Teach Me Like That (LMLT Book 2) (6 page)

“You,” I hiss.

“Ms. Carter,” Kegan Cole says with more excitement in his voice than I’m comfortable with.

“It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning,” I complain looking down at my watchless arm. Great. Now, I look even more like an idiot, as if the fuzzy slippers didn’t express it enough.

He’s looking down at me from his high perch on the machine, but I can tell from the angle of his gaze that he’s paying absolutely no attention to my feet. Nope. His eyes have zeroed in on my chest.

“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my overly-enthused nipples. I should’ve grabbed a sweater before coming out into this cool fall air.

“You seem perky this morning,” Kegan says finally raising his eyes to mine.

My scowl makes him laugh, which only infuriates me further.

I take a few steps back as he unbuckles and climbs down from the monstrous machine. Damn, the things this man does for a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt.

I shake my head and snap my eyes back up to his, reminding myself that I’m out here to set things straight. The knowing glint in his eyes means I wasn’t as covert in my appraisal of his body as I’d hoped I was.

Oh well, better luck next time.

“It’s great to see you again,” he says closing the distance between us and invading my personal space. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.”

“Mr. Cole,” I say doing my best to keep the annoyance out of my voice. After all, his nieces are in my class, and I have to remain professional. “I wasn’t aware you worked on the crew demolishing this home.” I look away from his hauntingly beautiful eyes. “I would like to speak to the crew chief or whoever is in charge. I have a few issues I’d like to discuss with him.”

I give him a polite, albeit fake, smile and take a step back.

“Foreman,” he says stepping back into my space.

“I’m sorry?”

“The ‘crew chief,'” he says with air quotes, “is called the foreman.”

“Very well,” I say standing my ground, refusing to take another step back. He registers my inflexibility to back down a second time, and the corner of his mouth pulls up. “I’d like to speak to the foreman then.”

He grins wide showcasing a brilliant, perfect smile.

I look over my shoulder to see a group of the workers clustered together watching our interaction. They’re too far away to hear what we’re saying, but I can feel at least a half dozen pairs of eyes burning into my ass. I shift my weight uncomfortably. Sensing my discomfort, Kegan clutches my shoulders and switches our positions. His large frame blocks me from the other guys completely.

“This is my crew,” he says.

Shit. Why would I mistake him for just any other worker? His brother is loaded beyond what anyone would consider normal; it only makes sense that Kegan would be wealthy as well. Kudos to him for getting out and getting his hands dirty, though.

Crap. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get the images out of my head about just how dirty his hands could get. I clear my throat weakly and look back up to him.

“Please feel free to express your grievances, Ms. Carter. We can discuss them out here or back at your place, say bent over the couch?”

“Not likely,” I say with a hitch, my voice failing at my attempt to sound indignant at his suggestion.

“Your loss,” he says with a quick shrug.

I’m sure
.

I take a fortifying breath before I begin to complain about the issues that have been bugging me since they began working on this property. Suddenly, I feel as if I’m just being a whiney bitch. These men are only here to do a job.

I remember my assertiveness training and the things my therapist told me a few years ago.

You have to quit letting people run over you. If you don’t express how you feel, they will never know. Internalizing it and not speaking your mind doesn’t make it go away. Speak up.

He runs his hand over the scruff on his face. My eyes follow that hand down his chest, over his abs, until it settles in the front pocket of his jeans. And now I’m staring at his crotch.

When my eyes find his again, I realize what he’s just done. I regain my fortitude and sneer in his direction.

“It’s not even eight on a Saturday. The noise is out of control and more than a little disruptive. Every morning I have to pick up debris out of my yard,” I complain. “The roads in front of this block are covered in clumps of mud from your equipment.”

His smile never falters.

“And,” I say taking a step closer and jabbing my finger into his rock solid chest. “I’m just hungover enough to smack that damn grin off of your face and not feel bad about it.”

He catches my hand before I can pull it away and holds it flat against his chest.

