Page 23 of Sing Your Secrets
I’ve been trying to push Reese from my mind every time she pops into my head, which for the past two weeks has been often. Fuck, if she wasn’t the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on…and fun, forward, a little sassy, and sweet. Not to mention her excellent taste in music. From what I could tell, she’s all the things I’d handpick for my dream girl. But my life is a mess and she’s so far out of my league, it hurts.
If I called her, what would I say? Hey, want to hang out in my cousin’s house and stream a movie on her Netflix account? I can treat you to microwave popcorn and tap water. Oh, and if you’re really feeling me, we can take things to the bedroom where we’ll need to be really quiet because you can hear everything through the vents of my bedroom, which is in the basement of a house I can’t afford to pay rent in.
“What do you need for your renovation?” Dad asks. I’m yanked from my sour musings of pining after the girl I know I can’t get.
“The concrete floors need to be resealed. Both bathrooms are a complete gut job. The kitchen too. The entire building needs insulation work. The rest is cosmetic which I can probably handle on my own.”
“Or,” Dad singsongs teetering his head from side to side, “you could ask for help and not work yourself into an early grave.”
“I need the money, Dad. I can’t afford to outsource too much of the work and Law has a budget in mind. I think I can do most of it myself, there are just a few things I can’t—”
“You don’t have to do any of it by yourself. If Law has a budget, then we’ll stay well within it. Labor is easy. You can have my crew for free. I have an in with most of the vendors in town. We can get you wholesale discounts on the appliances you need. The place has been inspected?”
“Twice.”
“Good, then it should be no problem. I’ll make some calls first thing tomorrow. Hell, I’ll pitch in with labor myself.”
I bury my head in my hands, smelling the salty musk from my sweaty palms. The compounding pressure building in my head is a mix of relief, embarrassment, anxiety, and uncertainty. “Why are you being so generous?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He looks offended as his eyebrows furrow in my direction.
“I’m the fuck up of this family. I wasted half of my twenties and have nothing to show for it. And you just…” Dragging my hand over my face, I groan.
“Just what?” he asks.
“Always pick me back up every time I fall. I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to repay you, yet I keep adding to my debt.”
Just when I think I can’t feel lower.
He reaches over and pats my knee. “I’m your dad. You owe me nothing. It’s as simple as that. Like I said…you’ll see one day.”