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Through the frosted glass of the back door, I spy a very large shadow, and I wish I were wearing something that didn’t scream, “I’m a hot mess.” But hey—this is me, and if Desmond Thomas doesn’t like it, well, it’s no skin off my nose. I don’t like him either.
I pull the door open and glare. I can’t help it. The man has that effect on me. He’s so big and broad, he makes me feel small. His hands are the size of dinner plates. If he held my hand—which,no, thank you—it would probably feel like my palm was being completely engulfed in his flesh. Gross.
Worse than his size, though, is the way he looks at me. He’s always serious, hiding behind that shuttered expression, looking at my little kingdom like it’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever seen. When he first walked into my barbershop all those weeks ago, slapping a new lease on my desk and telling me he was raising the rent, I could justfeelthe disdain leaking off him, like oil spreading over a pristine body of water. He polluted my sanctuary. I wanted to punch him.
The feeling hasn’t gone away.
Listen, I know I’m a single mom and what I can provide my daughter isn’t the best. But it’smybest. I don’t need some massive thug reminding me of all my inadequacies.
My landlord is wearing olive-green pants and a white T-shirt. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in anything but a button-down, and the sight of it does something strange to my stomach. I feel like I’m witnessing something I’m not supposed to. This is too intimate. His own gaze coasts down my body and back up again, taking in my outfit, but his expression gives nothing away. His dark eyes are just as black, his jaw just as hard.
I’m sure he thinks I’m a slob.
“Hello, Mia.” Desmond’s voice is deep and rumbly, and it sets little explosions off in the pit of my stomach. Don’t ask me why; I don’t know. My hindbrain sees a threat, and some wires are getting crossed somewhere because my body is reacting with…arousal? The best I can tell, it’s some sort of fight-or-flight response.
Being me, I choose to fight. “There’s a leak,” I start. “The shower is unusable. If this place isn’t livable, I don’t know how you get off charging this much rent for it.”
Pow, pow!Mia lands an uppercut on Desmond’s jaw…and breaks her hand in the process.
Desmond watches me for a moment, those dark, dark eyes steady on mine. He blinks slowly, like a lazy cat, and sweeps a hand to indicate that he’d like to come inside.
Why did that make my nipples tighten? Honestly, what iswrongwith my body? This fight-or-flight response is whack. I glare at him for as long as I can stand it, then pull the door open wider.
He smells amazing. I get a big whiff of it when he steps past me, sandalwood and the hint of something fresh and citrusy.
Glowering, I shut the door gently and follow him into the kitchen. He looks gigantic. The room seems to shrink around him, like some sort of doll house. If he stretched his arms on either side, he’d almost be able to touch both walls.
I don’t like having him in my space. Not one bit.
He stands with his toes just touching the first towel, which I’ve clumped up into a big mess of wet terrycloth on the kitchen floor. Then he crouches, peering into the cabinet where the water was leaking. It’s soaked, of course, with what looks like old water damage on the back of the cabinet.
Before I can stop him, Desmond reaches inside and yanks the back of the cabinet apart. The particle board disintegrates in his hands, and he opens a huge hole up to look inside. Wet gypsum board comes off next, the damaged materials growing in a pile next to him.
He’sstrong. Even with the water damage, I doubt I would’ve been able to pull the wall apart with my bare hands. He just did it like he was tearing a wet piece of newspaper. I watch his shoulders bunch and release as he widens the hole. His legs flex as he leans forward, his whole body coiling with strength.
I wrap my hands around my chest and rub my puny biceps, wanting him to leave.
“Hmm.” Desmond goes to lean forward, but the mountain of soaked towels is in the way. He shoves them aside with a frustrated grunt, his forearm flexing with hard, corded muscle while he does, then kneels on the floor in front of the cabinet. The position gives me an unobstructed view of his butt, which is nice.
No. No, it’s not nice. Well, yes, the butt itself is nice, but the fact that I have a view of it isnot. Sure, his pants fit perfectly, and he obviously works out enough that he has some junk in his trunk, but I should not be staring at it right now.
“Looks like this has been leaking for a while,” he says, his voice muffled.
I tear my gaze away from his ass, but the only other thing to look at is the breadth of his shoulders, which take up the entire space inside the cabinet. I didn’t know humans could get so big. It’s unnatural. “Oh?”
“Maybe I can figure out where the leak is…” He pulls his upper body out of the cabinet and glances at me. “Can you turn the shower on?”
“I’ll do it!” Bailey says, her head poking around the corner of the wall, then disappearing again.
I jump, staring after her, wondering how long my daughter was watching me stare at my landlord’s butt. Again, this begs the question: What iswrongwith me?
“Okay, I’m here!” Bailey yells from the bathroom. “Hot or cold?”
“Start with cold,” Desmond answers, ducking his head back into the cabinet. “Go ahead!”
The pipes bang as Bailey turns the shower on full blast, and for a second or two, nothing happens. I imagine the water is leaking, because Desmond hums thoughtfully. He shifts his weight and shuffles deeper into the cabinet, his knees spread wide on the floor, his big, thick thighs hard against his dark-green pants.
Then there’s a noise, like a big crack, and water blows through the cabinet in a violent spray. Desmond yells, jerking, and bangs his head into the countertop. With an awful snap, the laminate counter cracks, jumping slightly, and Desmond comes tumbling out of the cabinet.
