Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

I didn't know what was happening in the other room but the tension was so thick when I walked by it was coating the entire downstairs.

It was testosterone overload.

"If you turn off the boy band I'll help you upstairs," Jonas offered from the entryway to the kitchen.

"I'm offended and appalled you called the Jonas Brothers a boy band, Jonas."

"I'm offended you consider them music," he volleyed.

I glanced up from my soapy hands, surprised to find him frowning.

"What's wrong?"

Smith appeared behind Jonas.

"He's trying to find a way to tell you we need to tear out the upstairs without pissing you off."

"I'm sorry, what ?"

Smith stepped around Jonas coming farther into the crappy kitchen that would be fabulous when I finished with it and leaned a hip to the faded Formica top.

"We need to see what's behind the rest of the drywall."

I heard dollar signs flying out the window.

"Why?"

"Because the night of the break-in the woman two doors down had a heart attack. If whoever broke in was still in the house the emergency vehicles could've scared them away before they got everything they came for. Which means they could be planning on coming back. Before that happens, we gotta check. And it'd be smart you video the demo and put it up. Just in case they're watching they'll know whatever they're looking for is no longer an option to them."

I was running calculations in my head—the cost of a sheet of drywall, tape, mud, screws, time cost for demo and installation. New insulation if it was damaged in the tear out. I was already screwed waiting for the inspector and the additional cost of fixing a perfectly good wall—well, it was structurally sound until some asshole had a sledge to it.

"The whole upstairs?" I asked for clarification.

"We'll start with the room you're working on first. That's only three walls you were going to keep intact and one is already fucked."

Three walls was better than the entire upstairs, but still that would add hundreds of dollars to the cost of the remodel.

"And if you don't find anything?"

Smith at least had the decency to look sympathetic.

"Then we'll regroup."

That was not the answer I wanted.

I was going to lose money on this house. Or I'd have to scrimp on something. I was shifting costs around in my mind, wondering if I could salvage any of the flooring or at the bare minimum not repaint a few rooms. None of this worked with my vision, but it was better than losing a shit ton of money.

"Aria," Smith called and I refocused on him. "I know this sucks but we need to understand what's going on and who we're dealing with."

"What if it's just idiot kids coming in to?—"

"Baby, you know that's not the case."

Shit . He was right. Someone had definitely been looking for something in that wall.

"Fine, but you and Jonas are marking the studs. There's a voltage tester in the garage. To be safe, one of you is marking the wires, too. I'll lose my mind if I have to redo the electrical on top of re-drywalling."

"That'd be Jonas. I'm going up into the attic to look around. And baby, do him a favor and find a different playlist."

I set Jonas Brothers on repeat as a joke. But now out of sheer annoyance I was going back to their very first album and we were going to listen to that on repeat from now until Jonas and Smith were done tearing out sheetrock.

Just because.

"About the attic. There's an issue with the dropdown stairs. The inspector went up, did his thing, and when he closed the stairs one of the hinges must've bent. I can't open the door and I haven't figured out a way to get up there without cutting a hole in the ceiling. Which I didn't want to do, but now seems moot."

"In other words, there's no access," Smith concluded.

"Correct, unless you can fit through the vent."

I could see the wheels turning in Smith's gaze. There was no way he'd fit through the small exhaust vent at the top of the gable.

"If you're thinking about climbing on the roof and cutting a hole to climb in that way, the answer is abso-fucking-lutely not."

"There's more than one way to skin a cat."

My nose scrunched.

"I hate that saying. What kind of person would skin a cat?"

"Baby." He chuckled. "You get what I'm saying."

"Oh, I get it and what I'm getting is Uncle Sam isn't footing the bill for your problem-solving excursion. I am. Which means, no cutting holes in roofs. No explosives. No kicking in, or yanking out."

"Damn, she takes the fun out of problem solving," Jonas rejoined. "No explosives? Who doesn't enjoy a good old fashioned door charge now and then?"

I pointed to myself.

