15. Jess
Jess
After our unfortunate little high five moment, I return to the safety of my crowbar, and we smash and crash the kitchen to smithereens. All while maintaining an appropriate, non-head-fogging distance from each other.
By the time we take a break—around noon—I’m a dusty, tired, sweaty mess and I can’t feel my arms. I’m going to suffer for this tomorrow. This is the most I've worked out in… well, in forever, actually. Working out has never been my thing.
Conor shrugs off his flannel, throws down his safety glasses and gives me a dazzling grin. His t-shirt is damp and clings to his muscles in a way my brain can’t quite handle. That chest was just pressed up against me .
“Come on.” Conor leads me out the back door and into the yard, clutching a cooler in his hand.
It’s another scorcher of a day, and the sun sizzles overhead, searing everything in its path.
The back of Conor’s house is just as gorgeous as the front—a world away from the salmon skin roll monstrosity inside.
The yard is bordered with magnolia trees, and the air is still heavily fragrant with remnants of their recent bloom.
There’s a large patio with built-in bench seating, and a gigantic oval swimming pool.
“Wow,” I croak, my throat dry as the Sahara.
Conor smiles. “I re-landscaped the back yard and re-did the pool the second I got the place. Didn’t want it to go to waste this summer.”
“Can I?” I ask, looking up at him and tipping my head towards the pool.
He raises his eyebrows. Nods. “Go nuts.”
I run towards the water, kick off my shoes, roll up my leggings and plunge my feet in. A rush of cold laps at my ankles and I lean back on my hands, enjoying the contrast of the cool water and the hot sun on my face.
Conor drops down beside me and rolls up his jeans. He dangles his feet in the water next to mine. “I thought you were going to jump in.”
“Maybe I should have,” I reply.
He cracks open the cooler. “Thirsty?”
“Very.” I accept a can of icy soda and press it to my forehead, savoring the stinging shock of the cold on my skin. Then, I pop it open and practically drain the entire thing in a single gulp. The sweet fizz soothes my dry, cracked throat and I moan with pleasure.
Conor watches me carefully, smiling. “You need to stay hydrated in this heat.”
I raise my chin a touch in acknowledgment, trying to keep my mind off the fact that he’s all sweaty and mussed up and oh-so-sexy from all that physical work.
I set the can next to me and take off the flannel shirt before reaching forward to dip my hands in the pool. I splash the water up my arms and onto my face.
“Do you mind?” He gestures to his t-shirt.
My brain drops right out of my head and I can’t respond coherently. All I can do is give my head a little shake, then try—and fail—to avert my eyes as he strips off his t-shirt and chucks it over his shoulder.
I haven’t seen Conor with his shirt off since I ran right into his bare chest on the day we met. The sight is even more majestic than I remember. I can barely drag my eyes away as he reaches into the pool and splashes water over his face.
His skin is smooth and tan, his arms strong and perfectly muscled—but in a way that tells you that he’s the type to hit the gym regularly and look after himself, but not shoot up steroids or post workout videos on Instagram.
He’s not just buff, he’s powerful and masculine with his big, calloused hands and broad shoulders decorated with thick bands of muscle that narrow down to a tapered waist and… holy cow, Batman! Those abs.
All eight of them.
EIGHT.
I counted. Twice.
How on earth did he think I would mind ?
I pick my jaw off the ground long enough to re-engage my brain and ask a decoy question. You know, so my abject staring won't be quite as obvious to everyone within a hundred mile radius.
“When do you think this place will be ready?”
“Can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?” Conor smirks, and takes a sip of his soda.
Yeah, no. Definitely not that.
Even though I know he’s joking, it’s a stark reminder that Conor will be moving out at some point in the near future.
Will he still want to hang out with me when we don’t have the forced proximity pushing us together?
Because I’ve really come to like hanging out with Conor as a friend.
A very hot friend, yes. But still, a friend.
“Noooo,” I say slowly. “It just seems like a lot of work.”
Conor laughs and kicks his right foot, splashing a misty spray of water across the surface of the pool. “A lot of these places involve this much work. You generally get a better return on your investment when they’re total gut jobs.”
Well, if he’s doing work like that all day, every day, that explains the octo-abs.
“Why this one?”
“Hmm?”
“What made you decide to keep this house for yourself instead of flip it? Out of all the houses you flip, what’s different about this one?”
Conor considers this for a long moment, his eyes crinkled in thought.
When he finally speaks, his voice is serious.
“I liked that it looked so perfect outside. It was the house I never knew I wanted, and I fell in love at first sight. Then, I stepped inside and it was the biggest disaster I’d ever seen.
But, I looked beyond the mess. I saw how perfect it could be. I just needed to put in the work.”
He looks at me and shrugs, and it’s such a sweetly vulnerable gesture that my heart squeezes. “I guess, sometimes, everything’s gotta get broken before you can start fresh and build what you want.”
Despite the heat, my skin tingles with goosebumps. Conor might be talking about his house, but to me, his words cut deeper.
I thought that losing Johnny, giving up my apartment, having no job, and slinking home in defeat meant that I had a million pieces of my life to pick up.
But, maybe I don’t need to. Maybe I just need to sweep up those heart-breaking, life-altering pieces and throw them away.
Start over. With a blank foundation to build the life I want .
With the things that mean most to me.
This sinks in and I feel breathless with the thought of what this could mean. For my life, for my future. And, for the first time in a long time, I see possibilities.
“You okay?” Conor places his hand next to mine, just close enough that his pinky grazes my thumb.
I shiver involuntarily. Twice. First, at the delicious sensation of his skin against mine.
Second, at the fact that he doesn’t take his finger away.
It remains pressed against mine. “You look lost in thought.”
I shake my head as a smile slowly creeps over my face. “Not lost. Not at all, actually.”