Chapter 23
THEO
There were several universal truths in life. The first was that coffee helped for a hangover, but time helped more, and if all else failed, manual labor could usually be counted upon to beat it into submission.
Back in Chicago, manual labor had usually meant joining Zach and Colin on the golf course or, God forbid, going running when forced to, but here, it meant driving a truck full of renovation supplies over to Raquel’s house.
At least my head wasn’t killing me anymore. It wasn’t exactly thriving either, but I’d had worse. Apparently, Avery, his friends, and I had reached an age where we could no longer drink like college students and not expect to feel the wrath of the liquor gods the next day.
Last night, we’d all believed we were invincible, but the hangover and the stinging scrapes all over my body had proven once and for all that consequences were real. As I turned onto the dirt road leading to her property though, I wasn’t dreading having to spend the whole afternoon painting.
Endless blue skies stretched overhead, and as soon as her house came into view, so did she. My girl.
She was standing on a ladder near one of the front windows, painting a gutter in a white tank top and work pants, both garments already spattered in paint. Her dark hair was twisted up off her neck, showing off the elongated curve of her throat, and the tank revealed a thin strip of her lower back.
I nearly drove into a fence post. God, she’s sexy.
I’d been attracted to her from the word go, but after Friday night, I couldn’t look at her and not remember that curvy body writhing under mine.
I couldn’t not think about the tiny crease that appeared between her eyebrows when she was close or the way she’d swiped her tongue across her lips just seconds before she’d come.
Jesus. I haven’t even parked yet and I’m already hard as a fucking rock. This girl is going to kill me. Dead.
As I got closer, she climbed down from the ladder and turned to face me, smirking. I climbed out of the truck.
“You survived.”
“Barely,” I said honestly. “I think the shower tried to kill me.”
She laughed. “You should be at home, suffering in silence.”
I snorted. “Not a chance. There’s no better cure than being busy.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” she said. “What about electrolytes or sleep?”
“What about pointing me in the direction of the bedroom that needs painting?”
“You’re just all about the bedrooms suddenly, aren’t you?” she teased, motioning for me to follow her.
I smirked, not even trying to deny the truth of her statement. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it. You did invite me over here to paint said bedroom.”
“Oh, I invited you now?”
“You did, and you didn’t even have to say the words. I just felt it radiating from you.”
She chuckled, but I was distracted from the flirting when I walked into her house and realized it looked completely different from the last time I’d been here.
The drywall had been finished and the trim had been installed.
All the flooring in the living room was repaired and the light fixtures had been replaced.
It was a vast improvement, the space completely transformed. I turned in a slow circle, then drifted a little further inside. “Okay. This is ridiculous.”
Her eyebrows rose slowly. “What’s ridiculous?”
“Did you really do all this by yourself?”
“Yes?”
I looked around again, trying to get my head wrapped around the fact that the incredible craftsmanship was hers. “This is impressive, Raquel. Seriously. This room was a disaster the last time I was here.”
“It still is,” she said, but I saw the smile she was trying to suppress. “At least I’m getting there, though.”
“You’re more than getting there.” I wasn’t even just saying it to get into her pants. I was genuinely in awe of what she’d achieved here. “Why the hell did you go into engine repair?”
She frowned at me, those gray eyes clouding with confusion. “What do you mean?”
I waved a hand around to indicate the room. “You’re really fucking good at this. Contracting may just be your actual calling.”
“Maybe, but fixing cars is the family business.”
My heart tripped over itself as I realized that she and I had more in common than I’d thought. I understood better than most how a family business could shape your life before you even knew there was such a thing as career choices.
There was no doubt in my mind that renovation, design, and basic construction were her actual callings, though.
She had the magic touch when it came to designing an interior in a way that totally changed the space, and that took a hell of a lot more than just plonking some new furniture into a room.