"This girl, when she's gotta pay for the repair. You wanna have fun and blow shit up, do it on your dime."

"I had high hopes for you, woman. Then you blew them to shit with your boy band and no-explosive policy," Jonas told me with a smile.

"The feeling is mutual, Jonas. Your lack of musical appreciation is a deal breaker for me."

Jonas's eyes sliced to Smith. He kept his smile, but added a shake of his head.

"You're fucked, brother."

Smith ignored his friend's strange jab, and ordered, "Get the voltage tester so we can get to work, yeah?"

For a day that started out fantastic it sure had gone to shit.

I stomped through the kitchen knowing I was behaving like a petulant child. The stomping was twofold. One, I didn't like to lose money. Two, I didn't like being told what to do. This was a byproduct of being raised in a military household. As much as my parents encouraged me to be me, they also gave me strict parameters. Everything I said or did while living on base was a direct reflection on my father. I respected those limits, I respected my father and his service. But that didn't mean when I broke free from the confines and was allowed to do and say what I wanted without fear it would affect my father, I didn't break completely free. No one told me how to behave, what to do, how to do it. Not that Smith telling me to get a voltage meter was a big deal—it wasn't even really telling me what to do—but I was already annoyed I was off schedule and today's news meant I would be way off budget and that put me over the edge.

I was rummaging through my electrical bin looking for the voltage tester when I felt hands on my hips and startled.

Jeez! Talk about light feet, and I hadn't even heard the door.

"You scared the shit out of me."

Lips touched my neck while in turn made me shiver.

"Sorry your day turned to shit," Smith rumbled at my neck.

Suddenly my day didn't seem that bad. Maybe it was the way Smith was holding me or the brush of his lips, or maybe it was simply because he'd acknowledged I was having a bad day.

"It could be worse," I muttered.

"It could be, but that doesn't make it suck any less." Smith turned me to face him, then dipped his head. "Tonight, I'll see what I can do to make sure your day ends on a high note."

How was it possible for big, tough, rough, and bossy Smith to be cute?

"A high note?"

"Yeah, baby, a high note." He smiled.

"Any chance I can get a preview?"

Smith's hands on my hips tightened and I barely concealed my squeal of surprise when he lifted me up and plopped my ass on the dirty workbench. The concealment was in large part due to Smith's mouth covering mine along with the invasion of his tongue.

Good night, the man could kiss.

Expert level good.

Which meant it took him approximately three seconds before my legs wrapped around his hips and I was scooting to the edge of the bench to find the friction I needed. This also meant I was moaning into his mouth when he tilted my head and took more. Sadly, Smith didn't take the kiss any further. Also sadly, he broke the kiss not long after my hand had slid up his back and into his short-cropped hair.

With his forehead resting on mine, his thumb grazed over my lips, moved across the apple of my cheek, and his fingers curled around the back of my neck.

"Tease," I whispered.

Since my legs were wrapped around him and he was pressed close, I felt his body start to shake.

Nice .

"Tonight," he promised.

"Tonight," I parroted.

Unfortunately, with my agreement he lifted his head, then lifted me off the workbench, and placed me on my feet.

"You good?"

No, I was not good. I was turned on and it would be hours before I could do anything about it. Not to mention the house situation.

"Yes," I lied.

"We'll have a care, Aria," he started.

That was sweet and appreciated.

"I know you will."

Smith's eyes flared, his smile appeared, and my heart squeezed. I didn't understand what was behind that look but I did know I liked it. Too much. Hell, I liked everything about Smith, too much. Two days in and I was coming to learn, I should've heeded Smith's warnings.

Too late.

Too much.

In too deep.

That was a lot of ‘toos.' Three too many. But I'd never quit anything in my life. I sucked it up, made the best of it, then moved on when the time came. I didn't have time to wallow. I didn't have the disposition to sit back and feel sorry for myself. However, saying that, I knew Smith leaving would be different. Still, I wasn't going to stop this.

My eyes were open, I could see the future. I was going to ride this out with the understanding if I fell in love, even if it was for a week, having that would be better than not having him at all.

