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“I was thinking that someone needs to feed you properly.” He leans against the island with his eyes trained on me, causing me to conjure an inappropriate image in my mind.
Realizing that I’m only wearing a thin tank top and shorts, I cross my arms over my chest.
“I eat just fine,” I protest.
“I doubt that,” he muses, stepping over to my refrigerator and taking a peek inside.
There are a few yogurt containers, eggs that I’ll probably never cook but thought about, and almond milk for my coffee.
Adrian laughs, shaking his head, and I push the refrigerator door closed. Standing mere inches from him, I can feel the heat emanating from his body. “Is this how you treat all your customers? Go through their fridge and judge their eating habits?” I ask.
He leans against the refrigerator door, casually crossing his ankle over the other while raking his eyes over my body. “Only the ones I fuck.”
I should be used to it by now, but his dirty words still shock me. If I had taken a sip of my coffee, I would have spit it out all over his t-shirt.
He makes my heartbeat flutter rapidly against my chest and heat skitter across my skin. “Wow, you’re pretty fucking forward. What happened to keeping things professional?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Your rules not mine, and that means you shouldn’t be eye fucking me,” he says, leaning towards me. “But don’t stop, I like it.” His cocky smile infuriates and turns me on at the same time.
“I wasn’t eye fucking you,” I lie, taking a step back, because obviously being in the same space as him is dangerous.
Adrian chuckles disbelievingly.
“Pretend,” I warn, moving to the kitchen island, creating an even bigger distance between us. “You’re here to do my flooring, nothing else.”
Adrian stands with his feet apart, his thumbs hooked into his jeans causing them to sit low on his hips. He gives me an amused expression as if he’s only humoring me by getting down to business. “So what were you thinking of doing?”
Squaring my shoulders, I meet his eyes. “Get rid of all of it,” I say, picturing the ugly tile and carpet gone, replaced with something fresh and new. It feels like it’s time to make some changes.
Adrian gestures to the living room and I follow. “Pulling up the carpeting won’t be a problem,” he says. “But it’s the tile that’s going to be messy,” he explains, walking back into the kitchen and looking down the hall towards the bedroom as I follow him. “I’d have to use a jack hammer,” he demonstrates using an imaginary jack hammer, “to break it open,” he finishes, winking at me.
Picturing him in my home, jack hammering tile, is an image that I may have to take with me to bed tonight. My eyes travel down his tanned arm, the muscular cords in his forearms stretching, and the tattoos covering the entirety, even the one’s etched below his knuckles. He is so different from any other man I've been with, and maybe that’s what is so attractive about him.
“Do you know what you want?” he asks, pulling my attention back to meet his eyes, and by the smirk on his face, he knows I was checking him out again.
Leaning over the island, I play with the decorative bowl that sits near the center, rearranging its contents as I contemplate. Finally, looking around the room, I push my hair to the side.
“Something light to brighten up the space, don’t you think?” I ask, turning towards him, noticing how his eyes are fixated on my shoulder. I realize the strap of my tank top has fallen, hanging loosely against my arm. I pull it back up, his eyes tracking my movements as he swallows hard. Afraid what I’ll see when I meet his eyes, I turn away.
“Good choice,” he clears his throat.
Pulling a tool from his pocket, he kneels down and positions the laser to get an accurate measurement of the kitchen.
“Coffee?” I offer while he works, looking for something other than him to focus on.
“Sure,” he says, straightening up and looking at me over his shoulder.
“How do you take it?” I ask, feeling the side of the pot to test if it’s still warm and then pouring him a cup.
“Black is fine,” he says, and I slide it across the island towards him.
Adrian takes it, holding it in his hands, peering at me over the steam before taking a sip. Holding my own, I follow him into the living room where he stops at the pile of DVDs sitting on the end table, stopping to check out the titles.
“Your kids?” he asks, picking up my well used copy ofSixteen Candles.
Noelle and I had watched it weeks ago; the same weekend I’d first met Adrian at theTap Room. Not embarrassed by my choice of movies, I take it from him and say, “It’s my favorite.”
He nods without judgment, walking towards the back patio and stopping to admire the view. Water cascades over the stone shelf that drops into the Roman style pool. It looks very inviting now as the room begins to heat up, even though my a/c is turned low.
