Page 18 of Because of Blake
I walk to the window and pull back the curtains. Surely, he’s not home. It’s the middle of the day on a Tuesday. I can’t know for sure, though, unless I walk down there.
A scene plays out in my head with me nervously asking Blake for his help and him confidently accepting. I’d watch him fix the leak, his expert hands twisting, fiddling, tweaking things. He’d be quick, but precise. The leak would be fixed within minutes, and then he could use those expert hands on me. His fingers are probably rough from manual labor, but he’d be gentle as he slid his fingers up my thigh and–
I quickly draw the curtains back across the window, my cheeks flushed and an ache between my thighs. No, I’m not asking him.Not only do I feel like a stalker right now, but I don’t need to indulge these fantasies. Blake is a neighbor. Nothing more. And I can’t ask a neighbor I’m not paying to climb around in my cold, musty old crawlspace to fix a leak. I shake my head. I’ll call someone.
Clicking the first number on the Google list, a very cheerful man answers, addresses all my concerns, and tells me he can come on Friday. I accept immediately. When Friday comes, the man arrives on time, fixes my pipes, and leaves with only charging me a trip fee. I think I’ve found my new handyman, and he doesn’t live down the street.
Chapter seven
“Maggie!I’msogladyou and the kids came,” exclaims Joanna as she reaches for our coats.
I’m not even completely out of mine before she’s tugging it off my shoulders. “Yeah, thanks for inviting us.”
“Well, there’s food and drinks in the kitchen. Help yourself.” Joanna turns to Sydney and Dylan. “And if you kids want to make yourselves a plate and join the other kids in the basement, Mark has everything set up down there. Movies, video games, you can play pool if you want. Go have fun!” She ushers them out of the entryway.
Dylan looks back at me, unsure of what to do. I nod and jut my chin toward the basement, giving permission to leave my side. He may be ten years old, but he’s still very much my little boy.
Joanna turns back to me. “So, Maggie, how have you been?”
“Fine, nothing exciting.” As the words leave my mouth, I get the distinct feeling someone’s staring at me, though Joanna’s gaze is so intense it could be her. My eyes flit around the foyer and into the living room, which is no longer navy, cream, and white, but now a mixture of ruby red, soft mauve, and deep teal. “I see you redecorated. It looks nice.”
“Oh, thank you. It was just a little something I came up with one day and voila. It’s one of those problems with being an interior decorator, you know...”
I can’t concentrate on what Joanna is saying. Someone’s heavy gaze is definitely on me, and it’s not hers. She’s twirling around and waving her hands in the air, explaining her latest inspiration. My eyes flick around the living room. People are gathered in small groups, chatting while they drink and eat, but I can’t find whose intense staring has me squirming.
“Joanna, do you have any more dip?” someone calls from the kitchen.
She turns away from me. “Oh, yes. Hold on, I’ll be right there.” As she takes small steps away, she waves her hand in the air at me. “Sorry, Maggie. Duty calls.”
I’m left alone in the foyer with two choices; follow Joanna into the kitchen and endure more babbling about her décor, or go into the living room, where I’ll be forced to make small-talk with people I don’t know.
Neither option sounds appealing in the least, but I opt for the living room. I could use a break from Joanna, and maybe I can figure out who was staring. As I enter, my eyes roam the room, but I don’t know any of these people. I suppose they could be work friends of Mark’s, or clients of Joanna’s. I don’t know many neighbors, but I don’t recognize anyone in here.
This is so awkward. I contemplate pulling my phone out of my back pocket, but I hate to be the person who stands in a room full of people, staring at their phone when they should be socializing. Even though I don’t want to socialize at all.
“You look scared,” a man’s voice says quietly, and I whip around.
I come face to face with a good-looking guy who tips his beer bottle up to his smiling lips and takes a drink. He has dirty blond hair sculpted into the “I just rolled out of bed” look. He’s taller than me, but only by an inch or so, and his pale blue eyes sparkle in the lamplight as he swallows his drink and meets my gaze again.
He holds out his other hand. “I’m David, a friend of Mark’s.”
“Maggie.” I take his hand for a quick shake, but he doesn’t let go right away.
His eyes flick down to our handshake. Our left-handed handshake where I’m noticeably missing a certain ring. “Nice to meet you, Maggie. You know, when Joanna said there were going to be some single women here tonight, she didn’t mention any as pretty as you.” David doesn’t seem bothered by his cheesy attempt to break the ice as he takes another drink.
Even if it is a terrible line, I can’t help but blush as I slide my hand from his.
A sly grin crawls across his lips. “So, you’re a friend of Joanna’s?”
“No, we’re neighbors.”
“Neighbors can’t be friends?”
“Not always.”
He chuckles, and glances around, his eyes landing on my empty hands clasped in front of me. “Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, very much.” I turn toward the kitchen, but David steps in front of me.