“My dad taught us about engines before we even knew how to read,” she said quietly, a fond smile spreading her lips. “Avery and I grew up at the shop. I mean, hell, Dad bought the house behind it and knocked down the wall between the two properties before I could even walk.”
I stared at her, wondering how it was possible that our lives had been so different but also so similar. It was like we were two sides of the same coin, and the realization was so shocking that it nearly knocked me on my ass.
“Weirdly enough, I know exactly what you mean,” I said. “My dad was the same. I think I spent more time at his office growing up than at our house. He was teaching us the tricks of the trade after school long before any of us had time to develop other interests.”
She smiled. “Yeah, that definitely sounds familiar, but I love the shop. I don’t have any regrets. Working with Dad and Avery is amazing and an engine really is my happy place. So yeah. I love design too, but I can’t say I mind being a mechanic instead of a contractor.”
“Who says you can’t do both?”
“I’m already doing both.” She pushed off the door frame she’d been leaning against and led me down the hall. “For now, just fixing up this house is all I have time for anyway. Who knows? Maybe I’ll do it for someone else once this place is done, but in the meantime, this is our project of the day.”
She opened a bedroom door and I followed her in, surprised by the soft, rosy pink paint she’d chosen for the main suite. It was warm, elegant, and definitely betrayed that girly side of herself that she usually kept locked up so tight.
“Pink?” I asked, grinning as I looked back at her. “That’s a surprise.”
“Why? What should I have chosen?” She crossed her arms, apparently feeling a little defensive about her decision. “Engine gray?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, pretending to think it over. “Oil gray could’ve worked too, I suppose. Or is that blue? No, wait. I think it’s actually green.”
She rolled her eyes and threw a paint stirrer at me. “I work with men all day. I rarely have the chance to dress up and I’m constantly surrounded by masculine energy. I won’t apologize for wanting something soft and feminine in my life. Masculinity is exhausting.”
I grinned. “I know, right?”
“The point is that I don’t need a man making comments about the paint color I chose for my bedroom.”
“Fair enough,” I agreed immediately. “In my defense, I actually really like it. I was just surprised, is all.”
“It does look good, doesn’t it?” As she looked around the half-finished room, I saw the pride, excitement, and satisfaction taking shape on her features and in her eyes. “It’s the kind of room I want to come home to.”
I wouldn’t have minded coming home to it either, if I was being honest, but considering where we’d left that whole I’m-not-from-around-here conversation, I didn’t say anything.
The prospect of leaving was already getting harder to face by the minute.
I didn’t need to drag her into my current fantasies.
“Alright,” I said. “Where are we starting?”
She pointed at the far wall. “I left off there before the weekend, so I’d like to pick up from the same spot and then, when that’s done, we can start with the second coat.”
I nodded, already starting to double back to the door. “Sounds good. I’ll go grab the rollers I brought if you’ll roll out the sheeting.”
“Already way ahead of you,” she teased, lifting a roll of plastic sheeting out of a storage container.
By the time I got back, she’d covered the floor in front of the wall and trays of rosy-hued paint were waiting. I handed over a new roller, then got to work myself, finding the edge of the hangover fading as I got into the rhythm of things.
I was just about to comment on how well we worked together when a paint can tipped over. I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but a slight thunk sounded from near my foot, and when I looked down, the paint was spreading across the protective plastic sheet.
“Fuck,” I muttered, immediately bending over to lift it upright and getting paint all over my hand in the process.
Raquel had frozen beside me, but I saw a smile on her lips when I spun to face her. “Well, at least you got it before it all escaped.”
“Yeah, but how’d it fall over in the first place?” I asked, genuinely confused.
She arched an eyebrow at me, amusement lighting up those gray eyes as she stared me down. “How do you think it happened?”
“It wasn’t me,” I protested, showing her my paint-covered hand. “I was just involved in the rescue operation.”
She burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking with it. She ducked her head and clamped her hand over her mouth. I felt my eyes widen as I looked at her, realizing she actually thought it had been my fault.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “It fell over out of nowhere. Clearly, you have a ghost.”
