Blue-Collar Boys - Repairs & Maintenance (Book 2: Steamy Erotic Romance Stories) Read Online Free PDF Page A

dishwasher.  There was a toll-free repair number on its back flap, and in her desperation, Angela dialed.  To her surprise, she was connected to a service representative in India, or Malaysia, or Bangladesh, or one of those wonderful Asian countries that was sprightly awake at 2:30 in the morning.  They told Angela that her dishwasher was still under extended warranty, which meant a new appliance would be delivered to her apartment first thing in the morning. Angela could hardly believe her luck.  Was she still dreaming ?  If so, she never wanted to wake up again.  Angela stumbled through the dark and crawled back into her bed with a newfound love for her broken dishwasher.  But she loved herself even more for buying the extended warranty.
     
    * * * *
     
    The next morning, Angela jolted awake to the sound of her door buzzer.  She had finally fallen asleep around three o’clock in the morning, and consequently, slept through her alarm.  She had forgotten all about her life, her job, and her scheduled delivery.  Now, dazed and half-naked, Angela stumbled out of bed to answer her intercom.
    “Yes?”
    “Dishwasher—” the voice called back.
    Angela buzzed open the front door, then barely had a chance to brush her teeth, brush through her hair, and zip up her red velvet pants before she heard the knock at her door. 
    “It’s open—” she called, slipping on her glasses and slapping on her powder-fresh deodorant.   There was no time for a bra or blouse, so Angela’s delivery man would just have to deal with her braless, button-down pajama top. 
    Angela watched as the delivery man bullied through her doorway with her new dishwasher. 
    “Hallo,” the deliveryman called into the air with his cocky, British accent. “Santa Claus, here.  Have you been naughty or nice?”
    “Nice—” Angela answered slowly. 
    Angela knew that British accent and randy sense of humor.  It had buried itself as a wistful, nostalgic memory, locked away for the past five years.  But now, its familiarity was back and it had taken the surreal form of her dishwasher deliveryman. 
     “Making my way straight to the kitchen—” he confirmed, towing her new dishwasher on an upright dolly through her apartment, carefully navigating between piles of unwashed clothes and towers of last year’s fashion magazines. He lowered her new dishwasher on his dolly and knelt down in front of her broken one.  His arm fished under her sink cabinet to shut off the water supply, and she was certain she recognized the ornamental dragon tattoo that snaked down his neck and around his bicep.
    “I gotta tie-off this old one before installing the new—”  He glanced up at her, his piercing blue eyes flashing like prisms in recognition. “Bloody hell—Sassy, it’s you.”
    And it was him—Shane Cotter.  His crystal eyes and spiked tufts of bleached hair were the same, but his demeanor was different—less juvenile punkrock—more mature defiance.  He wore a navy blue vintage button-up shirt, faded jeans with ripped-knees, and black steel-tipped cowboy boots.
    Angela was immediately disarmed by his use of her nickname: Sassy .  She hadn’t felt sassy in years. 
    “My God, Shane….What are you doing… here ?”  Angela asked, trying to think of something witty to say.  “Delivering dishwashers?”
    “Bollocks, no—” Shane twisted towards the new dishwasher, suddenly remembering why he was standing in Angela’s kitchen.  “Well, yes, but also no.  Clear as mud, right?  This is just a favor for a best mate of mine.  His bloody back went out on him over the weekend and he’s got a wife and a kid and another one on the way, and he’s got no paid sick days.  Can’t afford not to show up, so I told him I’d pop in and give him a hand for a few days.”
    God, of course, he would , Angela thought.  That was so Shane . 
    Shane jumped to his feet and moved closer, scanning her funky glasses with an incredulous