page 8 of Need (Men of Inked Sinners #3)

OLIVER

Thirty minutes ago, Lulu messaged me that there was an issue at her place, asking me if I could come over and fix it.

Now, I’m standing outside her front door, staring at the ornate door knocker that must’ve cost an arm and a leg. It is totally Lulu’s style. A little over the top and beautiful.

I knock twice, looking from side to side at the empty neighborhood. It is late, but not late enough that the area should be as deserted as it is. My fingers tighten around the bag of tools I brought in case she doesn’t have her own.

The door opens, and Lulu gives me the biggest smile while tipping up on her toes. She looks way too happy for a woman who’s having a problem. “Hey,” she says in her sugary-sweet voice that makes my blood pump a little harder. “Thanks for coming. ”

“Hey. Anytime. What’s up?” I shiver as a gust of winter wind whips around me.

She pulls the door open wider and motions for me to come inside. I take a large stride, making sure to keep my dirty boots on the rug near the doorway. Her floors are dark wood and glisten from being newly polished, or maybe they’re always this clean. I wouldn’t doubt it when it comes to her.

“I came home from meeting with my last client today, and the dishwasher won’t turn on.”

Not an emergency, but I still would’ve shown up even if she’d told me what the issue was before I agreed to come. The woman could ask me to do anything, and I’d do it without asking any questions.

“You’re in luck,” I tell her as I toe off my boots, careful not to get the melting snow, dirt, and garage oil everywhere. “Dishwashers are easy.”

She chuckles as she holds out her hands, waiting for me to remove my jacket. “You haven’t met one as old as mine.”

“It’s deserted outside,” I say, making small talk.

“A winter storm is coming.”

“Damn,” I mutter. I haven’t turned on the news in a few days, and I haven’t received any alerts on my phone. George and Kramer are on shift at the garage, so at least any issues that come up for motorists in the storm overnight will be covered.

“I’m over it.”

“Me too.” I long for the dog days of summer when the sun scorches your flesh and the only calls I get are for wrecks and flat tires. Winter causes an entirely different set of issues for drivers, and none of them are usually easy. Never mind freezing my ass off as I hook them up to the truck.

“It’s back here,” she says, walking in front of me down a long hall toward the back of her house.

As I walk, I soak in the decorations and colors. Everything is dark, almost like she’s allergic to color. I thought her place would be filled with bright colors, but boy, was I wrong.

“You like the color black?” I ask as I tilt my head up, noticing that even the ceiling is painted dark.

“I go for the moody vibe.”

“Moody,” I grumble, but if I’m being honest, I like it. Her style is a contrast to the stark-white walls of my place that the previous owners had painted. I don’t have the time or vision to change them, but this…this is beautiful.

“Do you like it?”

“I do,” I tell her as we enter the kitchen, the one room I’d assume would be the opposite of the others I’ve seen.

But the kitchen is like something out of a magazine.

The cabinets are matte black and somehow feel warm with the stained butcher block countertops.

The walls are the same color as the cabinets but with a slight sheen.

The place is absolutely stunning and something straight out of a designer magazine .

“Wow.”

Lulu glances at me with the biggest smile on her face. “It’s my favorite room in the house.”

“I can see why.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Like doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about the space. It is magnificent. I could cook in here every day of the week and never get sick of looking at it.

“Here’s the old beast,” she says from the other side of the massive island, pointing downward. “She’s finicky.”

“That happens sometimes when you get old.”

When my gaze drops to the dishwasher, I stare at it in surprise. It’s not old. It’s been here maybe five years, tops.

“This is new,” I tell her as I set my bag of tools down next to it.

“It’s not new.”

“Sweetheart, I have appliances older than you at my place.” I kneel down, hating the way my knees ache as they hit the hardwood.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s it doing?” I open the door, finding the bottom filled with water.

“I turn it on, and it shuts off. Just dies and beeps at me a few times.”

“Mine doesn’t beep.”

“The app on my phone isn’t giving me an error. ”

“Your dishwasher has an app?”

She nods. “Don’t they all?”

I grunt and shake my head. “No. They don’t all have apps. We didn’t have apps back in the day.”

