Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Bobby
Who knew shopping for a house could be so much fun? It helps that I have the hottest realtor in all of Tampa and following her around house after house is no hardship. When I drop Molly off at the realtor’s office and she safely goes inside, I do start to wonder if a pencil skirt fetish is a thing. Like, is there a support group? Or maybe just a Reddit thread where we can discuss why a simple business skirt can lead a man to lose his goddamn mind? Kaitlyn’s voice floats through my brain, reprimanding me for being an asshole for having dirty thoughts about my realtor.
“I could really use a beer right now,” I say out loud as I zoom down the road toward my high-rise. My truck responds in a custom aftermarket Aussie accent, asking if I need directions. Wolverine really is the greatest vehicle ever made. I’ll fight you if you disagree.
“Fuck.” Now it’s Coach’s voice in my brain, the tone sarcastic and lacking even a hint of respect as he tells me to clean up my act. “No thanks, Wolverine.”
I look out the passenger window as I pass The Irish Rogue, the bar Richie works at, and make longing, kissy faces at it. My hands grip the wheel, wanting to turn in and have a quick beer before I head home, but my gaze snags on something on the floor. The light turns red and I stop, reaching down to grab a small glass bottle. I hold it up to see what it is, but the scent of berries, jasmine, and what can only be sandalwood hits my nose. Fuck. This is Molly’s perfume. Even if she hadn’t been sitting in my car earlier, I would have known this was hers from the scent alone.
When the light turns green, I cross a few lanes when it’s safe and flip a U-turn, heading back to the realtor’s office. I could wait and hand it back to her next time I see her, but why can’t the next time be right fucking now? Seeing Molly is pretty much the only thing better than stopping for a beer and since I can’t do that, Molly it is.
The realtor’s office is dark now, which I should have anticipated. I blow out a disappointed breath and start to turn the wheel in yet another U-turn, thinking Molly has already left for home. But then I see her standing next to the most hideous car ever made, a yellow Kia Soul. The hood is up, and Molly has her hands on her hips like the power of her frown alone will fix all the many things wrong with that car. I pull into the parking lot and slide out before I have a plan in mind.
“Everything okay?” I ask stupidly.
Molly’s head whips up and her ponytail goes flying. One hand grabs her chest, and I hold my hands up in peace. Her hand leaves her chest to rub her forehead when she sees it’s me. I walk over to her side to assess the engine that looks almost as bad as the outside of this thing.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Molly answers, voice sounding stressed. “It won’t turn over, and the normal trick isn’t working. I was about to call my neighbor for a jump.”
I puff out my chest. I grew up with four brothers and a dad who tackled any and all problems, even if we should have called a professional. I feel compelled to fix this if for no other reason than male pride. “I have jumper cables in the truck. Let’s see if we can get you on your way.”
Molly looks over at me with so much relief and hope in those gorgeous hazel eyes, I feel a little like Superman when he arrives on the scene in his superhero outfit. Except without the chafing. Those skintight briefs always looked a little uncomfortable. I much prefer my hundred percent organic bamboo funderpants. I give Molly a confident smile and turn for my truck. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but I find the portable jump starter the dealership gave me when I bought the truck. I wrap the cables around my fist and look for a power button on the main unit.
“So, I haven’t actually used this thing before,” I admit as I turn the damn thing around for a third time and still don’t see a power button.
Molly laughs softly and takes the cables from my hands. “Well, the first problem is that one of the clamps is broken.” I look up and see the red clamp dangling uselessly from her hands.
“Well, damn.” There goes my superhero confidence.
Molly holds up a single finger and her eyes light up. “Hold, please.” She hustles to the passenger side of her car and rummages around. I would have asked a follow-up question, but she’s bent over, that heart shaped ass in the tight pencil skirt that teased me all evening aimed in my direction. My brain pretty much goes completely offline.
She straightens with the most adorable “aha!” I have to rip my gaze away so as not to be caught ogling my realtor in the dark behind the realty office. She comes back over and holds up a paperclip.
“Are we going to collate something?” My mom used to do all the flyers that would go into our backpacks at my elementary school. I can’t tell you how many papercuts I sustained from helping her get the flyers organized. Paperclips almost set off a PTSD situation for me.
Molly’s teeth bite into her bottom lip as she unbends the paperclip and starts to wrap it around the broken clamp. My gaze decides watching her lips is totally acceptable behavior. There are the barest remnants of red lipstick on her mouth. Something about it makes me want to pull her lip away from her teeth and smear the last of the lipstick across her chin with my thumb. Or maybe my tongue.
“Aha!” Molly exclaims again, holding up the clamp.
