Chapter 11 Studs and Screws
STUDS AND SCREWS
MOLLY
Grey looks both smug and relieved as we shake on our deal.
"Now, go put pants on like I asked."
"You didn't ask," I note, but turn for my room.
He harumphs, but I hear him bustle about in the kitchen while I change.
What a weird, wonderful morning.
I mean, I could have done without the puking, but I woke up to a shirtless wolf daddy in my living room.
Good freaking god, the man is so well built--abs for days, tan skin, a dark dusting of chest hair.
He even has those lines, the ones above his hip bones that angled down into the waistband of his jeans.
If all that is in thanks to his protein burritos, I hope I haven't made a terrible mistake in offering to feed him.
Not gonna lie--I'm a little sad he slept with pants on, but I'll count my blessings where I get them.
And then he went about, taking care of things.
Like breakfast. The trash. Washing pans.
Usually when people do things for me, like my parents, I feel condescended.
But Grey makes me feel… I don't know. Like he's not taking care of things because I'm a baby, but because I'm a princess.
I don't hate it. Not one little bit. Like, the patriarchy is so strong, the sight of a big, bearded, muscly man with the neck of a trash bag in his fist drenched my drawers. Flooded my basement. Nuked my knickers.
God, I wish I wasn't a stupid virgin and could fool around with him.
I'd just embarrass myself. Assuming he'd even be interested.
Which, other than his penchant for fixing things, he's shown no clear sign of.
Not clear to me, at least. Maybe a little?
Or did I imagine it because I have a little crush on him?
Who knows. Not me. I have literally no idea what I'm doing. I've read books. I've watched my share of porn. I've seen Euphoria. I'm not afraid of sex—it's the execution part I'm iffy on.
Since we're working on the house today, I put on a pair of Cass's leggings, a tee, and a Rambler's sweatshirt, pulling on a pair of tennies. My phone is stacked with messages, and I take a minute to let Cass, Carlin and Mom know I’m alive and well before I’m on my way out.
Thankfully, I catch a glimpse of myself--my hair is insane.
I can't believe I just had that whole conversation and breakfast with him with my hair looking like I came in from a tornado. All it's missing is a couple of sticks.
Finally ready, I meet Grey in the living room, grabbing the doorknob. It doesn't open easy, and I have to use a second hand to unjam it.
"Burglar bait," he says as he passes.
It--of course--won't close and.Annoyed, I pull too hard, splintering the frame. But it's shut. I smile, gesturing to it.
"See? Fixed."
He shakes his head, but his eyes twinkle a little.
I live for a twinkling.
Bounding behind him, I'm surprised I don't feel worse.
I followed all his instruction though, so I guess that helped.
Getting in his truck, I'm hit first with the smell of rubber and sweat and leather which I find oddly arousing.
Then, the memory of being in the truck last night, laughing and singing and drinking my Gatorade like a good girl.
I remember when he brought me all the things I might need, and when I grabbed his hand and begged him to stay.
Oh my god. I asked him to sleep in my bed. I nearly die on the freaking spot at the realization, my flush deepening when disappointment that he didn't take me up on it follows. I might as well have asked him for a million bucks.
He's not interested. That just proves it.
My house is just a few blocks from downtown, so we're at Hal's Hardware in no time.
This place has a smell to it too, rubber again and fresh cut wood and something else.
Maybe this is what a can-do attitude smells like.
I chuckle at myself and Grey gives me an amused look that says something like, What's funny?
For a guy who I've only seen fully smile a couple of times, his face is oddly expressive.
I swear he can speak full sentences with nothing but the muscles between his temples and hairline.
"What kind of food do you like?" I ask as we wander deeper into the store. Well, I wander. He beelines like he could find what he needs in his sleep. "Any special requests?"
"I'll eat just about anything. But fair warning, the last person to cook for me was my grandma. The bar's high."
"Is she…"
"Yeah, she died what…almost fifteen years ago. She was ninety-four." The fact gives him a moment of pause, but then he moves on. "How about you just cook on the days I'm over there fixing things?"
I leave my questions for another time. "Every day. My house. After practice."
