Chapter 18
1651 Words
Blake slipped out of his house and walked across the frozen yard to Paul and Francis's place, the winter cold doing nothing to cool the persistent heat of his thoughts. He let himself in with the customary Copper knock—a single, heavy thud on the door followed by immediate entry.
Paul, wearing a stained apron and looking bewildered, was standing in the dining room. “B? What are you doing here?”
“Francis said the sink is leaking,” Blake explained, walking past him. “She thinks your handiwork involves explosives.”
Paul shook his head, muttering. “Damn woman. I blow up one thing, and she thinks I can’t fix anything. It’s just a minor leak, I swear. The wood is fine.” Paul, ever loyal, followed him into the kitchen.
The leak was worse than minor; a steady drip had turned the cabinet base into a dark, moldy mess. Blake immediately grabbed a hand towel, pushing the cleaning supplies aside.
“Yeah, this wood is definitely rotting. I’ll replace the pipe first, then cut a new piece for the base. Where’s the wrench?” Blake asked, already dropping to his knees.
He maneuvered his tall, muscular frame into the cramped cabinet space, laying on his back to inspect the cracked pipe. He had to shed his jacket. His black thermal shirt rode up slightly, giving him enough room to work.
He was reaching up, his hands gripping the rusty metal, when Liv walked into the kitchen.
Blake couldn't see her fully, but the sound of her bare feet on the linoleum made his pulse leap. He was deep in the dark cabinet, focused on the stubborn fitting, when she came into full view.
She was wearing small, tight spandex short shorts that showcased the incredible length and silky smooth skin of her legs and thighs. On top, she wore a simple tank top that rode high on her waist, revealing the slight toning of her stomach and the dark ink of the vine and rose tattoos curving up her sides. The perfect swell of her perky breasts beneath the thin fabric made Blake’s pulse rush, flooding his body with a hot wave of immediate, unwelcome need and desire.
Liv saw him instantly—dirty, and vulnerable under the sink. His thermal shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of his defined abdomen muscles and the light trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistline of his jeans.
She subconsciously bit her lip, suppressing the sudden jolt of desire. Her eyes tracked the movement of his arms as he strained against the pipe. Blake made a slight, guttural grunting sound as he tightened the wrench, and Liv felt an immediate, strong throb of need deep in her core. She squeezed her thighs together, trying desperately to regain control.
She grabbed a mug and poured herself a cup of coffee, then leaned against the counter directly above him, her perfect body positioned to maximize his view.
“Having trouble in that tight spot, Copper? Doesn't look like you have the clearance,” Liv drawled, her voice dry and laced with sarcasm.
Blake’s head popped out from under the sink, his dark hair messy and full of cobwebs, his eyes blazing with humor and lust.
“Oh, I manage tight spots just fine, Liv. In fact,” Blake retorted, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive rumble, “I seem to fit perfectly in the most cramped closets around here. I’ve got a hell of a memory for a good, tight fit.”
Liv’s breath hitched, the smirk faltering as the intimate reference hit her. She chuckled, the sound husky, and took a slow sip of coffee. “And a hell of an ego, apparently. Trying to make this plumbing job sound like a victory lap?”
“No, just confirming my expertise,” Blake countered, easing himself out from under the sink and rising to his full six-foot height. He wiped his hands meticulously on a rag, letting his eyes sweep slowly over the beautiful, exposed skin of her legs. “My skillset adapts to the environment. If it’s tight, I handle it. If it’s wet, I handle it. If it requires a lot of forceful thrusting to fix the problem, I handle it.”
He stopped just inches from her, trapping her against the counter. The air was instantly thick with s****l tension.
“You can’t afford my rates, Blake,” Liv finally managed, her voice low and challenging, her eyes darkening as she recognized the true danger of his proximity. “You don’t have the control.”
“I control what I want,” Blake countered, his voice dropping to a seductive growl, his gaze locked on her lips. “And right now, I want to see if those sexy shorts are as soft as your mouth felt the other day.”
