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Water sprays out of the bottom cabinet so hard I stumble back. It soaks me from head to toe while Desmond rolls on the floor at my feet, groaning. He’s clutching his head, swearing as he crawls on the ground toward the cabinet.
“Whoa…” Bailey stares at us, eyes wide, while the water comes pouring and pouring and pouring in.
“SHUT THE WATER OFF!” I scream, my hands straight out in front of me in a useless attempt to stop the spray.
Bailey springs, and a moment later, the fountain stops.
There’s a pause, with the only sound in the room being a steady trickling of water. I lift my bare foot up and place it back down, unable to see a single spot of dry land. Everything is covered with an inch of water.
Desmond lets out a sigh and lifts himself up so he’s sitting on the floor, one arm curled around his bended knee. He’s drenched. His white tee clings to him, completely see-through. I can see the shadow of chest hair, the hard pack of his muscles. He runs a wet hand through his hair, causing it to tousle oh-so-perfectly. Then he lets out a sardonic little chuckle. Like he thinks this is fucking funny.
It infuriates me. I don’t know why. Maybe because he’s wealthy, and successful, and rude, and he has a gorgeous body. It just isn’t fair. He waltzed into my life, raised my rent, and brought me to the brink of homelessness. Now he’s sitting in my kitchen like he just won a wet T-shirt contest, staring at the waterfall still coming out of the cabinet like he didn’t just wreck my home.
This home isn’t much. My barbershop isn’t much. Most people would walk in here and think it was too small, or too cramped, or too dark. Years ago, my mother tried to shame me into moving back in with her and Dad, because she said an apartment like this was no place to raise a daughter. Her words burned me like hot coals. I hated it—hated feeling inadequate. Hating knowing she was right.
But this place ismine. I made a home here for me and my daughter out ofnothing. My ex-husband left me when I got pregnant because I wouldn’t give up the baby. I put myself through cosmetology school, I built my business, and I gave Bailey everything I could.
And now this oaf, thisblockhead, this richassholeis sitting in my kitchen, staring at the water damage, not understanding thathe just ruined my life.
Anger winds through me like a flame, licking at my insides, coiling around my limbs.
Desmond lifts his gaze to me, taking in my sodden sweatpants and the old pink tank top clinging to my upper body. Heat and cold go to war inside me. My skin feels cool, but just below it, my blood burns.
When Desmond’s slow perusal stops on my face, he has the audacity to frown and say, “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” I seethe. “Am Iokay?”
He unfolds his long body and stands before me, towering above me like some hulking meathead. “You’re trembling.” His giant hands come to rest on my upper arms, thumbs stroking the front of my shoulders. They’re so warm, I almost allow myself to enjoy the touch.
Then I knock his hands away and take a step back. “Look at what you did!” I stomp my foot in the inch-deep water so it splashes us both. “Why? Why did you have to turn the water on? Wasn’t it enough to see the evidence of the leak? Look at this.” I splash my way to the countertop and point at the cracked laminate. “How am I supposed to use this kitchen now? Your stupid, hard headbroke my countertop.”
It’s the silliest thing to be upset about. I should be mad that every single one of my towels is in a wet clump on the floor, and that there’s an inch of water everywhere. I should be mad that my shoes, which had been stored by the back door, are now floating by the kitchen table. I should be mad that neither I nor my daughter can bathe, cook, or live in the only home she’s ever known.
I should be mad about a lot of things, but I’m finding myself staring at the countertop that came up against Desmond Thomas’s hard head—and lost. And that’s making me very, very angry.
Desmond lifts his hands. “Mia. Calm down.”
The words hit me like bullets. “Calm down,” I repeat, a trembling starting in my toes and slowly making its way up my legs. I spin slowly, trying to burn a hole through my landlord’s forehead with my gaze. “Calm down? Did you just tell me to calm down?”
“Mom…” Bailey clings to the corner of the wall, staring at me with worried eyes.
“Bailey—” It comes out too harsh, so I take a deep breath. “Baby, can you go to your room and pack up some clothes for tomorrow? We’re going to sleep in a hotel tonight.” It’s not like I have any other options. My parents sold their home and took off on a round-the-country RV tour in their retirement, and my sister lives on the East Coast.
I have friends now, sure, but I just met them after years of keeping to myself. I can’t exactly call them up and ask to crash on anyone’s couch. The thought of asking for a favor gives me hives.
Bailey doesn’t move, just flicks her gaze between me and our landlord. Then she nods.
“Don’t forget your toothbrush and your gym class uniform,” I tell her after she’s disappeared down the hallway. My voice is full of tension, but at least I can breathe again.
I turn back to the landlord who’s made my life infinitely harder than it needs to be. His lips are pinched and a muscle feathers in his cheek as he stares at the destruction in the kitchen. He stands with his hands clamped on his hips, tension written in every line of his body.
Good.
He should be tense. He should feel guilty. He should feel like the worst person in the world right now, because he basically is. Who says they need to call a plumber, then proceeds to cause a geyser in their tenant’s kitchen? Who makes someone’s home unlivable, thenlaughs?
I can’t even look at him right now. I turn my back on my gigantic, hot idiot of a landlord and grab my phone from the table. Thank God it was on the table. If I’d had to shell out money for a new phone on top of everything, I would’ve lost it.
Well—I would’ve lost it more than I already have.
