Page 32 of Because of Blake
What the hell just happened?I grab my phone and dial my handyman while I search the floor for my assailant.
“Hi, you’ve reached Mr. Fix-It.”Great, voicemail.“I’m out of town for the week...”What!? No, no. Crap!“If this is an emergency, you can call my buddy, Francis, at–” I hang up the phone. Call me crazy, but I don’t want Francis. I’ve built a great relationship withmyhandyman, and I trust him. I don’t know Francis. He could be shady or crooked.
But what other choice do I have? I don’t know how to change a garbage disposal by myself.
Maybe I could YouTube it?I laugh out loud.That’s the worst idea you’ve had yet, Maggie.
A thought crosses my mind.Blake.He said I could ask for his help if I needed it and, boy, do I need it.
I shake my head. I can live without it. After all, it’s only a week. I groan thinking about how annoying it would be, though. Only using one side of the sink for fear of it springing a leak. And what happens if I forget and flip the switch again? What if it explodes?
“Calm down, Maggie. You’re overthinking this.”
I look out my front window toward the cul-de-sac at Blake’s house. I can’t tell if he’s home, but it’s Saturday and I figure worst-case scenario, I knock, there’s no answer, and I’ll have to go back later. As I walk down my porch steps, I hear a lawnmower start up and see Blake, shirtless, pushing his mower around the yard.
Well, at least he’s home.
I cross the street while trying to figure out why my heart is pounding. Am I worried he’ll say no? Am I nervous about asking for his help after not asking for almost a year? Or is this excitement about talking to him while he’s not wearing a shirt again? Could be all three, I suppose.
Coming to a stop at the edge of his yard, I stand and wait for him to notice me. He glances up and waves as I give a little wave back. He cuts the mower, and as he walks toward me, I can see the sweat already beading on his skin, glistening in the sunlight. It highlights every sexy nuance of his muscles.
“Hey, Maggie, what’s going on?” he asks, running his hand through his damp hair and making it stick out to the sides in the most adorable way.
“Hi, Blake. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I need your help.” I squish one side of my mouth up toward my eye.
Blake’s eyes widen and his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Sure, what can I do for you?”
“My garbage disposal just blew up and–”
“Blew up?”
“Yeah, I turned it on and there was this grinding noise, then a chunk of metal flew out at me. I have no idea how to replace one of those and my handyman is out of town for a week, so–”
“Whoa, okay, slow down. I’m happy to help. I’ve replaced one or two of those in my life. It’s not too hard. We’ll have to go to Home Depot and get the stuff. Are you going to be around this afternoon?”
“Yeah, I’m home all day.”
“Alright, well, let me finish my lawn, then I’ll take a quick shower and head over. Okay?”
“Great, thank you so much.” I spin on my heel and head back home.
Once inside my house, I lean against the door and close my eyes. The image of shirtless Blake appears, forcing me to bite my lip and clench my thighs. Too bad he’ll be fully clothed when he comes over.
My chest tightens, joined by a tingling sensation as I realize Blake is going to be in my house.
“Crap!” I start cleaning frantically. I put the dishes in the dishwasher, wipe the counters, sweep, and pick up all the stray socks and books from the living room. Then I run upstairs to do a quick check on myself.
My messy bun has become even messier after my disposal attack, so I tighten it up a bit. I decide to brush my teeth. Why, I don’t know, but I had a veggie wrap with a balsamic vinaigrette and I don’t need my breath to be the one thing Blake remembers about coming to help me.
Should I put on makeup?I don’t usually wear any if I’m not at work, and I just saw Blake without any on, so if I put some on, he’ll know I did it for him and–
Okay, no makeup. I splash some water on my face and start throwing clothes into my closet. As I’m making my bed, I realize he’s not going to be in my room, so I return to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of iced tea while I sit at the table to wait. My knee bounces up and down uncontrollably as I thrum my fingers on the table.
Maybe I should’ve had wine instead.
There’s a knock on my door, and my head whips up. This is it, no going back now. I slowly walk to the front door so I don’t seem eager, and open it to a freshly washed Blake standing on my doorstep. His hair is still damp, but now it’s sculpted. He’s got on a gray t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, jogging shorts, and he has a toolbox in his hand. Even his beard has been shaped up.
“Hey,” he says in his signature low, gravelly tone.