Dear Adam, page 12
“I could,” I agree. “But I didn’t take a before picture. Plus, no one’s going to like a picture of a shower. But you know what they will like? A picture of you tiling the shower. We’ve been over this. Remember how the last picture blew up?”
“Glenda said no one called to schedule anything, though, and I thought that was the whole point,” he grumbles.
“Patience, young grasshopper. Just turn around and do what you do best.”
Levi mumbles something else I can’t make out and then turns around, much to my displeasure. Not. I’m admiring the view, watching him smear more grout onto the tile and then setting it perfectly on the shower wall, biceps bulging, veins snaking around his arms and down to his large, calloused hands.
I’m considering the pros and cons of pretending to wipe at a smudge on his arm when he says, “What exactly do I do best?”
I snap the photo right as he angles his head and gives me a cocky little grin. A glance at the screen confirms it’s a perfect shot.
“Contractor stuff,” I say. “Duh.”
“My dad does contractor stuff. Do you want to take a few pictures of him, too?”
I think of Levi’s dad, with his bushy mustache and belly made round from years of Teenie’s southern cooking. “I could certainly take a few father-son pictures if that’s what you want.”
As he reaches for another piece of tile, he chuckles, low and throaty, and my mouth turns to cotton. “Would you classify him as a hot contractor, too?”
Gulping audibly, I’m aware that something has changed in the last couple of hours we’ve been holed up in this bathroom together. Is it because it’s too hot? Or because this bathroom is too small for two people? I need to do something before I embarrass myself, and fast.
Without thinking, I dip my hand into the bucket of grout and sling it at him. As the gray sludge drips from his face, he growls, “You did not just do that.”
Shrugging, I whisper, “But I did. What are you going to do about it?”
I bite my lower lip and follow his gaze toward the same bucket. I hop from my perch on the sink as he leaps from the step ladder. We both lunge toward the bucket, but he wins by a split second and plunges both hands inside. With a wicked grin, he pulls out two fistfuls of grout and holds them over my head.
“Don’t do it,” I plead.
“Too late,” he replies and opens his fists. Grout pours down my face, covering my glasses.
“You just declared war,” I growl. In an instant, Levi bolts from the bathroom. I attempt following him, but run into the wall because I can’t see. I rub my forehead and wipe a small window on each lens of my glasses with my shirt hem, then take off after Levi. He’s pacing by the couch, keeping an eye on the door, no doubt planning his exit strategy. Slowly, we circle the coffee table, offering up threats.
“You better hope I don’t catch you.” I like to think I’m spitting the words like venom, akin to a movie heroine. Instead, they sound like a bad impersonation of Moana.
“I think I’m pretty safe considering I heard you run into the wall a minute ago,” he replies, a handsome smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You did?” I gasp, letting my guard down. My hand flies to my face, my cheeks turning a rich shade of red to match my forehead. Moana would be so disappointed.
“You might want to put some ice on that,” he calls over his shoulder as he flies out of the living room and out the front door. Hank and Pretzel emerge from the bedroom and chase after him, eager to join the fun.
“Pretzel, attack!” I yell with a chuckle. I had absolutely no intention of hurting Levi, I really didn’t. Pretzel, on the other hand, must’ve taken my command seriously. Before I can stop her, a furry missile streaks through the yard and grabs ahold of Levi’s pant leg. Furiously, she shakes her head, the fabric of his jeans clamped firmly between her surprisingly strong jaws. Hank, unfazed that his human is being attacked by a wiener dog, wanders over and sits beside me with a grunt.
“Um, Aly?” Levi asks, the panic in his voice unmistakable. I watch as he unbuttons his pants and slides his leg free from the side Pretzel doesn’t have in her mouth.
“Sorry! Can’t see you. Might bump into the porch railing if I try to help.”
