Chapter 4
Chapter Four
I n the ten minutes it takes for Kimo to leave and come back, I piece together what his plan is. He’s like one of those sex workers who doesn’t let you know they’re a sex worker until you’ve already used their services, and then demands payment. Except in this case, he’s a handyman who pretends to be interested in sex, then leaves a hole in my wall and swoops in to fix it, only to demand payment afterward. I haven’t read about this scam anywhere, but I’m positive it’s the new thing in scamming. I’m also determined that, no matter what, come hell or high water, I will not give that man a single dime.
When Kimo knocks, I leave the chain on the door, scowling at him through the opening. “I don’t have money, you know. I’m a paralegal with student loans. I’m not going to pay hundreds of dollars for a service call I didn’t even make.”
He just laughs. “No offense, but I know. Your apartment is the size of a shoebox. And I told you, I’m not a handyman.” He holds up the bag. “This part cost $10.92. My treat, okay? Much cheaper than dinner and a movie.”
I watch him warily for a moment before reluctantly letting him in. There is a hole in my shower wall, after all, and if I don’t let him try to fix it for $10.92, then I’ll have to pay a real plumber a lot more to do the same thing. “I have you on record saying you aren’t going to charge me anything,” I warn him, holding up my phone to show him I’ve been recording our conversation.
I expect him to get defensive, tell me I’m paranoid or crazy, but he just laughs again and shakes his head like we’re old friends and I’m up to my usual shenanigans. “Good to know you’re into recording things. I’m going to keep that in mind for later.” He winks at me as he goes into the bathroom.
I frown at his back, following close on his heels. First I’d assumed his decision to fix the shower was a way of getting out of having sex. Then I thought he was trying to hustle me. Now, he’s flirting again? I don’t understand what’s going on. What game is he playing, anyway?
Whatever it is, he’s now five minutes over his allotted time for the night. I wanted to be in bed by now, alone, watching a rerun of Full House . Instead, I have to babysit this “brah” from the gym to make sure he isn’t breaking any more plumbing fixtures in my house. “How long is this going to take?”
“Just a few minutes.” Kimo makes himself at home on my bathroom floor, fishing out the new part and examining the hole in the wall for a moment before he gets to work.
I won’t even pretend to know how to describe what he’s doing, but it’s obvious he knows his way around a shower valve. I watch as he tinkers around for a few moments, fitting in the new piece. Then he replaces the valve, lining it up and twisting it back into place. He turns the shower on, then shuts it off again—this time with no dripping.
He grins at me, not bothering to hide how pleased he is with himself. “Told you. Simple.”
I blink in surprise. I’ve never seen someone do something like that before. The kind of guy I usually go for is more the white-collar type who hires someone to do the handiwork around his apartment. On the rare occasion I’ve splurged on a repairman myself, I’ve just let them do their thing while I was in the other room. Seeing someone just take on a task like that, all confident and capable... it’s kind of hot, I’m surprised to find.
“Thank you,” I tell him reluctantly, gathering myself. “Do you, um...are you sure you don’t want some money for that?”
Kimo rises to his feet, slowly, so that now he’s towering above me, looking down at me. There’s barely enough room for two bodies in my teeny tiny bathroom, and we’re close enough I can feel his heat. I bet he runs warm; I bet being wrapped up in him would feel like curling up in an electric blanket. His bigness strikes me all at once again, making me feel, uncharacteristically, small in comparison. I’m a tall girl, and I’m slender but athletic, so I’m not used to feeling so...so...dainty. Everything about this scenario—his man bun and flip-flops and hands faintly tinged with grease—shouldn’t be sexy, but somehow it is. He smirks at me like he can read all of this on my face. I swallow.
“You have me on the record saying I wouldn’t charge a fee, remember?” He waggles his eyebrows at me—which again, should not be hot, but I find myself pressing my knees together in response. “Besides, I can think of some other ways you can thank me.”
Ohhh. The heat that shoots through me takes me by surprise. I take in a steadying breath before tilting my head up at him. “Should we move into the bedroom?”
I’m giving him my best bedroom eyes, and I can tell from Kimo’s slow, approving appraisal of my body that it’s working, even though he’s still smirking at me. I thought this guy was going to be a pushover, but he might just give me a run for my money, I realize, looking into his hazel eyes, sparkling with mischief.
“Nah,” he says.
For a moment I just stare at him, flabbergasted. Then I blink, stepping back. “Nah?” I haven’t had every man in the world falling at my feet, but never have I offered sex to a man only to have him say nah in return, like I was offering him a cold piece of pizza for breakfast.
“It’s late,” he says. “I got an early day tomorrow. I imagine you do, too, Miss Paralegal. Rain check?”
I seem to have lost the ability to speak. It takes me a full minute to stammer out a, “I don’t know. We’ll have to see. I have a pretty full schedule.” Ha! Two can play that hard-to-get game.
He grins. “I bet you do. But I’ll make it worth your time.”
I want to retort something grumpy like, You better since you’ve already wasted so much of it , but before I can, he takes me by surprise and leans in. One hand fists into my T-shirt, gripping it at my waist so the material rises up a bit, giving him a glimpse of my panties in the mirror behind me. He pulls me in a bit closer so our fronts brush together. I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he sort of nuzzles at my ear and jaw for a moment before kissing my cheek, ghost-light.
“Good night, Matilda Markov.” He pulls back, no longer smiling, eyes sparking at me with heat. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”
* * *
It isn’t until about half an hour later, after I’ve used my rabbit to finish the job Kimo started and am curled up in bed, watching Full House on my laptop, that I realize his shortsightedness.
“You idiot,” I grouse to myself. “You didn’t even get my phone number.”
Oh well. The encounter was always meant to be a brief, fleeting, ships-in-the-night kind of thing, anyway. Despite the sexual charge between us, there was no way he was going to be the Uncle Jesse to my Aunt Becky. Not that I even want that—the domesticity thing, I mean, not the John Stamos of it all, because I most definitely want that, please and thank you.
But I’m a little disappointed, though not surprised, to realize Kimo is just like so many other men—so full of potential, but ultimately nothing but empty promises.