She touches her chest and gasps. “How did you do things?” she teases and smacks my shoulders. “I’m not that young that I don’t remember those days, Oli. But whoever had the house before me made sure every appliance had an app to make things easier. Technology can do that for people.”

“Does it really?” I ask her, peering up at her pretty face as I kneel on the floor, wishing I were in this position for another reason and not just to fix her dishwasher.

“I got us some takeout from the bar. You hungry?”

“I could eat,” I tell her as I pull out the empty dishrack and set it to the side. But in reality, I am starving. I didn’t have time to grab something to eat before I came over here. I didn’t want to keep her waiting and figured I’d stop on the way back home.

“I’ll heat everything up while you do your thing.”

“You got a deal,” I tell her, already knowing what the issue is. It’s a simple fix. Something she could’ve done without any real mechanical skill. And I’m sure this isn’t the first time she’s had this problem with the machine, but I’m not about to split hairs and call her out for it.

I need to make it clear to her that she doesn’t need to come up with a reason to get me to come over. I’ll come for any reason because I want to spend time with her, even if that means painting another one of her ceilings black, and I hate doing that shit.

“I had my cousin give me everything to make Italian beef sandwiches. Is that okay?”

Is it okay? The girl totally speaks my language when it comes to food. First, we had killer burgers, then the best damn pizza in the world, and now we’re having Italian beef? “Perfect.”

“Excellent,” she says, sounding a little like Bill and Ted from their excellent adventure because the girl is so blissfully happy even when shit is going wrong.

“You got a bowl and something to scoop out this water?”

“Sure. One sec.”

I watch her over the island as she moves around the kitchen like she’s floating across the floor. Within a few seconds, she has a bowl and a few options for me to remove the water from the bottom of her fancy-ass dishwasher.

“This good?”

I peer up at her, meeting her gaze. “Perfect,” I whisper, but I could be talking more about her than the actual shit she brought me.

The sound of pebbles pinging against glass draws our attention toward the bank of windows near her table. “Is that…”

“Ice,” she says. “The storm’s started.”

“Shit,” I mumble, knowing it’s going to be a bitch to get home if the roads are icy. My truck is great in the snow, but the tires turn into skates when there isn’t any traction. “I should’ve known when I passed a few salt trucks out there, but it didn’t register.”

Nothing registered on my drive over. I was too busy trying to follow the GPS to her place and too damn excited about seeing her to notice much of anything.

The world could’ve been on fire all around me, and I wouldn’t have seen the flames.

I was laser-focused on my goal, which was to get here and spend time with Lulu, even if that meant fixing her shit.

“Ice is the worst,” she says as she moves back around the island, leaving me to work.

“No car in the world can handle it, but everyone sure as hell tries.” I pick up the biggest measuring cup, using it to fish out as much water as I can before having to go down a size.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Yep. I hate it more than snow.” I am thankful I have the night off, and it’s now George and Kramer’s issue. I am fairly certain they are cursing me for it too. They won’t be spending the night playing video games like they do most graveyard shifts when things are calm.

“If it gets too bad, you can stay here.”

My arm freezes in midair as my stomach flips over. “You’d be okay with that?”

“Of course. Can’t have my hero driving home on dangerous roads. ”

“Huh,” I whisper, suddenly feeling like this was all planned.

A dishwasher like this probably gets a blocked filter at least once a year.

This isn’t the first time it’s been fixed, based on the length of time she has to have been living in this place—and if I’m going off the decorations, it’s been more than a handful of years.

She knew the weather forecast and isn’t at all surprised by the ice storm that’s brewing outside like I am.

And then the invitation to stay over came way too easy.

She wants me here for more than her dishwasher.

“How’s it going?” she asks, coming around the corner of the island with napkins and silverware. “Is it bad?” She places the items on the table, carefully arranging them.

“No. It should only take a few minutes.” I scoop more water, dumping it into the bowl she gave me. It’s tedious work, but I’ve had to do things far worse than spend time with a pretty woman.

“Really? Food’s almost ready anyway, so it’s perfect timing.”

A little too perfect, but I’m not going to complain or call her out about anything. Having a great meal and talking with her is no hardship. There isn’t anything, even an impending storm, that could’ve stopped me from coming over here tonight.