“I know a few stress relieving techniques you’d benefit from,” he says on a low purr.

Cue sexual innuendo and thigh clenching.

With a violent tug, I pull my hand from his grip. “You’re incorrigible,” I say and storm back to my house.

I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he thinks he can talk to me that way, or that I actually want to take him up on his offer.

“Nice shoes!” he calls after me as I cross from utter destruction onto fresh green grass. I hang my head as I climb up my front porch steps. Why can’t he just leave well enough alone?

Kegan

I almost followed Lexi back to her house, but she seemed genuinely pissed. I avoid upset women like the damn plague, and even the beautiful Ms. Carter won’t be an exception to that rule!

I remained distracted all day, my focus on her home rather than the job I was here to perform. Diverting my attention, especially while operating heavy machinery could prove fatal on a job site. I forced myself to pull my borderline obsessed attention from the house next door and refocus on the task at hand. I’m going to be working this job site for months to come; I’ll have plenty of time to interact with Lexi Carter.

The day ends early since it’s Saturday. I’d never force the crew to work a solid day on the weekend unless it was absolutely necessary. Since we’re so early in this job, we’ll have the ability to gain some ground later on.

I make sure the guys do a super good sweep of the job site, removing anything that could end up in her yard if there’s a stiff breeze. I shoot over a text to the cleanup crew to have them come out as soon as they can to scrape the buildup of mud on the road just off the property.

What else did she complain about?

Oh yes, the noise.

Nothing I can really do about that, other than not work Saturdays. If everything goes as planned, Saturdays will be few and far between. I presume she leaves for work before the crew shows up during the week.

I tap out a text to Kadin to let him know our progress for the day; then I plan to head over to Lexi’s and let her know that I’ve handled her grievances to the best of my abilities. In my wildest fantasies she repays my kindness with wild sex; in reality, more than likely, she’ll claw my eyes out.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that her clawing at me, especially my back, sounds like something I’d be interested in.

My phone rings before I can step over the property line. I wander back toward the half-demolished house.

“Hey,” I answer. “This property will be clear by close of business on Monday.”

“Listen,” Kadin says into the phone. “They found out what’s wrong with Easton.”

“Good damn thing,” I respond. “He’s been in the hospital for two fucking days. What’s wrong?”

“Spinal meningitis,” Kadin says with an exhausted sigh.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “That sounds extremely bad.”

I slap myself on the forehead. I feel like a complete asshole for saying that. I have no damn filter. My mom’s been complaining about it since I said my first words.

“Yeah,” Kadin agrees, clearly familiar with my issue. “They’ve started him on an antibiotic therapy, but he’ll be here for a while.”

“How’s London?” I ask.

“She’s,” he sighs again. “She won’t leave his side. Fuck,” he hisses. “I downplayed this, man. If she had caved and given in when I told her he was only teething, Easton would probably be dead. This is some serious shit he’s dealing with right now.”

“Hey, you can’t think like that,” I say trying to console him through the phone. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “The doctors think he’ll make a full recovery. It’s just going to be a while before he feels one hundred percent better.”

“You have to focus on that, Kadin. Quit with the ‘what ifs’. They don’t help anyone.”

He pulls the phone away and says something comforting to London.

“What can I do to help?” I ask.

I’d do whatever it takes to ease some of the stress they have resting on their shoulders.

“I need you to watch the girls.”

Except that.

“Kegan? You there?” Kadin asks when all he gets is silence.

I had nightmares after the girls went home Thursday evening. How Kadin and London trust me with their children, I’ll never understand.

“What’s the game plan?” I ask reluctantly.

“After church tomorrow. You can grab them from mom and dad’s house. They have a luncheon they can’t get out of. You can drop them back off there at five or so,” Kadin explains.

I do the math in my head. That’s over four hours. I shudder at the things those two girls can accomplish in that length of time.

I look over at Lexi’s house, and an idea pops into my head when a shadow crosses in front of the window facing the job site.

