Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Dex:
Do you actually have a kid named Morgan?
Margot:
That’s your takeaway from that paragraph?
Dex:
Yeah. I’m a detail-oriented person.
Margot:
Yes, I have a kid named Morgan, but that’s confidential. Don’t repeat what I just told you.
Dex:
My lips are sealed.
Margot:
Dammit. Hold on, I heard something. BRB
Dex:
Holding . . .
Dex:
. . .
Dex:
10 minutes later, still holding . . .
Dex:
Balls shriveling up.
Margot:
Okay, I’m back. What’s this about your Balls shriveling up? Is that something you say to all the girls or am I special?
Dex:
Ha ha.
Dex:
Is everything ok you said you heard something? What’s going on?
Margot:
Ugh, I have this faucet in my kitchen that refuses to cooperate. It’s been leaky and making these weird sounds, like the entire house sounds haunted when all we’re trying to do is fill a glass of water. It’s become a nightmare.
Dex:
Well. Get a plumber.
Margot:
That’s easy for you to say, you probably have 150 bucks to throw at some guy Just to show up on your doorstep and then another few hundred to fix whatever the problem is. My house is haunted, let’s be real.
Dex:
First of all, I can fix a pipe or a leak. How hard can it be?
Margot:
Dear Lord, do you dabble in plumbing on the weekends?
Dex:
No, but I know enough, and there are videos on the internet that show you exactly what needs to be done.
Margot:
Are you volunteering to come fix my pipes?
Dex:
Yes. Where in Scottsdale are you?
Margot:
I’d say it’s closer to the outskirts, in the older part. You?
Dex:
Oh. Definitely the part they refer to as Snottsdale. Ha. It’s like we’re neighbors.
Margot:
Er, not even a little . . .
Dex:
But this is the city, so everyone is nearby.
Dex:
I can come and look at your shit, it’s not a big deal. I have some time, preseason isn’t until August.
Margot:
Is that why you have all this free time to date?
Dex:
Yeah, pretty much.
Margot:
K. If you think you can fix my problem, have at it . . .
Chapter 11
Dex
I’m not a plumber, but I can damn well pretend to be one.
I hoist the toolbox out of my sports car, the toolbox I borrowed from a buddy’s buddy who is a plumber. It was a massive pain in the ass to meet him, pick up the tools, explain the situation, and then listen to his insistence that he could easily drop in himself as a favor.
Should I have let him? Sure.
Would it have saved me a shit ton of time and a headache?
Absolutely.
But I didn’t, because I never listen. Not even to my own inner voice, which honestly wasn’t talking that loud. Besides, I don’t need some other dude, down on his knees, eyeballing Margot’s leaky plumbing.
I give the door of her condo a few quick knocks, ignoring the doorbell that’s glowing at me—something about ringing an actual doorbell gives me anxiety. Like, it’s such an aggressive way to announce your arrival, and I don’t see a camera, so I can’t make a face at one.
I step back, waiting.
Nothing.
“Is she leaving me out here on purpose? She’s expecting me,” I grumble, knowing full well that Margot could in fact be purposely leaving me on her porch to suffer. I don’t know her well, but this seems like something she would do to get a rise out of me.
Minutes later, the door opens and she stands there, somewhat out of breath as she regards me through the crack as if she weren’t expecting me.
“Oh!” she declares. “How long have you been waiting? I was on the treadmill and didn’t hear you knock.”
Treadmill my ass.
She isn’t wearing workout clothes, and she sure isn’t wearing sneakers.
Margot pulls the door all the way open and sidesteps, allowing me room so I can enter her place; the small foyer is cute and cozy. Her condo is larger than it looks from the outside, with high ceilings and tall doorframes.
It’s modern and chic.
Huh.
My head is on a swivel as I walk toward the kitchen. She has an open layout, and I can see the sink from the door, taking in the light-gray couch, the dark-gray tile surrounding the fireplace, the shiplap accent wall, and dark beams across the ceiling.
The backsplash in her kitchen is dark gray too. Stainless steel appliances.
The place is spotless.
“Wanna show me what the problem is, ma’am?” I tease, setting the toolbox on the stone counter.
“You’re going to just jump right into it?” She laughs. “No foreplay? No ‘How have you been?’”
I didn’t realize she wanted niceties, but if she wants to chat before I try to fix her plumbing, who am I to argue?
“How have you been?” I ask, because she told me to, grinning when she giggles.
“I could use a drink.”
“Same.”
Margot nods, going around to the other side of the counter and pulling open a cabinet. It has a crisp white door, and inside are white plates, stacked neatly above cut-crystal drinking glasses.
She takes out two and sets them on the counter.