Blue-Collar Boys - Repairs & Maintenance (Book 2: Steamy Erotic Romance Stories) (6 page)

The tree-pruner stared at Lydia, chewing on his gum.  He wasn’t listening to her, but he wasn’t ignoring her either.

“Say, what’s your name, Goldilocks?” He nodded to Lydia’s long flowing hair, glinting in the morning sun like sheets of polished bronze.

“Certainly not, ‘Goldilocks.’”

“Well, okay then, Goldie,” he repeated with sly enjoyment.  “My name is Bruno…you know, for reference. In case you still feel like calling the police.”

Bruno loosened his rigging lines and swooshed down from his perch, navigating like a master of aerobatics through the empty spaces with enviable grace.  He landed atop a tree branch, close enough to peer into Lydia’s angry eyes.

“Now that we know each other a little bit better.  Let me tell you a little something about
your
tree.”

He slipped his aviator sunglasses over his forehead, revealing his heart-shaped face and olive green eyes. 

“See this branch?” he said, pointing out a patch of decayed bark. “It’s rotten to its core.  Wanna know why?  Because it’s been eaten from the inside out by this nasty little beetle from Japan.  The only way to save the healthy parts of the tree is to remove the rotten parts of the tree because that’s where the beetles deposit their larvae.  So instead of yelling at me about killing
your
tree, you should be thanking me for saving it.”

Lydia stared at Bruno.  When she woke up this morning, she never expected that she would be engaged in such a surreal conversation.  Lydia barely had a reason to speak to anyone, much less a strange man with a chain saw who was suspended in a tree.  And technically, they weren’t even having a conversation.  He was reprimanding her about insect larvae.

“Sorry, I didn’t know.  I just thought—”

“That I was a crazy man with a chain saw, swinging like a monkey through
your
tree, sheering off branches just for the hell of it?”  He blew another bubble.  “Yeah, I can see it.”

Vvvvvv-rrrooom
. 

Bruno punctuated the statement with a flex of his chain saw, and sliced off another sapling branch without remorse.

Lydia suddenly felt like she was in a horror film.  Texas Tree Saw massacre.

 “Say,” Bruno said, shifting his red bandana across his forehead. “I’ll be finished in a few hours.  Wanna go grab a cup of java?”

“No, I certainly do not.”

“C’mon.  We can argue some more...”

“No.”

“You mean, ‘no,’ in general?  Or ‘no’ specifically because you don’t want to change out of those heart-print pajamas?”

Lydia felt her skin tingle with a painful blush.  He was clearly making fun of her, and that was exactly the reason why Lydia never went out of her house—to avoid feeling humiliated all the time.  If she wanted to be humiliated today, she would have gone to the mall to shop for bathing suits.  Or worse, she would have made an appointment at the beauty salon.

“C’mon, Goldie.  It’s just coffee.  We don’t have to get married.  Yet—”

Lydia glared at him. “Do you ask every girl you meet out for coffee?”

Bruno grinned, flashing his Cheshire smile.  “Nope.  Just the crazy girls.  Especially the pretty ones.”

Lydia glared at him, wondering if he was making fun of her again. “And I would appreciate it very much if you didn’t talk to me like that.”

Bruno stared at her, sizing her up.

“Like what?  Calling you crazy?” he smirked.  “Or pretty?”  He suddenly stepped off the tree branch, like he was walking off a plank, and plunged downwards without warning.

Lydia gasped in horror, then pulled herself together when she saw Bruno swinging back and forth in his harness with the rhythm of the breeze, just before he landed safely on the ground.

 “Neither.  Both,” Lydia shook her head, flustered.  “I would just appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me.”

Lydia pulled back from the window ledge.  Her fair complexion burned red hot with anger and embarrassment.  Inside her home, she had always felt safe and protected.  But now, there was a young man outside her window, tangled up in bungee cord like a wise-cracking puppet, ridiculing her.  She quickly shut the window—shutting out everything that hurt her—despite the fact that everything that was hurting her was sealed deep inside. 

“Okay, then.  See you later, Goldilocks,” Bruno called up to her, raising his voice beyond the thin pane of glass.  “But tomorrow, try not to play so hard to get.” 

