“Oh, hey, Stella!” Smithy says, strolling into the kitchen. “Damn, girl, you look like you were ridden hard and put away wet.”
Stella’s jaw unhinges. “Smith! I was up late studying, asshole.”
Smithy chuckles and winks at her. “I’m just jealous I wasn’t the one doing the riding, is all.”
An unexpected surge of protective jealousy swells in my chest, and I fix him with my glare. “She looks great. Don’t be a dick.”
Smithy’s eyes go wide before ping-ponging between us. “Okay, then, my apologies.”
Stella nudges me with her elbow. “It’s fine. Smithy, I’m here to see my future abode.” She grimaces, leaving no doubt how she feels about this arrangement, then checks her watch. “And I need to leave in twenty minutes, so we should move quickly.”* * *StellaKace and Smithy lead the way out the back door and around the pool. The sliders on the front of the pool house are standing open, and Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” is playing from a wireless speaker.
“We cleared everything out,” Kace says, motioning for me to step in ahead of him. “Then patched the broken tiles with the extras we found in the loft. Today, Smithy and I will be pulling out these old cabinets and prepping for the new ones, which should be delivered on Monday.”
“I think these fuckers were hung with Super Glue,” Smithy says, reaching for the crowbar.
I flinch and step forward. Seeing Smithy with a crowbar is like watching a child pick up a semiautomatic. “Careful, Smith.”
Kace touches my arm and shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
My eyes widen. “Really?” I’d be uncomfortable with Smithy holding a butter knife.
“I’ve worked on hundreds of remodels with him, and he’s surprisingly competent with tools.”
Smithy grins. “Funny—your mom said the same thing,” he says, then he adds in a couple of hip thrusts for good measure.
A cackle rips from my chest, and I smile and feel lighter for the first time all morning. In truth, I’ve been in a shit mood since getting that rude message on Random. Some guys know just what to say to make you feel like trash, and I attract them by the dozen for whatever reason. I turn to Kace. “You’ve done so much work. This is nuts.”
“It hasn’t been as much as you’d think.”
Of course he’d say that. “I have tomorrow off. Tell me how I can help.”
He shrugs. “We were going to paint this weekend, but—”
“I’ll be here. I can’t let you do all this work for me without pitching in a little.”
Kace nods toward the stairs. “Let me show you what we’re working with up here.”
I follow him up, making an effort not to stare at his ass, though if this world were fair and just, I’d get a view of his ass on a daily basis.
Smithy starts singing again, but the lyrics are muffled by the time we reach the landing of the loft. Suddenly, I’m all too conscious of being alone up here with Kace. I should be looking at the wood floors or noticing how big this area feels now that it’s not piled with boxes. I should be appreciating the skylights and imagining what it’d be like to sleep here.
Instead, I’m trying not to stare at Kace and obsessing over what’s happening between us and how it might change when I move in.
“I know there’s not a ton of space up here, but you could easily fit a queen-size bed against that wall, and I’m going to pick up some IKEA closet units to install over there.” He points to the opposite side of the space. When he turns to me, his eyes are bright, and he looks hopeful. “What do you think?”
Flames of embarrassment lick my cheeks. I need to be practical, but I hate that he’s had to do so much just so I won’t be homeless. I want Mom to live comfortably for the first time in her life, and Dean’s plan can make that happen.
My sigh gets caught in my throat as Kace spins me around and presses his mouth to my neck.
“What do you think?” he asks, but before I can answer, he has me pressed against the wall, his hands on my waist, his teeth scraping lightly across my bare shoulder. He drops his voice to a whisper, and the words are a sensuous tickle against my ear. “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you standing on my front porch this morning.”
Tilting my head to the side to give him better access, I loop my arms behind his neck. He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and I bite back a whimper.
“You should probably say something.” He’s still whispering. I swear he’s doing it more to torture me than to be stealthy. “Otherwise, Smithy will get suspicious.” He slips one hand under my shirt and glides his knuckles across my belly.