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I smile as I remember how Ben used to slouch around in cargo pants and baggy t-shirts. He sort of had a skater boy vibe back then. These days, he seems to live in a pair of ripped jeans and a well-fitted t-shirt—if he’s even wearing a shirt at all—whatever the weather. The new look is definitely sexier. But as I think of Benjamin, my blood starts boiling all over again.
When he gave me the grand tour of Rose Manor yesterday, it was like an episode of Celebrity Cribsfrom hell. He sheepishly pointed out one issue after the next. On top of that, he’s so dense, he hadn’t even noticed all the problems. I had to flag some major hazards, like a sagging beam in one of the bedrooms. How do you miss something like that?! Especially if you’ve been camped out here like a crazy person for six months. At least now I know why the tabloids haven’t been able to track Benjamin down for the past half a year. He’s been hiding out here.
Ding-dong!
I start in surprise as the doorbell rings. It must be the contractor. Now we can see how much of a fix-up Rose Manor really needs.Please let it not be as bad as I’m anticipating,I think to myself, biting my lip anxiously. I scamper down the hallway and down the stairs, entering the front hall just as Benjamin emerges from the living room, looking sleepy and disheveled.
“Were you still asleep?” I hiss at him in annoyance.
“Yeah, of course, it’s not even 10 AM,” he replies. “Who’s at the door? The plumber?”
“The plumber was already here this morning, which you apparently managed to sleep through,” I say in annoyance.
“Nice, so we’ve got running water again?”
I ignore his question, but I can’t help flashing back to my moment in the shower this morning. I remember the feeling of the water running over my body, the tingle of lust between my legs as I fantasized about Benjamin’s chiseled torso and rock star attitude. I picture him now, standing under the shower himself, the water running over his shoulders, chest, and back, individual droplets running down through those deep muscular indents on either side of his torso, leading right down to his—.
“Uh, Lace?” Benjamin calls me back to the moment.
Ben’s voice snaps me out of my daydreaming, and I try to hide the blush that wants to creep up my cheeks. “This is a contractor, here to do a home inspection,” I continue. “I want a professional to give this place a thorough look, so I can get a sense of what all these repairs will cost.”
“Well, it’s not gonna be cheap,” Benjamin says with a yawn.
“Very helpful,” I reply icily.
“You’re moving awful fast on all of this.”
“I told you, I’m working on a deadline here,” I snap back at him. He’s both annoying and useless, a truly terrible combo. “You can help by getting that recording studio moved ASAP.”
“Hey, I—”
Ding-dong!
The doorbell cuts us off before we can continue our spat.
“Hey, at least we know the doorbell works,” Ben says with a cheerful smile.
I give him my harshest death-stare and ignore him. What a jerk. Without paying him any more attention, I swing open the front door.
“Miss Kincaid?” The man at the door wearing the hard hat and the clipboard asks quizzically. He’s dressed in jeans, workman’s boots, and a checked button-down shirt. The shirt is tucked into his pants, and his belly, protruding over the waistband, strains against the buttons.
“That’s me,” I say with a smile. “Please, come in.”
“Gary Johnstone, pleased to meet ya.” Gary steps inside, eyeing the place dubiously. “So you want a top-to-bottom evaluation, according to what ya said on the phone?”
“Yes, please. We’re hoping to sell, but we want to make some repairs first.”
Gary smirks ever so slightly when I mention that we’re hoping to sell. I choose to ignore him.
“And this is—” I cut myself short as I turn around to introduce Benjamin, only to notice that he’s disappeared completely. What the hell? “Never mind,” I say quickly, turning back around.
“All good?” Gary asks, looking at me like I’m totally nuts. I can’t blame him. Benjamin’s dirty clothes and dishes are still piled around.
Now I look like the crazy hermit, not him.Great.
“Fine!” I say quickly, a false note of cheeriness in my voice. “Shall we get started?”
“Sure thing. I usually like to work top-down, if that’s alright,” Gary says, gesturing with his clipboard to the stairs leading upstairs.