 Lydia peered down at Bruno.  He restrung his rigging lines along one of the tree’s highest branches, then shimmed himself higher and higher into the infinite canopy of leaves and branches.  As he ascended past her window, he sensed her gaze and glanced back at her—his sage eyes twinkling with his own cavalier sense of adventure.  He was outgoing, spontaneous, impulsive—everything that Lydia was not—and he was determined to bring her out of her comfort zone without even realizing there were boundaries to respect.  They were boundaries that Lydia had established for herself long ago.  But Bruno ignored them and stared straight at her, unwilling to release her gaze through the window pane, and his interest in Lydia made her suddenly feel something she hadn’t felt in years—connected.

She broke from his gaze and rotated out of sight.  When the grinding
vvvvvvvvroom
of the chainsaw started up again, Lydia melted down to the floor, her heart fluttering with emotion.  Lying on her back, she pushed her head against the baseboard of the wall and watched as leaves trickled down like confetti in her upside down world. 
He was trying to save her tree
, she thought as she followed the leaves upside down through the sky.  And a small part of Lydia hoped that he was trying to save the tree for her.

* * * *

Through the morning haze of her slumber, Lydia heard a soft rap against her bedroom window.  She had been dreaming about running along the beach, indulging in the warm squishy sand as it squeezed through her toes.  It was a wonderful dream.  The sky was blue.  The sand was white.  And Lydia was wearing a gold summer dress. 

Goldie. Goldie. Goldie
, she heard the voice say, followed by a tap, tap, tap against her window pane.

Lydia had not left her house in over two weeks—except in her dreams. Now, she awoke from the blissful freedom of running along the beach to the menacing form of a hulky man lurking behind the sheer white curtains of her bedroom window.

Lydia shot up and screamed.

“Jesus Christ—” he cursed.  “What a set of pipes.”

“Whoever you are, you better get out of here, before I call the police!” she warned.

“I thought we moved past that yesterday—”

Lydia paused, blinking over and over, unable to distinguish between the sharp rays of dawn and the surreal blur of reality.  “Bruno?” she heard herself say.

She gathered blankets over her pajamas and swiped back the sheer curtains.  There was Bruno, grinning back at her like a Cheshire cat, perched atop a tree branch running parallel along the wooden frame of Lydia’s house.

“Good morning, Goldilocks,” he said, his voice muted through the window pane.  “I figured since you didn’t want to go out for coffee, I’d bring it to you.”

Bruno nodded to the styrofoam cup of Dunken Donuts coffee—a bribe to open the window.  But for Lydia, it was more than a bribe.  It was an unbearable temptation.  She
lusted
for Dunken Donuts coffee—with its hardy flavor and deep roasted scent.  Normally, Lydia hated cookie-cutter franchises that fueled the overblown consumerism of the outside world, and she intentionally avoided anything that contributed to modern society’s addiction to materialism.  But Dunken Donuts coffee was Lydia’s singular weakness.  It was the one thing that tempted her to venture out of her house—at least twice a month—and it was the one thing that persuaded her to open her window for Bruno now.

The breeze wafted the bitter aroma into her bedroom.  Suddenly, Lydia forgot she was in her pajamas, and instead, she reached out for the styrofoam cup like she was a child reaching out for a lost toy.  Bruno passed it off to Lydia, and he watched as she slurped down the drink, its steam misting her china doll cheeks.  And for a brief moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world—fresh coffee in bed, served through her bedroom window by an unfamiliar man in a tree.

“I love Dunken Donuts coffee,” she whispered, swallowing a heavy gulp before wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“I can see that,” Bruno grinned.

Lydia glanced down; Bruno was perched, thirty-feet in the air.  The heavy tree branch jetted out from the trunk like a canon, and there was nothing but sky above and grass below. “How did you get it up here?”

“One of my many hidden talents.”  Bruno sat down and crossed his boots at his ankles, wagging his feet back and forth, enjoying the freedom of time and space.  Unhooked from his safety harness, he was completely unencumbered.  Lydia glanced over at his orange rigging lines.  Their slack draped down in vertical loops against the tree trunk, but the binders and pulleys remained camouflaged by the canopy of leaves.

“You shouldn’t take so many risks,” she said.  “You could get hurt.”

“And you should take more risks.  You might not get hurt.”

Bruno smiled with sly delight.  He was clearly making fun of her, but this time, Lydia didn’t seem to mind.  Bruno watched her take another swig of her coffee, and gauged her temperament.

“So…what do you think about lunch later?”

Lydia pulled the coffee from her lips, and handed it back to him. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” Bruno moaned. “Keep the coffee, please.  And don’t play so hard to get.  It’s just lunch.”

