The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,3
Black-haired, petite, tattooed and pierced ex-girlfriends used to be my type. Now, it’s a woman who’s anything but. This one may look like a sexy Barbie, but she’s arrogant as hell. I don’t think it’s any coincidence every entitled chick I’ve come across in my thirty-five years hails from or is heading to the city.
If I’m expecting an apology from this woman, it’s clear I’m not going to get one. But I still have to piss, and now that I’m aware of it, the situation’s getting serious.
“If the repairman isn’t here in the next ten minutes,” Amelia announces, “I’ll have to fix the toilet myself, and getting dirty in expensive clothes makes me very, very cranky.”
Pretty sure I’d like to see her in her stuffy outfit on the bathroom floor getting dirty.
A few people groan.
I open my mouth to ask how much crankier she can get, maybe even lighten the mood with a joke, but Sadie shakes her head quickly, warning me off.
Instead, I ask, “Didn’t you say there were four men on this floor?”
“Yes.”
“Why can’t one of them fix it?”
Amelia throws back her head and laughs, but it sounds more controlled than carefree. “Has hell frozen over? These boys wouldn’t know a wrench if I knocked them upside the head with one. And believe me, I’ve considered it.”
I check my watch, though I’m not sure why. I’ve got nowhere to be—except, hopefully, the toilet. “You got tools here? I’ll take a look.”
“Andrew’s extremely handy,” Sadie says.
Amelia doesn’t miss a beat. She motions for me to follow her. “Right this way, handyman.”
The pitter-patter of feet follows us as we continue down the short hallway. “Can I help?” Bell yells after me.
Amelia glances over her shoulder at me. “Is that your child?” she asks, as if she’s accusing me of something.
“Yeah. There a problem?”
“No.” She shrugs a shoulder before opening a door to a closet. On the floor sits an impressive steel caddy. “But why does she want to help fix a toilet?”
“Because like her old man, she knows the way to get shit done is to do it yourself. Maybe if you knew how, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Oh, I know how,” she says, glancing back at me. “I just choose to have others do it for me.”
Before I can stop the image, I picture Amelia in the bathroom again, this time bent over, her skirt riding up the backs of her thighs. I shake the thought away, not even sure where it came from. If anything, she embraces a lot of what I avoid in women. Her clothes are all class, her hair and makeup perfect, and she seems more delighted than apologetic about mistaking me for a plumber. I’m either insulted or impressed that she’s got me doing her bitch work within minutes of meeting me.
Ignoring her last comment, I turn and squat to Bell’s level. “I got this, kid. Go wait with Aunt Sadie.”
Her eyebrows vault together. “But I want to help,” she whines. “You said I’m good with tools.”
“Honey,” Amelia says from above us, “when a man offers to do your dirty work, let him. Always.”
I look to Sadie for help, who seems to notice my irritation and immediately calls Bell back.
When Bell’s out of earshot, I stand and turn to Amelia. “Do not put that kind of bullshit in my kid’s head,” I warn.
Once again, an apology doesn’t even seem to occur to her. Two dimples dent her cheeks as if she’s holding in a smile. “How is that bullshit?”
“I’m not raising an entitled, spoiled brat. Bell’s toilet needs fixing, she’ll know how to do it herself.”
“Are you calling me an entitled, spoiled brat?”
I look her over. It’s hard to ignore the way her skirt accentuates her small waist and comes right up under her tits. She does have one thing in common with Shana, and that’s a great rack. I return my eyes to her face. “If the skirt fits . . .”
Amelia glances down at her outfit quickly and then points to the tools. “Well, I won’t try to change your mind,” she says. “Now, how about that toilet?”
TWO
Downstairs, I walk Sadie and Bell to their subway station. “Maybe we should get dinner before you go,” I say. “Bell hasn’t eaten since . . .”
“Since?” Sadie prompts.
“The ride here.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I’ve already got a meal planned at home. Nathan and I went grocery shopping last night.”