Ready for You (Ready #3)(12)

“Maybe she had something to prove. To herself, to the world? Being all alone, she didn’t have anyone with her to hold her hand,” I said.

“You’re right. Those mothers are usually the strongest of us all. She’s going to do just fine, I think.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Holy shit! What happened to your leg?” she asked, leaning halfway over the desk for a closer inspection of my leg which was peeking out from the desk.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I answered, trying to tuck my legs back under the work space. I attempted to pull my pant leg back down to cover the angry-looking bruise.

“That doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m installing new floors in my house. I was ripping up the old wood, and I lost my balance and control of the crowbar. I kind of whacked my leg with it. It hurts by the way, if you were thinking of trying it.”

“Looks like it. That’s a mother of a bruise. You’re redoing the floors of your house…by yourself? Why?”

“Well, my house is a fixer-upper, and I’m trying to do it on the cheap.”

“Is it worth your limbs?” She arched a brow in question.

“I still have all my limbs!” I protested.

“Yeah, for now, but come next week, you’re going to be coming in here, spouting blood everywhere. I won’t know how to fix you because I only deal with vajayjays. You need some help.”

Famous last words.

~Garrett~

There was this song by The Offspring called “Bad Habit.” In middle school, my friends and I would listen to it because it had about half a million curse words in it. We’d sneak the CD into my room, play it on my stereo, and pretend like we knew how to headbang. We would mouth the lyrics instead of singing the words out loud because we were too afraid of facing the wrath of my mother. Soap would have been involved in my punishment for sure.

As I pulled up to the curb of Mia’s newly purchased house in a neighborhood that was blocks away from my own, the profanity in my internal monologue was putting that song to shame. I noticed right away that the front of her house looked like a construction zone with piles of wood near the alley dumpster and boxes of new wood on the porch.

“Fuck,” I cursed out loud just to make sure I was hearing what my brain was screaming.

Why was I here?

Because I was the nice guy.

I was the guy who had heard his ex-girlfriend had bashed in her shins while trying to take out her hardwood floors and came to help.

Had she asked? Nope.

Did she know I was coming? No.

I was here because I was a glutton for punishment.

Intent on moving on, I’d taken Kara out that Saturday after I ran into Mia at the farmers’ market. I was done. I’d wasted eight years of my life waiting for—what? For her to come back? For closure? I didn’t know what the hell I had been waiting for, but by the time I figured it out, I could be the ninety-year-old crazy cat man who no one wanted to visit.

So, Kara and I had gone to one of my favorite local spots, and we’d had a good time. We’d talked and commiserated over work and our summer plans, and then…nothing. I had walked her to her car, and I could see that expectant look on her face. She’d wanted more, and God, I’d wanted to give it to her, but I just couldn’t. I had looked into her eyes, and they were all wrong. Mia had intensely blue eyes, almost bordering on aquamarine, and the deep brown of Kara’s eyes had just mocked me, reminding me of what I’d lost. I’d realized I wasn’t ready to move on. I’d told her that I had a great time and that I would see her on Monday. That had left her in a stunned and bewildered state as she stood by her car in the middle of the parking lot.

I’d made excuses every time Kara asked me to lunch or out for drinks. I’d been trying to dodge any more awkward exchanges. There was a reason I would give a different name to the few scattered women I’d taken home from bars over the years. I couldn’t stand the thought of hearing another woman whisper my name before our lips touched or call out my name as I made love to her. I’d only made love to one woman, only heard one woman say my name as I came inside her, and even though I needed to, I never wanted to change that fact.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her. Wearing cutoff shorts that barely covered her ass and a tank top that exposed her tanned skin, she bent over to drop a pile of lumber in the already accumulating pile in her front yard. I was moving before my brain could even register it. She looked up and caught my gaze just before I closed the car door. We both stood there, frozen in place, unable to look away.

It was me who took the first step forward. I walked across the street until I was in front of her, closer than I’d been in eight years. If I reached out, I could touch her, tuck that stray hair behind her ear, or show her exactly what was racing through my mind as I watched her nervously bite her lip.

“Hi,” she said hesitantly.

“Hey.” Yep, that was a good start. I was the master of small talk.

She looked at me expectantly, and I realized I should probably explain why I was there.

“Leah said that you banged up your leg pretty bad while ripping out your floors the other day. I thought you might need a hand.” I shifted awkwardly and ran my fingers through my hair, unsure of what to do with my hands. I wanted to touch her, yet I didn’t. I’d never had a conversation without touching her, and now, I felt twitchy and unnatural.