“No, I’m sorry.  I can’t.”

“Why?  Your boyfriend won’t mind…” Bruno was both joking and testing her.

“That’s not the reason.  I don’t leave the house.”

Bruno looked at her sidelong, wondering if she was serious.  His heart-shaped chin shifted towards the sunlight.  Lydia caught her reflection in his sunglasses.  She looked thin and pale, more so than she realized, and she suddenly felt ashamed.

“You don’t leave the house?” He cracked his gum.  She
was
playing hard to get.

 “That’s correct.”

“What if there’s a fire?”

Lydia stared at him, blankly.  Then, she realized he was doing it again—making fun of her—and she quickly moved to shut the window.

“Ah, come on, come on….” Bruno’s strong hand wedged itself under the window frame.  “I’m just playing, that’s all.  Don’t be like that.”

Lydia pulled away, drawing herself back into her bedroom.  She could list all the reasons why she never left the house—starting all the way back in seventh grade when she let Bryan Black go up her shirt in the back of the bus and he mocked her for wearing a training bra—and ending two weeks ago, the last time Lydia left her house and almost got run over by a UPS truck that jumped the curb when it made a narrow right turn.  Outside, everything was painfully unpredictable, including Lydia’s own emotions.  But inside—Lydia was safe.

“Okay, no really…. Tell me.  Why don’t you leave the house?”  Bruno sipped his coffee and wagged his boots.  He gazed at her with sincere curiosity and compassion.

Still, Lydia knew Bruno wouldn’t understand.  Someone like Bruno didn’t have inhibitions or insecurities, much less neurotic phobias reinforced over a lifetime.  Instead, he was bold and rebellious, as if he thrived on living his life beyond fear.

“Because I’m not like you.” It was the only thing she had the strength to say.

“Well, is that all?” Bruno countered, lifting himself up to his feet.  He teetered along the tree branch like it was a balance beam. “You mean, you’re not handsome, charming, and exceedingly interested in girls who never leave their house?”

 “I was going to say, ‘reckless.’” Lydia betrayed a wicked smile.

“
Touché
, Goldie. 
Touché
,” Bruno quipped, raising up one foot.  “But I know you’re not the timid wallflower you pretend to be.  That sassy tongue of yours proves it.  You might be able to fool yourself.  But you’re not fooling me.”

Lydia crossed her arms, annoyed.  She didn’t appreciate being psychoanalyzed by a strange man she barely knew, much less a reckless dare-devil—even if there was a chance that he was right. 

“Why do you talk to people who don’t want to talk to you?”

Bruno downed the remainder of his coffee and handed his cup to her.  “Because they talk back.”

Lydia’s pouting lips melted into a smile.  It was impossible to deny Bruno’s sarcastic grim and salty asides.  Everything came so easily to him.  Every action was spontaneous.  Every bit of conversation was improvised.  There was no shame or fear because there were no expectations of success or failure.  There was only the present moment, and Bruno’s unruly desire to challenge that moment without regards for the consequences.  It was hard for Lydia to hide her smile because it was hard to betray her admiration for a man who refused to accept any boundaries, much less the boundaries she had placed on herself.  

Bruno skipped along the tree branch, like a squirrel bouncing along with merriment.  “Well, enjoy the coffee, Goldilocks. I’m off to work now.  Got some more tree-murdering to do.  But I’ll be back tonight.”

“Tonight?”

He stopped and glanced back at her.  “Yeah, tonight.”

“Why tonight?”

“For our date,” Bruno grinned. “Make sure you dress comfortably.” Bruno threw on his aviator sunglasses and popped a fresh stick of gum into his mouth.

“I’m not going out with you, Bruno,” she insisted.  But there was hesitation in her voice, and they both heard it.

“We’ll see about that, Goldie,” he nodded at her blushing cheeks which betrayed the complicated emotions swelling in her heart. “Remember—comfortable.  But maybe not teddy- bear pajamas, okay?”  

Lydia glanced down at her pajama top with red hearts and teddy bear cartoons.  Normally, a bruising comment like that would have forced Lydia to cower back into her house, paralyzed for weeks under the crushing weight of self-loathing and humiliation.  But not this time.  This time, she discerned the flirtatious tease in Bruno’s voice and recognized the mischievous glint across his sunglasses as he lifted his chin and tossed her a playful glance.