Girl Crush(62)

“Hey, darlin’. I’m Chance. What seems to be the trouble tonight?”

Kill me now.

He bent over to put white booties on over his shoes to protect my floors, and his ass was every bit as delectable as the country star. In any other circumstance, I’d send up a word of thanks to the big man upstairs for this eye candy…but tonight, I just groaned.

Karma hated me.

“Garbage disposal.” I turned, leaving the front door open, and assumed he’d follow me to the kitchen.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had an after-hours call for a garbage disposal.”

I wasn’t interested in idle chitchat. If I could have found a rock, I would have crawled under it.

“Is it clogged or did it just stop working?” he asked as he set his tools down and stepped up to the sink.

“Clogged.”

“Vegetable peels?” he guessed.

“No.”

Chance turned to face me. “Egg shells?”

“Uh-uh.”

“You just going to let me keep guessin’?” He winked a brown eye in my direction and displayed a grin that I was sure had panties dropping on the regular. But all it did was cause my cheeks to flush with embarrassment, and not from his flirting.

“Fabric.” I acted like I only knew ten words and was afraid to use them all at once. Before long, I’d just resort to grunting instead of forming syllables.

“Fabric…” He drew out those six letters like he hadn’t understood them.

“Yes.”

“Like a dishtowel?”

“No. Panties.” I cringed. “I’d prefer not to offer an explanation. Can you just fix it?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

I died a thousand deaths sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him to undo the damage I’d caused. If only it were that easy with Collier. He had me sign a bill but told me it would be charged to the card the dispatcher had taken and said goodnight. When I closed and locked the door behind him, I threw myself onto the couch and prayed for the day to end. My measly attempts to engage Collier had proven to be fruitless. It was time to up my game. Staring at my tattered fingernails, I formulated a plan.





14





Saturday morning, I stopped by my favorite nail salon. The damage I’d done with the garbage disposal last night was beyond anything I could fix. My cuticles were a wreck, there were cuts on my fingers, and it would take a hell of a lot more than cutting and filing to get my manicure looking good again.

I’d been coming here every week for years, and I considered my nail tech, Crystal, a friend. For nearly a decade, I’d sat in her chair for an hour once a week and talked to her like drunks do to bartenders. She knew everything there was to know about me, including my obsession with changing polish colors throughout the week, and my attempted rendezvouses with pundanda. She thought the whole thing had been rather humorous and enjoyed many chuckles at my expense.

But the panties in the garbage disposal seemed to take the cake.

“What were you thinking, Giselle? What would you have said to Collier if he’d come over?”

It seemed obvious to me. “That I was doing laundry.” I shrugged while she clipped the tips of my pitiful nails off.

“Do you know a lot of women who wash their unmentionables in the kitchen sink? And wash five pairs down at one time?”

“So it wasn’t a well-thought-out plan. Sue me.” My brow furrowed. I’d already faced this humiliation once in the last twenty-four hours—I didn’t need to relive it with the girl I paid to make my hands look like works of art.

I sighed with relief an hour later when my nails had been restored and followed Crystal to the register. I paid for the manicure and also grabbed the six bottles of nail polish I’d come in for. I stopped by Walmart going home and picked up six little gift boxes and cards. One way or another, I’d show Collier he knew me better than anyone else, and hopefully, in the end, I’d win him over.

As much as I hated to include Beck in my plot, I didn’t have much choice. I needed to ensure he got the package each day, and if I sent them any other way, I wouldn’t be certain they made it to his desk or that he opened them.

Me: I need your help.

Beck: Sure. With what?

Me: Getting Collier back.

Beck: I’m in.

Me: You don’t even want to know what you have to do before you agree?

Beck: Nope.

Since she didn’t care about details, I didn’t give them to her. Beck promised to stop by my house tonight to pick the stuff up and deliver them in order starting Monday. I hated wasting a day, but I needed her to give him the sixth one on Saturday. I spent the rest of the night wrapping each little bottle in a corresponding color of tissue paper before tucking it neatly into a box I tied with ribbon. I wrote out a note to go along with each one and tied it to the package. They were cute, and any woman would love to get them—I only hoped Collier saw my message in them.

Monday’s color choice was “You Callin’ Me A Lyre?” He didn’t believe he knew anything about me. I didn’t want to, but I had to acknowledge where he stood and the fact that I’d put him there.

Tuesday was “I Am What I Amethyst.” Whether Collier wanted to believe it or not, I had always been into men.