Something I was happy to learn upon entering the house from the garage was the walls were well-insulated and sound-damping, My proof was heavy metal blaring from upstairs.

Jonas.

"We're going to have to find a compromise," I warned Smith as we made our way through the house. "He's got two songs of this crap before I throw him out a window."

Smith laughed from beside me before he used a hand at the small of my back to propel me forward, allowing me to go up the stairs first.

"He's fucking with you, baby. Jonas listens to country."

Well that was a relief. Country I could do. Heavy metal, hard pass.

I stopped in the doorway of the room we were preparing to demo and looked around at the empty space that was not empty when I went downstairs to wash my hands.

"I didn't know if you were planning on saving the hardwood." Jonas explained the thick painter's tarp he'd covered the floor with.

"I wish, but the wood in the other bedroom is jacked beyond repair."

All the original hardwood in the house had been covered in carpet, with the exception of the two bathrooms—those had been tiled over. Three of the bedrooms' hardwood could be sanded and refinished. The fourth bedroom could not. It looked like something had spilled on the carpet and seeped through the padding, staining and rotting the wood beyond what I could sand out.

I bent down to lower the volume of the Bluetooth speaker and asked, "Can you please change this god awful racket to something not quite so angry?"

"Your phone's right there," Jonas pointed out. "Change it."

I snatched up my phone, unlocked it, and glared at the screen.

Jonas, had changed my Spotify playlist.

"How'd you get into my phone?" I paused the song and asked.

"Trade secret."

"I'll trade secret your ass if you break into my phone again," I huffed and found a country station.

"Kinky," Jonas shot back.

I heard Smith growl, which of course sent a happy thrill down between my legs, making my clit pulse.

"If your idea of kinky is me kicking your ass, then yes, you can call me mistress and take your punishment."

"Darlin'—"

"You finish that and you'll taste my size twelve," Smith rumbled.

Oh yeah, total clit spasm.

I wasn't fond of jealous men. To me, that showed insecurity. Possessive men, now they were a different story. Not that I'd ever found one in real life, but I was beginning to understand the perks of having one was far better than reading about it.

"Good you had the foresight to lay down the tarp before you provoked bloodshed," I told Jonas.

I had yet to process the bewilderment before his bearded face broke into a smile.

Jonas was dark to Smith's light. Dark hair, dark beard, heavy dark brows that highlighted his blue eyes.

"I didn't see any sponsorships," Jonas abruptly changed the topic.

"Pardon?"

"I watched your channel. You don't stop in the middle of your videos like a lot of people to pitch a product."

"You're right, I don't."

From the beginning, that was a conscious decision and I'd turned down every company that approached me with brand deals and sponsorships.

"Holding out for more money?" Jonas went on.

I could see how he'd think that but he was wrong. I grabbed a jab saw from the tools Jonas had placed together and stood holding it out.

"See this?" I waved the saw in front of me. "Twenty-one-ninety-nine from Ace Hardware. I've used this brand for years, it does the job. It's affordable. If a viewer asks about it, I can give an honest opinion. I'm not beholden to a company. I don't have to mislead, or worse, flat out lie because I'm under contract. I make money from my channel, but I make it honestly. At the end of the day, I have to look myself in the mirror and feel good about myself and I like going to sleep at night knowing I didn't sell out. I'm me. I'll always be me. Money is meaningless if you have to sell out to make it. I prefer to earn it."

Jonas's study of me became acute. It lasted only a few moments before his attention went to Smith.

"Makes sense," Jonas said to me but was still staring at Smith.

"Attic," Smith grunted, then turned on his boots and left the bedroom.

"What was that?" I asked.

To my shock, Jonas answered.

"That was Smith rethinking his life choices."

That didn't sound good.

"What?"

"Nothing, darlin'. Let's get crackin' on this drywall."

Since his suggestion sounded more like the end of the conversation I didn't push. Plus the sooner we finished the tear out the sooner I could spend more money to replace perfectly good sheetrock.

Yay me.