Texting With the Enemy (Digital Dating #1) - Marika Ray Page 0,23
him, studying the easy way he handled things like broken down cars, crazy mothers, and spilled wine on shirts.
“Day two and two shirts have bit the dust.” I held up the wrinkled shirt between us and cringed.
Boston only laughed some more. “I might just start going shirtless around you to save myself the trouble.”
My grin withered at the comment. Probably because my armpits started pumping out sweat at the thought of a shirtless Boston on the regular. Why did I like that idea so much when I usually hated the man? Boston’s laughter ended in a cough and then there was awkward silence. Maybe we were both imagining him shirtless. Or maybe he was wondering if I would call HR on him for the comment. Either way I was glad when we pulled up to Mom’s house and I could climb out of the car.
“I’ll be just a second,” I said over my shoulder, hoping Boston wouldn’t be a gentleman and try to come in the trailer. I couldn’t be responsible for the corruption of his lungs.
I helped Mom up the stairs and into the living room. “You sit and I’ll get some juice.”
“Cookies!” she hollered ungratefully, but followed my order to sit down on the couch.
I came back in with a glass of orange juice, one cookie, and her cell phone, which she’d left on the table by the door. “I have to get back to work, but call me if you don’t feel well and I’ll come right back.”
She grabbed the cookie and nearly knocked the juice over in her hurry. “I’m fine, my little worry wart. Just get back in that car and maybe unbutton a couple of those buttons. Remember, it’s all about the boobs!”
I rolled my eyes. “Again, he’s my boss, Mom.”
A throat clearing behind me had me squeezing my eyes shut. Please tell me Boston didn’t just hear that comment from my mother.
“Everything okay?” Boston asked.
Mom batted her hands around, making me move out of the way quickly. Ever been hit by a person wearing a splint? It was like getting hit by a two-by-four. “We’re just fine. Thank you so much for asking, dear. Although, since you’re so handy, could you take a look at the faucet in the kitchen? It’s been leaking all week.”
“Mom! He’s not a plumber. He’s a CEO with an actual job that he needs to get back to.”
“Sure, let me take a look,” Boston said, ignoring my outburst and spinning around to the kitchen not five feet from where he stood. It was a double wide, but it was still a small trailer.
“Since when has your sink been leaking?” I whispered furiously to Mom.
Mom shrugged and tried to hide her smile behind the half-eaten cookie. “Oops. Could have sworn I told you.”
I zipped my lips to keep from yelling at her and followed Boston to the kitchen, where sure enough, the faucet had a steady drip even in the off position. He looked under the sink and then stood up, rolling his lips in to keep from laughing.
“Seriously, let’s go. I’ll call a plumber to come out.” I waved him to the door and an idea hit me. “Wait! I know a plumber!”
Boston froze behind me, but I was too excited by my good fortune to worry about it. Now I’d have a reason to see Chad in person.
“Bye, Mom! I’ll see if Chad can come out here to fix your sink when he’s back in town.” I stepped out onto the porch and nodded for Boston to follow me.
“Who’s Chad?” Mom yelled from the couch.
I ignored her and went down the steps. I wasn’t discussing Chad with Boston here. There was only so much personal stuff I could reveal to my soon-to-be-ex boss. Boston paused again at the door.
“Goodbye, El’s mom,” he said behind me.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon,” Mom said loudly before laughing, the sound mostly a whistling wheeze.
When we’d both gotten back in the car, Boston cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes. “Why are my eyes burning?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Normal after effects of being at my mom’s. You might even have a contact high from all the nicotine that has soaked into every porous surface over the years. Took me two years after graduating high school and moving into a dorm before I got my normal sense of smell back.”
Boston made a right turn, which wouldn’t take us back to West Wines. “Where are we going?”