Page 42 of The Path to Loving Him
But instead of touching me, bringing me up against the wall, and pressing his strong, hard-as-a-rock body up against mine, he leads me down a short hallway.
“We don’t plan on using this shower since we have bathrooms upstairs, so feel free to leave your stuff until the shower is fixed.”
“No need to worry about that. The shower will be fixed tomorrow.” I smile and open the shower curtain, which is just a plain white sheet. I stare at the faucet. “Do you know how this works?”
“Not really,” he replies. He turns on the water, and unlike my shower, this water is flowing. Then he tugs on a toggle, and it shuts the drain. Not the right thing. He undoes that and then looks under the faucet and pulls on a ring. The showerhead fires up and starts raining down on the tub.
“Hate to admit it, but I never would have figured that out.” I try to lighten the tension between us, but it does absolutely nothing.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says in a gruff tone. “Use the shower as much as you want.”
I can see that he’s mad at himself, more subdued than the man who almost threw me up against the couch and took what he wanted.
I think that realization has set in, and now he’s possibly regretting what he said.
And oddly, I don’t want him to regret it. Because I’m apparently deranged and like this slow form of torture. I enjoy the idea of him wanting me but denying himself.
But despite all of that, I have to admit, given our circumstances,Ryland Rowley is a nice guy. To offer me access to his shower is actually pretty kind. But I need to remember that he doesn’t have the full picture here, and I’m in no rush for him to know it. So...
“No need,” I reply. “The shower will be fixed tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
RYLAND
“Two weeks?” I shout while Janet packs up her tools.
“Yes, that’s when I can get the part, but then there’s installation and fixing the tiling. Might be about two to three weeks, depending.”
“Jesus,” I say as I tug on my hair in frustration. “You can’t just go and find one at the local store?”
She shakes her head. “Supplies are low from the housing boom. Everyone’s struggling to find parts at the moment. It’s two to three weeks for everything.” Janet pats my arm. “Sucks to be a landlord, doesn’t it?”
Yeah, I’m figuring that out more and more with each passing day.
“I’ll bill you and be in touch about the part when it comes in. Have a good one.”
And with that, she takes off, leaving me with some pretty shitty information. There’s something wrong with the pipes behind the tiled wall. Since Janet had to tear the wall open to figure it out, not only does she have to change out the part—sheexplained what it was, but I blacked out—but she also has to fix the wall after that. This is not what I anticipated.
I thought it might be an easy fix, a little poke here, a little poke there—shows how much I know about plumbing—and then Gabby would be using her shower tonight. Fuck, was I wrong.
Also, really fucking annoying this wasn’t picked up during the inspection before we closed. That’s just my luck, though.
I straighten up Gabby’s bathroom since Janet moved some things around. Then I head into her living room, pausing for a moment as I take in the cozy space.
This starkly contrasts what I have going on at the house. Sure, we just moved in, but I know it won’t look like this when I’m done putting things away. We have very few pieces of furniture. I sure as hell don’t have a rug, nor do I have curtains. We don’t have any decorations, and any pictures we might have are small ones that go on a mantel rather than a wall.
Mac deserves a space like this, something cozy and comfy, that reminds her of her mom’s love.
I look toward the door, checking to see if Gabby has returned. She said she was heading out when Janet stopped by, so I feel like I have a little time. Therefore, I pull out my phone, open up the camera, and take a few pictures of her place as inspiration. There’s no way I could remember this, but with a little bit of?—
“What are you doing?”
Startled out of my goddamn shorts, I fumble my phone only for it to tumble out of my hands and straight to the floor, where it crashes with a crack, breaking the screen.
I grip my chest as I bend down to pick it up and stare back at her.
Wearing a pair of jean shorts and a tank top with her hair coming out the back of a hat, she stares at me, hand propped on her hip, looking none too pleased.
