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A kiss that reached my soul.
THIRTY-TWO
Smith Everette
“You there?” Zane asked through the sound system of the Escalade.
“Yep. Just pulled up.”
“She there?”
The “she” being Aria Taylor. The latest social media personality to hit it big. After watching hours of her videos I understood why. Not only was the woman gorgeous in overalls, hair pulled into a ponytail hanging out the back of a baseball cap, face free of makeup, making swinging a hammer or using a drill look damn sexy, but she ratcheted up the sex appeal by knowing how to use the hammer she was swinging, the drill she was whirling, and whichever type of saw she was using in her videos. Hell, the fact she knew the difference between a coping saw and miter saw was enough for her male followers to get a hard-on. That coupled with her sweet, sexy, girl-next-door pretty, it didn’t take a marketing expert to understand why she’d gained the popularity she had.
But she was a fuckuva lot prettier in person carrying a bag of trash to the garbage bins at the side of her house.
“Yep.”
“Call me after you talk to her.”
“Copy.”
I disconnected the call and watched Aria toss the bag into the can and make her way back into the garage for no other reason than I liked the way she moved. It didn’t hurt her ass looked phenomenal in a pair of supremely faded pair of Levi’s. The fact those jeans were faded due to use and not trendy fashion was dead-ass cool.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t there to stare at the woman’s ass.
Her neighborhood was nice, as it would be, situated near the water just over the Bay Bridge on the north side of Route 50. Closer to the water—either side of the peninsula the Chesapeake or the Chester River, middle income would turn to upper. Waterfront would turn to wealthy. Her house was the nicest on her block. Not surprising with her occupation. What was surprising however, was she’d done all the work herself, only calling in day laborers when the job required more. It was impressive and not because she was a woman. The closer I got to her front door the more the craftsmanship became evident, her impressive skill level becoming clearer. The woman knew what she was doing.
I was admiring the shiplap planking of her wraparound porch when the door suddenly opened. Startled brown eyes locked on me from behind the storm door. And when I say locked, what I really mean was they held me hostage.
Until the fear registered.
“I’m Smith Everette from—”
“Right.” She cut me off and opened the flimsy glass door. “I wasn’t expecting you for another five minutes. I was going out to get my mail. Come in.”
“I can wait.”
“No. Please come in, and thank you for making the trek all the way over here. I know bridge traffic is a pain in the ass. I would’ve come to you but I need to leave in an hour to go up to Philly and I couldn’t take the day off of work.”
She paused, shook her head, and started again. “Not that I think my time is more valuable than yours. It’s just that I can’t break these plans. Rehearsal, then dinner with the bridal party, wedding is the next day, and Sunday’s a whole farewell brunch thing. I would’ve come to you on Monday but my dad’s a little…a lot protective and wouldn’t stop nagging until I called Zane. Then he called Zane and made this huge deal out of the situation and here we are, you wasting your day sitting in construction traffic—”
“Aria?”
“Yeah?”
“Making sure you’re safe isn’t a waste of anyone’s day. Especially not mine.”
Her grin was lopsided when her lips bowed up.
Totally fucking cute.
“Great. You’re one of those overprotective types, aren’t you?”
I wasn’t—not usually.
But standing in Aria’s living room with her in those faded jeans, warm brown eyes, sun-kissed brownish blonde hair, lopsided grin, teasing me after her explanation about why I was in her living room, meant I turned into one.
“Yep.”
