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Parker shakes his head. “Nope. She’s forty, man. Probably has a couple of kids.”
“So? I already told you—I’m not interested.” Internally, I’m surprised she’s that much older than me, but I’ve never been one to care about age.
Silence descends upon us, and I debate how long I need to hang here before I can jet without rousing suspicion. Bob Marley wails in the background, and I regret not eating before I came.
Buzz, buzz.
I glance down at my phone.
“There’s her number, man. And never forget I’m the greatest wingman on the planet. Go get some sleep so you can win the job tomorrow.”
Shaking my head, I drop cash onto the bar to cover my drink.
“Something like that,” I grumble. “See you tomorrow.”
But before I even hit the parking lot, I save Elise’s contact info, hopeful I’ll have a chance to use it.
* * *
Even though I get to the Bennett house before eight, a white SUV already sits in the shell driveway. I pull my truck directly behind and do a quick scan of the property.
The exterior of the house looks to be in decent shape—needs clean-up, there are a few loose shutters—but nothing too major. I won’t know about the roof without getting up there, but that’s last on the agenda.
I grab my notepad and pencil, slamming the door shut behind me. Elise leans on the deck rail and waves.
“Hey, good morning!”
Hot damn.
Overnight, I forgot how pretty she is. The sun’s rays spill all around her, the early golden light glinting off tanned skin. Her long ponytail sways in the breeze and I catch the faint scent of her perfume, something light and floral.
My heart pounds hard in my chest and blood pumps hard down south. I wave, climbing the wobbly stairs up to the house.
“Hey.” I scribble on my notepad, trying to look professional and regain my composure.
“Already making notes. Not sure if that’s a good or bad thing,” she jokes, gnawing at the corner of her bottom lip.
“Nothing major so far. Stairs need repair, shutters need fixing. I’m sure you knew that much.”
She nods as shells crunch loudly behind me. I glance over my shoulder, peering into a cloud of white dust.
“What the—” I mutter as Elise’s eyes widen.
A lifted red truck screeches to a halt in the driveway, then the driver’s door slams.
“Fancy meeting you here, Smitty.” Jagger Capelli leans on the door of his truck, his biceps straining the material of his too-tight T-shirt, dark hair gelled straight back.
“What brings you ‘round here this morning, Jagger?” I narrow my eyes at him, fairly certain I’m standing on the deck of the answer.
“Heard the Bennett house might be on the market. Came to take a look.”
Elise clears her throat, squaring her shoulders. “It’s not for sale.”
Jagger eyes her up and down, his icy gaze lingering far too long on her breasts for my liking.
“You heard the lady, Jag. Move along.” I wave my hand at him and he scowls, shoving a hand in his back pocket.
“I’ll give you my card—” Jagger skulks up the driveway and hands it to Elise. “For when you change your mind.” He winks and a hot flash of anger rips through me.
