Flirting with Forever: A Hot Romantic Comedy(19)
Something loud was going on outside, like the sound of a motor. I went to the window and peeked out through the sheer curtain. Dex was out there, mowing his lawn.
He was dressed in a shirt that wasn’t just sleeveless, it looked like he’d ripped the sleeves off himself. Jeans and sunglasses completed the picture. Casual, just shy of messy. He was probably sweaty and smelled like freshly cut grass.
Interestingly, that appealed.
I watched him for a long moment as he pushed the mower in a straight line, then turned and did another row.
On a whim, I grabbed my phone and sent a message to our group text.
Me: I’m watching a man mow his lawn and I’m oddly turned on. What’s that about?
Sophie: I love it when Cox mows our lawn. It’s so sexy.
Me: Really?
Sophie: Well sure, he usually takes his shirt off and gets all sweaty. What’s not sexy about that?
Cox was an attractive man, objectively speaking. I could see why Sophie enjoyed watching her husband work.
Hazel: I’d say it represents competence and reliability.
Me: Do you want to jump Corban’s bones when he mows the lawn?
Hazel: Certainly. Even better when he fixes something.
Everly: We don’t have a lawn but I love it when Shepherd fixes things. Or when he backs up the car.
Sophie: Oh yes. Backing up the car with his arm over your seat? The best.
Everly: YES
Hazel: I concur.
I had to agree. There was something innately sexy about the way a man backed out of a parking spot with his arm draped over your seat. I glanced out the window again. Competence and reliability. I could see why women would be drawn to that in a man. And Hazel would know. She was a psychology researcher and a certified genius.
And if a man was competent at some things, maybe he’d be competent in others.
He certainly was in my dreams.
Sighing, I grabbed my wineglass out of the bathroom and took it downstairs. I was debating whether or not I wanted a second glass when something that sounded like a drip of water caught my attention. The sink was off but maybe the faucet was leaking a little. Tilting my head, I watched. Nothing.
Drip.
That hadn’t come from the sink. Drip. Drip. Why was I hearing water? That couldn’t be a good sign.
I crouched to check beneath the sink but it was dry. The drips kept coming. There was definitely water somewhere. The sky was clear today and it didn’t sound like rain pattering against the window. What was going on?
Drip.
That one hit my head. I touched my hair, and sure enough, there was a small splash of wetness.
Oh no.
The drips kept coming, faster now, and I slowly lifted my gaze to the ceiling.
Water beaded in several places above me, seeping through the ceiling and collecting into larger and larger drops, until they broke free and fell with a splash onto the floor.
Or my hair.
“Oh my god.”
I needed a plumber. But what was I supposed to do in the meantime? Clearly my bathwater had somehow drained into the space between the upstairs floor and kitchen ceiling. And that bathtub held a lot of water. I had a sudden vision of those beads of water growing larger and merging into a single, enormous bubble that would pop with the weight of all the lavender scented liquid and flood my kitchen.
Without second guessing myself, I tightened my robe around my waist and hurried next door.
Dex seemed to have finished mowing. His garage door was closed and I didn’t hear the roar of the lawn mower. I knocked and waited, hoping he’d answer.
I heard his heavy footsteps a second before the door opened. He was still dressed in that sleeveless shirt, his jeans had bits of grass on them, and his feet were bare. His mouth opened as his eyes swept up and down my body. To his credit, they came quickly back to my face.
“I have a problem.”
“You… What?”
“There’s water leaking in my kitchen. Through the ceiling.”
“Oh. Shit.” He stepped away from the door and slid his feet into a pair of battered army-green flip flops. “Let me take a look.”
“Thank you.”
We walked next door and I tiptoed on the cold concrete. I hadn’t noticed it on my way over but now the chill in the early evening air blew right through my robe. My skin prickled and I shivered slightly.
I probably should have put some clothes on first, but oh well.
Inside, Dex went to the kitchen and stood with his hands on his hips, looking up. “Yeah, that’s not good.”
“It must be from the bathtub. The master bathroom is right there and I just took a bath.”
He glanced at me and there were those eyes again, running up and down from my head to my toes. “I can see that.”
“So what do we do?”
“Call a plumber.”
“I know that, but what do I do about all the water that’s about to flood my kitchen?”
He turned his attention back to the ceiling. “I’ll be right back.”
Water continued dripping. Were there more spots beading moisture or was that my imagination? So far they hadn’t collected into one super drop, but I wasn’t discounting that as a possibility.
A couple of minutes later, Dex came back with a battery powered drill or electric screwdriver or whatever those things were called. Tools weren’t exactly my area.