His pleading eyes meet my steely gaze, and I can’t help but smirk when he reaches up and waves an invisible flag. Pretzel is growling now, really getting into it, and I decide it’s probably time to step in. When I reach Levi, Pretzel gives one last furious shake of her head that’s enough to send Levi to the ground. He lands with a thunk, and Pretzel uses the advantage of his position to fully remove his pants.
Moments later, she’s running triumphantly through the yard, Levi’s pants trailing after her like a victory flag. Levi, meanwhile, is lying at my feet in the grass, clad in nothing but his black tee and…unicorn boxers. I double over in laughter when Hank clumsily knocks into the backs of my knees. I land ungracefully on top of Levi, still cackling when Hank and Pretzel shoot past, playing tug of war with the jeans.
“Do you…have…unicorns…on your boxers?” I ask between cackles and gulps of air.
“They’re old,” he clarifies with a defensive tone. “I ran out of clean clothes and found these wadded up in my drawer at Mom and Dad’s. They were a gag gift from Christmas a few years back. And in my defense, I’ve never worn them until now, and I didn’t think anyone would see them.”
“That’s definitely what I would say, too,” I say with a giggle and a wink. Levi reaches up and gently sets my glasses back on my face. It’s then I realize I’m still lying on top of all gloriously-chiseled six feet of him. Without warning, memories of our movie night flood my mind, most of all how he didn’t want to kiss me when he left. Like a bucket of ice water over my head, embarrassment replaces something a little steamier, and I push myself off him to stand. He does the same, and we both awkwardly look anywhere but at each other.
Thankfully, Pretzel diffuses the tension by running up with Levi’s jeans. I take them from her and unfold them. The hems are completely shredded from playing tug of war with Hank, and of course, the crotch is ripped wide open.
“Ahem.” We both look over to find Mr. Barnes is standing there, watering his front lawn again. I can only imagine what he’s thinking after witnessing a wiener dog and a German Shepherd running circles around a man wearing unicorn boxers, hands planted on his hips.
“Sorry, Mr. Barnes! We’ll be going inside now.”
He clears his throat again, and Levi and I stifle our laughs until we’re back inside.
“We could always take a picture of you like that,” I offer, gesturing to his pants-less body. “People would go crazy over a contractor with a soft side. Who knew underneath all those clothes and that gruff exterior, you’d have unicorns on your boxers?”
“I already told you! They were a gag gift!” he exclaims, then plops on the couch. “Besides, I think posting indecent pictures on the internet is a crime.”
“Tell that to the hundreds of women who message you a day,” I mutter and sit on the other end of the couch.
“What?” he asks, brows knitting together.
“Nothing,” I say with a wave of my hand. “It’s not important.”
“What are you doing for the Fourth of July?” Levi blurts. He’s fidgeting with the hems of his boxers, tugging them down as far as they can stretch.
“Adam and I usually go to the top floor of his building and watch the fireworks from there, but I’m not sure this year…” I trail off.
Levi chews his bottom lip and for a moment, it’s enough to distract me from how badly I miss my brother. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Unlike business in California, business here is actually booming. Dad mentioned having a big cookout with all the employees and our friends and I was going to see if maybe…you’d want to come? I think they’re lighting off fireworks at the end of the night, too.”
My gaze travels back to his mouth, and scenes from all my favorite romantic comedies of couples kissing under fireworks play in my mind.
“Is that a no? It’s fine if you can’t…or don’t want to,” Levi says when I don’t answer, shoulders slumping in defeat.
“No! Sorry,” I say. “I mean no, that’s not what I meant. I would love to go to the Fourth of July cookout with you.”
His shoulders perk back up a little, and it would be incredibly adorable if he hadn't turned down my kiss a few days ago. If things hadn't been so awkward, if I hadn't put myself out there, ready and willing for a smooch, I might even have my hopes up right now. But I refuse to put myself in that situation again. He made it clear that we are just friends then and I’m sure this invite is only to cheer me up because of how badly I miss Adam.
“I can pick you up around four if you want?” he asks. “As long as you don’t mind the Teenie Mobile.” He grimaces, and mental images of the Mini Cooper are enough to make me throw my head back in a cackle.