They stared at each other, the desire raw and uncontrolled, their lips inches apart. The truce had vanished, replaced by the crushing weight of their s****l history and the promise of immediate, mutual disaster.
Suddenly, the kitchen door swung open, and Paul burst in, smelling strongly of stale beer and desperation.
“Francis! I can’t find my keys! They aren’t behind the fridge, I swear! B, are you done with the sink? I need to get back to the pub before the drunkards start a riot!” Paul shouted, completely oblivious to the intense, charged standoff he had just interrupted.
Blake immediately stepped back, his body language shifting back to casual indifference. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes blazing with frustrated desire.
“Almost done, Paul,” Blake said, his voice now flat and professional. He glanced once at Liv, who was leaning against the counter, her lips slightly parted, her eyes full of raw, frustrated lust.
The war was still on, and the battlefield was about to get much more complicated.
Blake quickly finished securing the new pipe, the adrenaline from the encounter with Liv giving him focused, necessary energy. He replaced the section of rotted wood under the sink with a new piece, sealing the area thoroughly. He was efficient and effective, his intelligence channeled into the practical task of keeping the Copper architecture intact.
Liv was still there, leaning against the counter, watching him. Desire still built inside her, a slow, relentless burn. She craved to touch him again, to feel his rough skin beneath her fingers, to feel him fill her completely, and to feel his lips on her body. She swallowed hard, turning away from the sight of his powerful frame, recognizing the danger. She needed a distraction—something loud and distracting. Maybe some true crime documentaries will help suppress her urges, she thought, heading toward the living room.
As she went to walk into the front room, chaos erupted through the front door. Francis burst in, followed by Laura and the Copper gang, their voices loud and excited.
“We’re watching a movie!” Maddie shouted, jumping up and down with anticipation. She spotted Liv and made a beeline for her. “Liv! We’re watching a movie! Want to join us?”
Liv raised an eyebrow, the hostile reserve returning. “What riveting piece of cinema are we being subjected to this time?”
Maddie giggled. “Playdate! It has Alan Ritchson!”
Liv processed this. She thought about the endless, tedious hours of avoidance she had planned, and the pure, uncomplicated chaos of the Copper family movie night seemed preferable to her own internal turmoil. “Sure,” Liv said, a slight smirk playing on her lips. “Alan Ritchson is hot.”
Maddie got excited, dragging Liv to the living room.
Liv settled on the worn couch with Maddie squeezed tightly beside her. Francis and Laura sat on the opposite couch. Ryan, the perpetual menace, sat on the floor with a bag of chips. Travis claimed the armchair. Mark was on the floor, ignoring the TV completely, meticulously organizing a pile of mismatched LEGO blocks by color and shape.
They were about to start the movie when Blake walked in from the kitchen, wiping his hands clean one last time.
“Francis, your sink is brand new now,” he announced.
Francis thanked him, already distracted by the TV screen.
Blake was about to walk away—he was late for his booty call, a necessary, clinical activity he now dreaded—but Laura stopped him.
“B, don’t you want to watch the movie with us?” Laura asked, looking at him with genuine affection.
Blake shook his head, pulling his leather jacket on. “Naw, I’ve got plans.”
Francis scoffed, cutting him off before he could escape. “Plans? Like what, getting an STD? Come on, B, watch a movie with us.”
Blake was about to fire back a sharp, dismissive retort when Mark, sitting on the floor, saw him. The four-year-old’s small face lit up with immediate joy. Mark immediately scrambled up, toddling toward Blake, arms outstretched.
“Dada! Dada!”
Blake sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. He couldn't refuse the child. He peeled off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and scooped up Mark, holding him securely against his chest.
“Fine,” Blake muttered, walking over to the couch.
He sat down next to Liv, Mark immediately snuggling against his body, tucking his head into Blake’s neck and finding his thumb.
Liv, who had been trying to maintain her cool distance, looked over at the sight of Blake holding Mark. Without thinking, a genuine, soft smile broke across her face. The cynical, hostile shell fractured, just for a moment, at the sight of the strong, handsome man acting as the vulnerable child's anchor.
- Writer
