Rodrigo shoved his hands into his pockets so that he didn’t reach out and caress the vulnerable line of her back, something barely concealed by the gauzy white nightgown and matching robe she wore. “I know you’d have to be at the end of your rope to decide you’re gonna pick up the phone and call me in the middle of the night.”
Abby didn’t answer, just veered to the right through a squared-off arch into a kitchen. The galley-style space had all the necessities and none of the extras, with one narrow, tall window at the end with a table and two chairs beneath it. While functional, the space irritated the crap out of Rodrigo. He knew a bathroom and then a walk-in closet existed beyond the north side of the kitchen wall. On the opposite side of the hallway, behind where he now stood, she had a living area and bedroom, accessed through narrow walkthroughs cut into the wall in a manner as narrow and nonpleasing to the eye as this one.
If Abby would only let him, Rodrigo could do so much with this second floor. He could eliminate or move entire walls. He would open up the whole second level for her, creating a space she could breathe in and that would feel like an actual home rather than a roof and walls that protected her from the elements.
From the second Rodrigo had set eyes on Abby, the workhorse in him wanted to build something for her, something lasting and real, something that showed her his skills and proved he was more than a guy who painted walls, threw down some new flooring, and called himself a contractor because it sounded legit. Beyond transforming her living space, he could build her some sweet custom cabinetry and display cases downstairs for her store too—if she would just fucking say yes so that he could set aside some time to do it.
So far, she kept cockblocking him. Both figuratively and literally. His balls were getting blue, and his hammer was getting rusty waiting.
Yet something in her eyes—an occasional lingering gaze that held long enough to make his dick twitch and his heartbeat pick up speed—kept him coming back and trying again.
Right now, though, Abby wouldn’t make any kind of direct eye contact with him. She wouldn’t with Braden either, for that matter. The cold fluorescent light in the kitchen rained down on her, highlighting the tight, grim smile she clearly tried to make seem airy and effortless. Wasn’t working.
“Beer good for both of you?” she asked.
Braden shrugged out of his jacket, revealing a beat-up USF sweatshirt, and tossed the black leather on the countertop. “I’ll take a bottle. Or a can. Whatever you have.”
As Abby opened the refrigerator, Rodrigo asked, “Are you sure you don’t want something hot that will warm you up inside, Bit? Maybe some tea or cocoa?”
Snapping, fiery blue eyes narrowed at him from a half dozen feet away. “Thinking you know what’s best for me again, Santiago?”
Rodrigo stepped in closer and braced his hand on the open fridge door, leaning into her space. Her pupils flared, but he didn’t back off. “You didn’t call me here to lie to you.”
“I didn’t call you here to parent me or solve my problems either,” Abby said through clenched teeth.
“Then why did you call?” Rodrigo shot back. “You still haven’t said.”
“I did too say.” Abby snapped that retort right back at him fast. “I told you on the phone that I wanted some company. I automatically dialed the two of you.” Her gaze stayed on him. When she spoke again, her tone softened. “I called you first, Rodrigo.” A hint of thickness wrapped itself around his name, and Rodrigo felt like a lead balloon hit heavy in his stomach. “I’m sorry that’s not enough for you,” she added, her gaze finally wavering.
Shit. She needed someone and thought of me first . If he were double-jointed, Rodrigo would kick himself in the ass. Fuck-ing shit.
“It is enough,” he told her. What in the hell was wrong with him, baiting her when she was
Abby didn’t answer, just veered to the right through a squared-off arch into a kitchen. The galley-style space had all the necessities and none of the extras, with one narrow, tall window at the end with a table and two chairs beneath it. While functional, the space irritated the crap out of Rodrigo. He knew a bathroom and then a walk-in closet existed beyond the north side of the kitchen wall. On the opposite side of the hallway, behind where he now stood, she had a living area and bedroom, accessed through narrow walkthroughs cut into the wall in a manner as narrow and nonpleasing to the eye as this one.
If Abby would only let him, Rodrigo could do so much with this second floor. He could eliminate or move entire walls. He would open up the whole second level for her, creating a space she could breathe in and that would feel like an actual home rather than a roof and walls that protected her from the elements.
From the second Rodrigo had set eyes on Abby, the workhorse in him wanted to build something for her, something lasting and real, something that showed her his skills and proved he was more than a guy who painted walls, threw down some new flooring, and called himself a contractor because it sounded legit. Beyond transforming her living space, he could build her some sweet custom cabinetry and display cases downstairs for her store too—if she would just fucking say yes so that he could set aside some time to do it.
So far, she kept cockblocking him. Both figuratively and literally. His balls were getting blue, and his hammer was getting rusty waiting.
Yet something in her eyes—an occasional lingering gaze that held long enough to make his dick twitch and his heartbeat pick up speed—kept him coming back and trying again.
Right now, though, Abby wouldn’t make any kind of direct eye contact with him. She wouldn’t with Braden either, for that matter. The cold fluorescent light in the kitchen rained down on her, highlighting the tight, grim smile she clearly tried to make seem airy and effortless. Wasn’t working.
“Beer good for both of you?” she asked.
Braden shrugged out of his jacket, revealing a beat-up USF sweatshirt, and tossed the black leather on the countertop. “I’ll take a bottle. Or a can. Whatever you have.”
As Abby opened the refrigerator, Rodrigo asked, “Are you sure you don’t want something hot that will warm you up inside, Bit? Maybe some tea or cocoa?”
Snapping, fiery blue eyes narrowed at him from a half dozen feet away. “Thinking you know what’s best for me again, Santiago?”
Rodrigo stepped in closer and braced his hand on the open fridge door, leaning into her space. Her pupils flared, but he didn’t back off. “You didn’t call me here to lie to you.”
“I didn’t call you here to parent me or solve my problems either,” Abby said through clenched teeth.
“Then why did you call?” Rodrigo shot back. “You still haven’t said.”
“I did too say.” Abby snapped that retort right back at him fast. “I told you on the phone that I wanted some company. I automatically dialed the two of you.” Her gaze stayed on him. When she spoke again, her tone softened. “I called you first, Rodrigo.” A hint of thickness wrapped itself around his name, and Rodrigo felt like a lead balloon hit heavy in his stomach. “I’m sorry that’s not enough for you,” she added, her gaze finally wavering.
Shit. She needed someone and thought of me first . If he were double-jointed, Rodrigo would kick himself in the ass. Fuck-ing shit.
“It is enough,” he told her. What in the hell was wrong with him, baiting her when she was
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