“It’s not that bad,” I lie.
“It’s terrible,” he says. “Oh, speaking of Teenie, I guess her and Glenda are friends now and she’s coming in for the cookout too.”
“Glenda, as in your assistant from California? How did they become friends?”
“Long story,” he says with a shake of his head. “I figured I better warn you. She can be a lot to handle.”
“She can’t be that bad.”
I peer at Levi’s boxers, unable to help myself. When he catches me, he reaches for a pillow to cover himself. “What are you staring at, you perv? Haven’t you ever seen a man in boxers?”
I giggle and point to one of the unicorns. “Get your mind out of the gutter. They’re winking. It’s adorable.”
His face blushes crimson. “Considering you’re pants-less, I totally get it if you want to be done for the day.”
“Are you kidding me?” he says. “We’ve got work to do. I’m not letting this little mishap stop me.” He gets up and puts both hands on his hips in his best Captain Underpants impersonation, which is enough to send me into hysterics.
“Why do you keep laughing at me? You’re going to give me a complex.”
“You don’t want to go home and grab some pants?” I ask, still chuckling.
“We have way too much stuff to get done to be taking meaningless pants breaks. I can work just fine in what I’m wearing. But if these unicorns are offending you…”
“No offense here,” I giggle. “By all means, let’s get back to work.”
He shoots me a wink and heads back to the bathroom, leaving me staring after him—and not hating the view. Unicorns and all.
Dear Adam,
Tourists are swarming in from all over for the Fourth of July. I’m hoping you wake up by then but if you don’t, I’ll video it all for you. I know the Fourth is your favorite. I’m actually going to watch the fireworks with Levi this year at his dad’s company cookout. Why didn’t you tell me he was such great company? I love having him here, but it’s not the same without you. I miss you. I’d love to say Pretzel also misses you…but she’s pretty fond of Hank. Love you.
Chapter seventeen
Levi
Am I really tiling Aly’s shower in my unicorn boxers right now?
That’s the million dollar question that pinballs through my mind. I’d also like to know where exactly this newfound confidence came from. I did not under any circumstances plan on anyone seeing my underwear today, least of all Aly, and especially not these. I could only hope she believes they were truly a gag gift.
Spoiler alert: they were not. They’re actually my favorite, perfectly soft and supportive in all the right places.
Aly hands me another piece of tile, and it’s not lost on me how dangerously close to my butt she is as I stand on this ladder. Why couldn’t I have worn my fancy Calvin Klein ones that I keep reserved only for date nights? Date nights that actually never happen. Trying to grow a business in a state completely foreign to you is tough work and most days, after twelve hours on job sites followed by coming home to fix the bookkeeping errors Glenda had made, I was exhausted, and dating was the last thing on my mind.
I can’t help but wonder if she’s at least enjoying the view, then mentally berate myself. Keep it together Middleton. This is your best friend's sister! Don’t go there. But oh, how I wanted to go there. I wanted to go there worse than when I was a middle schooler desperate to peek behind the door of Spencer’s in the mall only to have my ear jerked by Mom.
Originally, I planned to leave last week, but something about this girl had me pushing back my flights to stay in Charleston a little longer. Maybe even more than that. Ideas of working for my dad have occupied what’s left of my brain when I’m not thinking of Aly, and both are more than seductive thoughts. If I stayed in Charleston, I could stop worrying about making ends meet in California. I could help Dad when he so clearly needs any extra hands he can get. And I could be with Aly. If she’s even still interested after that colossal screw up the morning after our perfect movie night. I try not to dwell on how disappointed she was and instead focus all my attention on making sure she knows how I feel about her at the cookout. Maybe then, I’ll have the cojones to man up and tell her how I really feel about her.
Two hours later, she hands me the last piece of tile. After it’s positioned perfectly in the top corner, we both take a few steps back and marvel at our handy work. A vibration from the counter pulls Aly’s focus, and she picks up her phone to study it.
