The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(72)

I look for something to throw at him and settle on an empty water bottle, which bounces off his back and falls to the tile floor. Lindy grins and steps inside the small bathroom to let Chevy pass. I shuffle through the tools on the counter like I have a plan for the next step, when the next step is definitely to call the plumber.

Lindy picks up the hammer. “What are you going to do with this—hit the toilet if it’s bad?”

“Not a terrible idea.”

I turn to face her, leaning against the sink. The bathroom is tiny, and we are toe to toe, our bodies only about a foot apart. I grab the countertop with both my hands, feeling it shift slightly as I do. This whole house seems like it’s one screw from falling apart.

I hold out my palm. “Hand it over. The toilet’s been very, very bad.”

Lindy laughs, clutching the hammer to her chest. I’m drawn to the curve of her smile, the bright flash of her green eyes. My heart thuds at our closeness, at the way she seems to have lowered her guard temporarily.

“Better not,” she says, setting the hammer on the floor out of my reach. “I don’t trust you with this.”

“Probably a good idea.” I tug a strand of her hair lightly, and her cheeks flush pink. The temperature in the room seems to rise a few degrees and I catch Lindy’s eyes moving over my bare chest and abs. I exhale, tightening up my stomach so the muscles pop.

“Stop that!” She pokes me in the chest, and I grab her hand, pulling her toward me. I noticed that she barely resists.

“Stop what?”

“Flexing.”

“I can’t do that.” I shake my head. “It’s an involuntary reaction.”

“Right.”

“It’s true,” I tell her, tugging her even closer until her chest is almost flush with my bare one. “You get in close proximity, and I react.” I’m sweaty, but based on the way her pupils are dilating, she doesn’t mind that a bit.

Look—I want more than a physical relationship with Lindy. But if attraction is the gateway drug to get her hooked on me, I’ll work with what I’ve got.

I also know something about how Lindy operates. If I go too far too fast, she’ll run away. But if I push her buttons then pull away first, she’ll give chase. I saw it last night when I came this close to kissing her in the kitchen, after I signed her ridiculous rules. If I had kissed her, I know she would have kissed me back—and then immediately added some kind of extra rule to her list.

I have to be smart. We are dancing, Lindy and I, and I’m leading her toward what I hope is the realization that she loves me back.

I release Lindy’s wrist, letting her go gently, though it’s the last thing I want to do.

She looks flustered for a moment, then recovers, averting her eyes. “Come to any conclusions about the toilet?”

“Yeah. I’ve come to the conclusion it’s broken.”

Lindy laughs, eyes dancing. “I already told you that. It’s just like a man not to believe me.”

“Oh, I believed you. I also believed I could fix it.”

“And now?”

“Now, I know better. Are you okay if I call a plumber?”

Mistake. I know it the moment I say the word. I should have done it first, then asked forgiveness later.

Lindy’s eyes immediately narrow. “I can’t afford a plumber right now. And I’m not letting you pay for one.”

“It’s not a big deal. I have the money.”

She shakes her head, straightening up to her full height, which is still inches below mine but formidable. “I’m serious, Pat. I don’t want you to pay for a bunch of things. I’m not using you for your money.”

“I know that. I’ve always known that. Plus, helping with house stuff wasn’t in the rules. I don’t have a job right now, so consider me a house husb—” I catch myself just in time. “Your handyman.”

“Just promise me you won’t pay for a bunch of stuff. I mean it, Patrick.”

We stare at each other across the small space, each as stubborn as the other. “Define a bunch of stuff.”

“Pat—promise me!”

“I won’t.”

What I mean is, I won’t promise her. But she takes it to mean what she wants to hear—I won’t pay for a bunch of stuff. When I said I’m the king of bending the rules, I meant it.

“If it helps, think of it as me doing this for Jo.”

That’s right—I know your kryptonite. And it’s a little girl who I think might end up being mine as well.

Lindy drops her head into her hands, but with so little space in the room, the top of her head grazes my chest. I slide my arms around her lower back, pulling her to me, then freeze when I remember I’m bare-chested and sweat-sticky. She doesn’t fight, though, so I tug her fully against me. She drops her hands from her head and latches on to my belt loops as her cheek comes to rest on my chest.

“I’m sorry I’m all sweaty. Do I smell?” I wince, waiting for the answer.

“No, and it’s infuriating. You should stink. You should be unattractive and a jerk, and you should smell worse when you sweat, not better.”

I take a second to unpack all that. Those are sort of compliments … right?

“I’m … sorry?”