“A ghost?” She was still laughing, forcing the words out before she glanced up at me. “You kicked it.”
“Did not.”
“Did.” She shook her head. “It’s okay, Theo. Seriously. I bought enough of this stuff to paint the whole house with it. You can’t help being clumsy.”
I put my hands up, ready to protest my innocence again, but when I took a step back, I put my shoe directly into the spill and the resulting squelch echoed through the room. Raquel’s eyes flew wide open and she doubled over laughing.
“You’re making it worse,” I groaned, glancing down at my foot right in the middle of the puddle and letting out a deep sigh. “As if the hangover wasn’t bad enough.”
“Maybe you should just stop moving,” she suggested between giggles. “I told you that you should’ve been suffering at home.”
“You seem really happy about all this,” I observed lightly, glancing down at the puddle again as an idea started taking shape in my mind. “How would you feel if it was you?”
“Probably not great, but it’s not me, so…” She trailed off when she realized I was holding my paint-covered hand out toward her. “Theo. No.”
I took a step forward, finally lifting my foot out of the paint but then reaching down to swipe some of it from the side of my shoe onto my fingers. “What?”
“Don’t.” She took a step back, humor still shining brightly in her eyes, but there was suspicion in them now too. “You wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know that.” I moved my hand closer to her arm. “What if I just want to give you a little squeeze? To apologize for the spill.”
“No apologies necessary.” She grabbed a paintbrush off the nearby tray. “I’m armed. If you do it, so will I.”
We stared at each other for only a second, then simultaneously lunged. The brush hit my shoulder, paint smearing across my shirt. I caught her wrist in my hand, rubbing a generous dollop of paint across her skin.
She gasped, then shrieked with laughter.
She wrenched her arm out of my grip and took off running.
I followed immediately, quickly catching up since there were no obstacles in sight.
A loud yelp came out of her when I smeared a streak of paint across that strip of her lower back that had been driving me nuts since I’d gotten here.
“Theo!” she yelled.
“What?” I asked innocently, already retreating. “We’re even now.”
“No, we’re not. You got me twice.”
She lunged with the paintbrush again and she was so fast that I couldn’t block her before she painted a stripe of pink across my cheek. I stared at her, slack-jawed until a smile started spreading across my face. “History will remember this.”
I doubled back for the roller, and for the next few minutes, the only thing I focused on was the paint fight. It was like nothing else existed right then, just me and her having fun and chasing each other around.
By the time I finally managed to corner her near the wall, we were laughing so hard that we were barely breathing, but she shielded her face with her hands and squealed when I advanced on her.
“No, not my face! Please not the face.” She backed up until she hit the wall, and with nowhere left to go, she finally lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t you dare.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Liar!”
I shrugged but held up my hand, now slathered with paint. “How about just a little bit? To match the smear on my cheek. Twins.”
“Noooo,” she begged, her plea dissolving into another laugh.
Leaning in closer, I considered just reaching out and smearing the whole handful onto her face. It was tempting, but her gray eyes fixed on mine, and suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about paint anymore.
Her cheeks were flushed, that dark hair escaping its tie.
She was the only person I’d ever met who was capable of scrambling my brain like this, but as the laughter faded, my hand came up—the clean one—and I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
Winning the war was suddenly the very last thing on my mind.
Raquel’s breath caught as my fingertips stroked across her cheek. Her lower lip slid between her teeth. I groaned and stepped into her, the paint on my hand forgotten, and I reached for her hip and gripped it tight.
She leaned her head back and her hands landed on my chest and pulled me to her. I slid my nose along the length of hers, then cupped her cheek and kissed her. She leaned into me, evidently not caring about the paint anymore either, and hooked one of her arms around my neck.
I honestly didn’t know what it was about this girl, but I couldn’t stay away from her. Even if I knew I should.