“That thing has been blowing up ever since we started again.” Outwardly, I’m the picture of calm, cool, and collected, but really, I’m wondering who could possibly be trying to reach her so badly, if they are an attractive male, and how I’m going to knock him into yesterday if he’s interested in her.
She giggles and swipes open an app on her phone. “It’s blowing up because of you,” she says. “If you thought people loved that pic of you hanging up a light fixture, people are obsessed with you tiling a shower in your underwear.”
All the color drains from my face, and my stomach instantly plummets to the ground. “Please tell me you didn’t actually post me in my underwear,” I choke out. I’m not ready for the world to know I love these unicorn boxers.
“If you would just download the app, you could look for yourself.” She’s still scrolling, and her glasses start sliding down the bridge of her nose. I fight the urge to gently push them up and set them straight. “Not happening. That’s one stress I don’t need in my life. I need to know though, am I really gracing the social media world with my unicorned butt?”
“No,” she replies, the corners of her lips twitching with pleasure at my discomfort. “I’m not that heartless. But I did post a picture of you tiling it before you lost your pants, and the people love it.” She turns the phone to me and for a moment, I’m awestruck by the number of people who have liked a photo of me.
“What are these?” I ask, pointing to the top right hand corner. A ridiculous number of red notifications are glowing there, too.
“Those are nothing,” she answers quickly. Too quickly. She white-knuckles the phone, and her eyes have grown to the size of golf balls.
“If they’re nothing, let me see them.”
“Nope.” She manages to get one leg around me in an attempt to flee the bathroom, but I wrap both arms around her from behind. With one hand, I reach blindly for the phone. Aly is doing everything in her power to make sure I can’t see it, and for a second, the way her body is shimmying and writhing against mine distracts me from my mission.
“Let me read just one!” I spin her around with both hands on her hips. We’re close enough now that I can trace constellations in the freckles smattering her sun kissed cheeks and nose. Her breath is warm on my neck, and her chest rises and falls with every breath.
“Why?” she asks in a small voice, grasping the phone in both hands, hanging on for dear life.
“Why are you hiding them from me?" I ask, finally aware this isn’t a game to her at all.
“I don’t want you to see them,” she whispers.
“Are they mean? Are you trying to protect me from some cyber bully? I can handle it, Aly.” I don’t use social media, but know enough about it to understand that people can be cruel for no reason other than their own sick and twisted pleasure.
“The exact opposite actually.” She offers me a tight-lipped smile.
“I won’t look at them if you don’t want me to.” If she doesn’t want me to see what’s hiding behind those little red notifications, I’m sure she has a good reason, and I trust her.
“Technically though, it is your account though,” she offers.
“I promise, whatever they are, you can delete them, and I’ll never ask about them again.”
“Women love you,” she blurts. “Every day, a hundred new messages come in asking for your number, wanting to know if you’ll take them out to dinner, or sometimes… sometimes, they’re a little more aggressive than that.” She looks away from me, but not fast enough for me to miss the way her cheeks flush crimson.
“And that makes you unhappy?” I ask, tipping her chin up with my index finger.
“It makes me feel a lot of different ways,” she admits. Her cheeks blush impossibly deeper and gently, I pry her bottom lip free from her teeth with my thumb.
“You can delete them,” I assure her. “I don’t want to see them anyway.”
“You don’t?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Nope. We did this to drum up business, remember? That’s it.”
“You don’t even want to see one?” she presses. “Some of these girls are really pretty.”
“Right now, I don’t want to focus on anything but what’s in front of me.” My voice dips and my eyes trail down to her swollen bottom lip.
This is it. This is the kiss she deserved a few mornings ago. I did brush my teeth this morning however, and now nothing can stop me. I close my eyes, lean in, and prepare myself for a soft landing on that perfect mouth. Instead, she dips her head and shimmies out of my grasp. When I open my eyes, she’s standing in the doorway with a satisfied smirk, bouncing lightly on her toes.
