Page 20 of Come in with the Rain
She looks up at me, and it’s the first time we’ve stood like this, right next to each other with nothing between us but air. I really notice for the first time how small she is, but not slight or frail. Made of muscle and bone and every beautiful thing in the universe.
“Let me show you my room,” she says, and when she walks by, I grit my teeth to keep from audibly gulping. How many times have I thought about her saying something like that at the start of one of my fantasies? I would imagine her leading me into her room and taking off her clothes. I shake the thought away and follow her.
Her bed is unmade. A double bed, a tall lamp, a dresser, a bookcase. I stare at the bed a beat too long. There’s a set of pajamas sticking out from under the comforter, a tank top and a pair of shorts. My skin goes hot just looking at them.
I clear my throat. “Do you prefer the carpet?” It’s a cream color but stained in places, and I try to keep my eyes fixed on it.
Stella scoffs. “God, no. My brother once got really trashed and puked in that corner.” She points at a spot behind the door. “And I swear, sometimes I can still smell it.”
I bite back a smile. “Okay. I can rip up the carpet, replace your windows and baseboards, and paint. Anything else?”
She stares at me for a long moment. “It’syourproject, isn’t it?” Right. She takes a seat at the end of the bed, and my mind starts going haywire, completely without permission. Stella laying back, removing her clothes one article at a time, opening her legs and looking at me expectantly.
I choke on my own spit. I start coughing, banging a fist against my chest as I back out of the room. Stella is watching me with concerned eyes, but I turn and head for the kitchen once I can breathe again, retreating for all I’m worth.
“Maybe I’ll do the bathroom next,” I mutter and get back to work.
CHAPTER22
STELLA
By the next night, I’ve been told by various prospective employers that I’m not aggressive enough, not tech savvy enough, not qualified, not personable, and somewhat hostile. That last evaluation came on the heels of a comment by a middle-aged, red-faced sweaty man that I would be prettier if I let my hair down.
I’m on the verge of tears when I get back to my condo after dropping Abby off for a late flight to Tahoe to see her parents and hear Adam shout, “Fuck!” before something clatters hard to the ground. I’ve never heard Adam so much as exclaim, and hearing him now is a shock to my system, like being zapped.
“What? What is it?” I rush into the bathroom, where Adam is sitting on the edge of the tub, looking at my toilet. The top lid is off, sitting on the edge of the sink, and on top of that, there’s a long plastic tube, broken in half. “What happened?” He’s not even supposed to be doing anything to the toilet, I don’t think.
He sighs. “I was changing out the faucet when I noticed your toilet was running. That’s normal for old toilets. It just means your flapper needed to be replaced. But when I started taking stuff apart, your overflow tube snapped. It’s an easy fix, but all the hardware stores are closed.”
We stand in silence. I’m trying to process everything, but only one thought slips out. “You didn’t have to fix my toilet.” It’s my first thought because Adam has been doing things far outside of the simple job he’s supposed to be doing in order to further his business: unnecessarily replacing the windows, asking me for a list of things I want done, even replacing all of my lightbulbs because it’ll “look better in pictures.”. He thinks I can’t see right through him, but I can.
He looks at the broken tube. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought if I could help—”
“You’re working too hard.”
His lips come together, and his brow furrows. “I’m trying to get the job done quick.”
“I know.” I lean against my towel rack, praying he can’t smell that said towel reeks of mildew. “But you don’t have to.”
“I’ve completely infiltrated your life.”
“And I don’t mind. Take a break. If it takes more time, it takes more time.” He’s been running himself ragged, staying late, sometimes long after I’ve fallen asleep on the couch, to finish “one more thing.” He’s got bags under his eyes, a paleness to his skin.
He scowls. “I broke your toilet in the middle of the night, and you’re telling me to take a break?”
I shrug. “Maybe fix my toilet andthentake a break.”
He smiles down at the floor, but it only lasts a moment. “I’ll hit the hardware store first thing in the morning. Until then…”
He looks up at me, and I feel the nerves start to riot in my stomach. I don’t have anywhere to go. I just took Abby to the airport. Max is in Hawaii this week,I think,and it’s not like I have anyone else. No parents, no friends I made at a part-time job or in college. I can’t even afford to stay in a hotel for the night.
Mickey. He’s really my only option. And not even the worst one. He has plenty of room for guests, his place is much more comfortable than mine, and I’m horny enough that I’ll probably end up fucking him even if he did cheat on me. That is, if he isn’t already in a relationship with the woman from the security footage. But I would know if that was happening. It would be all over the internet, just like it was when we started seeing each other.
I reach for my phone, now a little disoriented at the thought of getting to have sex tonight. Having Adam around all the time, carrying around heavy tools, with his muscles sweaty and bulging beneath the sleeves of his t-shirts, it’s created an itch that I need scratched in a big way. “I’ll call Mickey.”
“Stay at my place.” The words pop out of him like someone pulled his string and his head exploded.
I still have my phone in my hand, Mickey’s number pulled up, still at the top of my favorites list, but his words have stopped me cold. “What? I can’t do that.”