He's frowning. "What if I have a game?"
"I'll meet you there with Tupperware in hand."
He humphs again, and I know I've won. "You're not gonna give it up, are you?"
"Nope!"
Grey sighs heavily. "Fine. But not next week. I'm slammed. We'll start after. Saturday, if you're free for me to come over and get to work."
A flittery, fluttery feeling whispers through me. "I'm free."
And that's that.
I didn't notice he grabbed a little hand basket, too busy smelling things like a weirdo, I guess.
But as I follow him from aisle to aisle, he seems to know everyone, traversing the store like he's already mapped out the most efficient path to pick up everything on the list between his ears.
So far, he's collected parts to fix the cabinets, my porch light, weather stripping, two doorknobs which he made hard eye contact on putting in the basket.
There's a bunch of stuff in there with it, but I'm not sure what it all is.
When we stop in the very overwhelming nail and screw aisle, I peek inside and move things around so I can see.
I snort the rudest laugh and pull a box out, displaying it for him like he didn't see it when he put it in there.
"Stud finder. This is a stud finder."
That one corner of his lips flickers up a little. "It's what they call the support beams behind dry wall--it beeps and lights up when you slide it across the wall. Though you probably have plaster walls. I forgot to look, but you should have one in your toolbox anyway."
I'm still laughing, then move it through the air, beeping at intervals that speed up the closer I get to him until finally it's in front of his gigantic biceps and I just go beeeeeeeeeeep!
He's smirking when he takes it from me and puts it back in the basket.
But I'm hovering over it again. "Fuses? Why are there switches?"
"Because your lights flicker, the switch sparked when you flipped it, and that house should have been condemned.
Don't mess with the electric. I'll show you how to use the fuse box later.
" He picks up a pack of assorted nails and screws in a plastic case, then moves on to anchors and bolts, grabbing what he needs almost without looking.
"Come here often?" I ask, impressed.
I earn one of those little hmph laughs of his. "I spent more Saturdays here with my grandma than I can count. She was the one fixing things when my parents would take off. At least until her arthritis stopped her. Then it was me fixing things for her."
"Take off? They…they left you?"
He stops in front of some hardware, inspecting them, saying quietly, "They were addicts, Sometimes they were just strung out. Sometimes they'd disappear for a week or two, so I'd stay with my grandma."
Strung out. Gone. His parents were addicts--the thought guts me. A burst of questions explodes in my mind, but before I can ask, Hal says, "Hey, it's my best customer."
They greet each other fondly. I mean, fondly for Grey, which is a ghost of a smile and that twinkly eye situation.
"It's true," Hal tells me. "He's been coming here since he was ten. Learned how to patch drywall about then, didn't you, son?"
"Yessir."
"He learned from the best," Hal continues. "That woman could outfix any man in town. She worked at the steel factory during World War II. Tough as nails. I once saw her rewire a ceiling fan with nothing but a butter knife and some duct tape."
I wish I knew how impressive that actually was, but I've never seen the inside of a ceiling fan. So I chuckle amiably.
"Chip off the old block." Hal claps Grey on the shoulder. I get the distant sense he's trying to talk Grey up to me. "Don't want to know what half the town would do without him."
"You done, Hal?"
"Oh, I guess. Whatcha working on?"
"Molly bought the old Genoa house."
"Ah," he says, nodding. "Maybe I should get you a bigger cart."
"Maybe next time. Just need to fix a couple of urgent things for now to get her by. She's gonna learn how to do it all herself."
"A commendable skill. Well, let me know if you can't find anything."
At that, Grey laughs.
"You know, someday I'm gonna move things around just to mess with you."
"Scavenger hunt. I like it."
We say our goodbyes, and Hal leaves, stopping at a man with his little girl to ask if they need help.
When I glance at Grey, he's watching the man and his little girl with a look on his face I can't place.
"You know, if my players get one thing from me, I hope it's the knowledge that somebody gave enough of a shit to teach them something useful."
Something in my chest twists at the way he says it, but then the moment is gone. He jerks his chin toward the registers.
"Come on, peaches--let's go fix some shit."
And I follow him, smiling.