I startle, realizing I’ve been lost in a fantasy about kissing my realtor and taking her up against that blocky little car of hers. Molly’s face holds pure delight. I take the red clamp from her outstretched hand and examine it, seeing that she’s somehow MacGyver’d the damn thing into something that might actually work.
“Well, damn, Molly,” I mutter. “If the zombie apocalypse happens, you're on my team.”
Molly’s laugh makes the edges of my mouth turn up automatically. I get the cables hooked up to the right terminals on her battery, which looks like it’s seen better days. Molly holds the portable starter, so I back away and give her a head nod. She must have found the power button because she hits it and the panel lights up with a bazillion green lights. I take it from her and nod to the car.
“Start her up and let her run for fifteen minutes or so.”
Molly rounds the hood and starts the car, which thank god, turns over. She climbs back out, a sheepish smile on her face. Her cheeks are bright red, the state they’ve been in all evening. I place the pack on the edge of her hood and wave her over to Wolverine.
“Might as well sit in the air conditioning while we let it charge.”
She takes my hand and lets me help her into my truck. I get in behind the wheel and message Richie for the number for a good mechanic. He hits me back almost immediately. The guy knows everyone, a perk of the job as a bartender. I place the call to the mechanic shop while Molly looks at me in confusion.
“Hey, can you get a tune-up, oil change, and a battery replacement done tomorrow on a Kia Soul?”
Molly grabs my arm, mimicking slicing something across her throat. I mimic back that I can’t understand her. She tugs more forcefully, but I ignore her antics. The person on the other end of the phone clacks away on a computer and says they can get it done around eleven in the morning. I make the appointment and hang up.
“What the hell, Robert Rhodes?” Molly barks, hands flying in the air. Her swinging ponytail seems as angry as her hands.
My jaw drops, right before I burst out laughing. No one calls me Robert except for my mother on occasion when she wants to piss me off. I sober when Molly doesn’t join in. Her arms are folded across her chest, her knee bouncing up and down rapidly. She’s staring at me like she’s imagining popping me in the nose. She’s got that mom look down pat.
“Molly. That car is barely drivable.” I can’t imagine letting her drive that thing around Tampa at all hours. She’s lucky she didn’t break down on the freeway in the middle of rush hour.
One eyebrow lifts and I’m too slow to realize I’ve stepped into something I shouldn’t have. “That’s my business. You had no right to call a mechanic and schedule an appointment that I will not be able to make.”
“Sure you will. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, take you anywhere you need to go. And I’ll have a tow truck pick up the Kia.” I hold my hands out, palms up. “Problem solved.”
Her mouth gapes open. If it’s possible, she’s even angrier. “A tow truck? Do you have any idea how much that costs?”
“No.” It’s true. I don’t, but I’m sure she has insurance for that kind of thing, right?
Her hands go flying again and I back away, not wanting to get caught in the windstorm they’re creating. “You can’t just go around making people appointments for costly things, mister bigshot hockey man!”
I swallow down a laugh, instinctively knowing it won’t go over well right now. “Mister bigshot hockey man?”
Her eyes are positively terrifying.
I hold up my hands again, trying to see things from her point of view. All I really know about her personally is that she’s a single mom. “Okay, I’m sorry. Truly. I’m sorry for not consulting you, but I don’t think driving that thing out there is advisable. I need a realtor who’s ready to show me a house before someone else snatches it up. I’ll gladly cover the cost of the repairs so you can be ready at a moment's notice. Consider it part of the fee I’ll pay for the house I’ll eventually buy with your assistance.”
“Bobby . . .” she grumbles, head dropping.
Well, at least we’re back to Bobby and not Robert.
I dare to put my hand on her arm, careful to avoid even the slightest brush of my fingers against her breast, even if my pinkie finger thinks he can get away with it. “Please, Molly? Let me help you. No strings attached. Just a bigshot hockey man doing a good deed, okay?”
She’s back to biting her lip and my fingers twitch, desperate to pull that lip away before she does damage. “Fine, but I’ll pay you back from the commissions on the house.”
I nod. “If you feel you must.”
And then she slips out the door and unhooks the jumper cables herself, handing the unit back to me without meeting my gaze. I’m sure she doesn’t love it, but I follow her all the way into a cute but older neighborhood east of Tampa, making sure she gets home safely. I turn around in her neighbor’s driveway and head back to my place, beer long forgotten.
After all that, I forgot to give Molly her perfume, and it might be wrong to put it on the nightstand next to my bed so I go to sleep with her scent clinging to me, but I do feel a little like Superman, knowing I’ve done a good deed in the world. Maybe I should look into a designer cape...