Page 33 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
Chapter 8
GETTY
Repair List
Replace Front Step—third one
Replace Missing Roof Shingles
Back Deck = Death Trap
Fix Lock on Patio Door—Sorry, Mr. Ax Murderer
Fix Bathroom Mirror
Rain Gutters
Repair Shutters
Add Handrail to Front Steps & Paint
Add Light in GS
Connect Internet for God’s Sake
Bulldoze House and Rebuild
The last line makes me laugh out loud into the empty kitchen, the whole thing amusing. I drop the pad with Zander’s scrawled penmanship and pick up my coffee.
“What’s so funny?”
I cringe inwardly at the sound of his voice floating down the hall, flashbacks from last night coming back to me in bits and pieces. While I may not remember it all, I sure as hell remember sliding my hands up his bare chest and whispering in his ear. Attempting to be sexy. Trying to play him like he did me. And of course with a few drinks under my belt I may have felt like I pulled it off, but I have a feeling I looked more like an idiot. I keep my eyes angled out of the window when Zander enters the kitchen.
“The last thing on your repair list,” I murmur.
He makes a noncommittal sound in agreement. “How’s your head this morning?”
“Okay. Not bad. Just a little headache. Thanks for leaving the Advil on the nightstand. That was nice of you.”
“No biggie.”
God. We’re doing the as-few-words-as-possible thing here. I must have really been an ass last night. Or pissed him off. With a sigh I turn to face him and damn if I wish I hadn’t stayed facing the window. He has bedhead and his eyes are a bit swollen from sleep with a pillow crease on his cheek. His shorts are slung a tad too low on his hips, so that damn happy trail of his is highlighted in all of its glory, drawing my attention to what’s below it when I shouldn’t be looking there.
I may not know much, but I know that’s more than above average in size.
My comment from last night flickers through my mind. The sight of him all rumpled from sleep looking like something you want to crawl next to and cozy up with pushing it to the forefront.
Can I die now, please? If I said that, what else came out of my mouth?
“About last night . . .” I fumble for what to say as the intensity in his blue eyes holds me hostage. “I’m sorry if I said or did anything that was . . . I don’t normally drink. So—”
“No need to apologize. You were cute. Funny. Carefree. I liked it.”
Carefree? Me? I’m practically stuttering as I try to respond with a rush of heat to my cheeks as I blush. “Do you really know how to do all of that?” I ask, motioning to the fix-it list to try to change the subject.
“Nope.” He answers the question, but his eyes are still locked on mine, still asking unspoken questions about the last topic, when I don’t want him to.
“Then how are you going to fix it all? Hire someone?”
