Page 21 of Hate It with You

Alex sets his toolbox on the counter, and I jump a little at the sharp sound of the tools clanking together. His eyebrows twitch when he catches me, but to my relief, he lets it go as he says, “So what’s first on the list?”

Reluctantly, I hand him the list I made this morning. Unfortunately, despite a successful opening weekend, business has been slow since. Given that it’s a Saturday, I was expecting more traffic to come through this morning. When it didn’t, I found every way to busy myself that I could. Making the list was one of them. Although I’m still not convinced that Alex should be the one to help me fix it all. Most of it, I could figure out on my own.

“Are you sure you know how to fix this stuff? I thought Roman was the one in construction.”

He’s looking at the list when he smiles up at me, a smile I haven’t been able to get off my mind since last summer despite my best efforts.

“Roman hates paying for shit.” He shrugs and looks back at the list. “He taught us how to fix everything on our own, plus I did a few years with him at Kane Construction when I was saving for my gym.”

When I don’t respond, Alex looks back up at me. “Don’t trust me, Beth?” He winks, and the growing heat in my core is soon replaced by tense muscles as irritation spreads through my body.

“Hardly.” I cross my arms. “I could fix half the shit on my own. As long as I’m reimbursed for the supplies.”

“I don’t doubt you could,” he croons.

“Then let me fix it myself.”

“No.”

“Why?”

His tone is sharp when he responds, as his aggravation grows in accordance with my own. “Just because you could fix half this shit doesn’t mean you should be the one to do it. Let me help you.”

I know Alex well enough to know he won’t let this go until I agree with him. So I do, allowing myself to focus on more important business matters.

Nodding, I motion toward the back room. “You can start with the stuff in the back. The items down here are more important than the shit in my apartment.”

Without a word, he grabs his toolbox and heads to the back room to get started. Not knowing what to do with myself since I still have no customers, I open my book again, only to keep staring at the blurry words on the page, hoping they will eventually turn into something legible.

It’s been an hour since Alex began working in the back room, and I’ve been standing here at the register desk in silence for the entirety of it. Once again, I couldn’t focus on my book, so I decided to walk around the store, ensuring all the books were displayed properly, adjusting a few as I went.

That was a mistake, considering I caught a glimpse of Alex in the back room as he lifted his shirt to wipe away a bead of sweat, giving me the perfect show of his abs. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he knew I was looking and did it on purpose. The bastard.

After the show, I decided to hide behind the register counter because apparently I’m now twelve years old instead of twenty-three.

I may have agreed to let Alex fix everything on the list, but I never said I’d talk to him. He tricked me into this situation, and I’ve never cared too much for men who pull such moves.

Letting out a small cough, I become aware of just how dry my throat is. When the cough worsens, the tickle in my throat growing, I search around for my water bottle. Only to find that it’s nowhere in sight, and I have indeed left it in the back room.

I stop to contemplate my choices for a moment. On the one hand, I’m in desperate need of water. On the other hand, if I go back there, I fear Alex will try to start a conversation with me.

For a split second, I contemplate death by dehydration. Ultimately deciding it’s not worth it, I head to the back room.

Picking up my reusable water bottle off my desk, I take a large swig, relishing the refreshing liquid as it glides down my throat. I catch sight of Alex’s toolbox on my desk, his tools so perfectly intertwined with my scattered office supplies and a few lingering books.

As though the desk was always meant to be shared.

“Fifty-four minutes on the dot,” Alex says, looking at his watch.

“Excuse me?” I ask, Alex’s comment pulling me from my desk hyperfixation.

“That’s how long it took you to come back here for that.” He motions to my water bottle. “Fifty-four minutes. I was wondering how long it would take.” He pulls a small smile, and my eyes attempt to look at the back of my head in response.

Leaning against the side of my desk, I look out into my bookstore. I’m positioned right in the doorway between the bookstore and the back room, allowing me to keep an eye on things if a customer shows up.

Although, by the looks of the parking lot, I’d expect the gym has been as empty as the bookstore today.

Alex continues to patch and repair the many cracks and holes along the walls of the back room as I watch him. Not that I’m paying that close of attention to him.