“Sure, man. No problem.”

“Really?” Kadin asks, his voice marked with suspicion.

“Anything for you guys,” I answer.

I hang up with Kadin as I walk toward Lexi’s door. She loves kids; she’d never turn down an offer to help a desperate man in need.

I don’t even try to hide the smile on my face when old school
Salt ‘N Pepa
hits my ears. The front door is open, and the cool fall air is permeating the house through the front screen door.

I tilt and angle my head, trying to catch a glimpse of her before I knock. It’s not really as creepy as it sounds, honestly.

Rather than seeing Lexi in the house, a loud crash echoes out of the door followed by her obscene curse.

“You stupid motherfucking cunt!”

My eyes widen at her foul language. She is a kindergarten teacher after all.

“Lexi,” I say into the house, getting no response.

I say it louder, and it still goes unanswered.

Expecting the worst, I open the screen door and step into the house. Looking around, it’s like I’ve traveled back in time thirty years.

“Lexi!” I yell.

“Back here!” comes her response from the right.

I follow the long hallway until I find her standing with her hands on her hips looking down at a mess of splattered paint and an overturned ladder.

“That’s not good,” I say without thinking. I chuckle when I look over at her. Her legs and almost indecently short cut-offs are covered in a thin layer of lime green paint; the same paint that is all over the hardwood floor and two of the walls.

“The ladder fell over,” she says pointing as if I couldn’t deduct that from the scene in front of me.

“Clearly,” I say.

“Can I help you with something?” She uses her forearm to swipe at her forehead leaving behind a thin streak of green paint. My fingers tingle as I fight the urge to wipe it away as an excuse to touch her.

Maybe it’s the lifelong construction worker in me, but seeing her in a tank top covered in splattered paint has my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans. This is the kind of dirty I’ve always fantasized about but never had the privilege of enjoying.

The women I go after are always dressed to the nines, enjoying a night out on the town. Interrupting a beautiful woman while she does home improvement tasks has never been offered to me before. Not that she’s offering. Telling by the glare on her face right now, she’s pissed I’m in the house.

“I heard the crash,” I say pointing back to the front door. “I called your name, but you didn’t answer. I was afraid you were hurt. Especially after your outburst.”

I watch her cheeks flush. She’s embarrassed I heard her use that type of language.

“I need to get cleaned up,” she says dismissively as she kicks her sneakers off before leaving the room.

I follow her through the house because she technically hasn’t asked me to leave yet.

“The lime green back there doesn’t really go with the décor in here,” I observe out loud.

“What are you some interior design specialist?”

“No,” I huff. “That’s a woman’s…”

Her eyes shoot up to mine, halting my declaration.

Note to self.
Keep the sexist shit quiet
.

“I just mean lime green doesn’t coordinate with your corduroy, floral print couch.” I offer. “The green seems like you. The outdated furniture, not so much.”

Like a lost puppy trying to find a home, I continue to trail her into the kitchen where she wets some paper towels and begins to wipe away the paint on her legs. I bite my tongue to keep from offering to help her clean up. Hell, I’d lick her clean and risk being poisoned from the paint if she’d let me.

“I inherited this house from my grandparents. I’m refurnishing one room at a time. I haven’t made it to the living room yet,” she explains never raising her eyes from her task.

“That makes sense,” I say entranced at her hands wetting her long, tan legs.

“I started upstairs with my bedroom since that’s where I spend my most time.”

“I’d love to see it.” I lick my lips at the idea of entering her bedroom, of entering
her
.

“Fat chance, Romeo.” She tosses the now green covered paper towel in the trash and stands to her full height.

She walks through the house again, this time stepping into the living room. It’s almost like a time capsule in here.

“I use the den mostly,” she explains. “Well, that was until I splattered it with paint.” She frowns as she looks around this room, which is clearly her grandparents’ taste and not that of a vivacious twenty-something woman.

“Your grandmother and grandfather?” I ask pointing to a large picture over the mantel.