Rent-A Husband Read online

  “Luv ya too.” I hang up and toss my phone on the couch, then cuddle into the corner and bring Dateline up on the screen.

  I know my best friend is right. I need to put what Elijah and I had to rest and leave it in the past. I make a promise to myself then and there that I’ll do whatever it takes to get back to being the confident, independent woman I was before I let a man break me.

  Two hours later, I’ve finished my bottle of wine. Though I’m a little past tipsy, I feel like my old self, like I could conquer the world.

  I’ll be cursing myself in the morning for drinking so much wine though. I hope I can get up to do my training run with my trail running group. I don’t want to add lack of sleep to my list of excuses.

  I used to do trail running before I met Elijah, and for some reason, I stopped while we were dating. He wasn’t into it, and although he didn’t exactly ask me to stop training and doing the races, he made it clear that the time I devoted to it was an issue and he had no interest in cheering me on or waiting at the finish line.

  Last week in a moment of “fuck him,” I signed up to rejoin my old running group. For the first time since we broke up, I’m looking forward to something just for me. Just one step toward finding myself post-breakup.

  I turn the TV off, set my wine glass in the dishwasher, then head to the bathroom. I decide to shower before getting ready for bed. After I undress, I lean into the shower to turn on the water. The water runs from the tub faucet, so I pull up the little handle to switch it to the showerhead, but I slip.

  Thanks, chardonnay.

  To save myself from completely falling into the tub, I grab the tub faucet, but all my weight pushes down on it and the thing busts off completely. I yelp as water sprays all over the room.

  “Oh my god.” I’m face-first in the bathtub with water dousing me.

  I scramble, sputtering while the water from the tub spout nails me in the face. Water sprays every which way and I’m frantic to turn off the water, so I turn the knob, but instead of making the water stop, it keeps spinning until it spins completely off.

  What the hell?

  I yank the shower curtain closed to keep most of the water in the shower, then grab my phone off the counter in a desperate search for a plumber who will make an emergency visit.

  I’m in no way a “Ms. Fix-It.” I don’t know my way around a hammer and a nail. Probably the by-product of being raised by a single mom in downtown Seattle.

  I start scrolling, saying a small prayer that someone will be willing to come help me on a Friday night.

  Three

  Camila

  While I wait for one of the RENT-A HUSBAND guys to show up, I try once more to stop the water spraying, but my only rewards are a sopping wet T-shirt and hair. I called a few plumbers before I called RENT-A HUSBAND, but none of them were willing to make a Friday night call. Business must be thriving for them. When I saw the ad for RENT-A HUSBAND that said they specialize in after-hours emergency calls, I knew they were my only hope. I practically begged the guy who answered to send someone over.

  My doorbell rings and I rush from the bathroom to the front of my house.

  My house isn’t huge, but I’m proud to call the three-bedroom bungalow in a good part of town my own.

  I swing open the door expecting to find a middle-aged man in a white wife beater with a protruding gut, but instead the man is tall and trim with caramel-colored eyes and brown hair that’s longer on top. I can tell that if he let it grow just a little longer, it would curl a bit. No way this is the RENT-A HUSBAND.

  “Are you Camila?” He frowns, giving me the once-over.

  I glance down at myself and realize what I must look like. My wet T-shirt clings to my skin, and although I’m only a B in the chest department, my nipples are clearly poking through the fabric. My hair drips and I feel it plastered to my face.

  “Um, yeah. Are you here to fix my shower?” I ask.

  “Why else would I be here?” he grumbles and pushes past me into the house.

  Jeez. Rude much?

  “I need to change. Let me show you the bathroom. It’s like Old Faithful in there.”

  He doesn’t laugh, or even smile for that matter.

  I turn away from him and roll my eyes, leading him through the living room and kitchen to the back of my bungalow, where the full bathroom is.

  “Here it is. I’m going to change really quick.”

  Again, he doesn’t bother responding and heads into the bathroom.

  I rush to my bedroom and close the door, quickly exchanging my wet T-shirt and baggy lounge pants for a pair of leggings and a different T-shirt. This time I put on a bra. I use a dry T-shirt I wear when I’m cleaning to squeeze the water out of my hair before taking a quick peek in the mirror over my dresser.

  Oh god. My makeup is dripping down my cheeks, so I run the same T-shirt under my eyes, doing my best to get rid of the raccoon look I’m sporting. Then I head back to my bathroom.

  “Oh, you got the water to stop.” I smile in relief.

  He scowls over his shoulder at me. “It only required the use of a wrench.” His tone implies that I’m an idiot for not knowing that fact.

  I cross my arms. “Is there a problem?”

  He stands and turns to face me, grumbling something under his breath that I can’t make out, but I’m sure I caught the word wings in there somewhere.

  “A big one.” He crosses his arms, which makes the muscles in his arms bulge. I wish I didn’t notice since this guy seems like a class A jerk.

  “What kind of big problem? Can’t you just replace the handle and spout?”

  He shakes his head. “The big problem is this.” He turns and pushes on the tile in my shower near the corner where the tile meets the tub. “See how this is moving?”

  I walk forward, careful to not get too close to him, and watch as the tile moves in every time he pushes on it. “Yeah, so?”

  He straightens up, but I don’t have time to step back, so he’s right in front of me and I realize for the first time how tall he is.

  “So it shouldn’t do that. It means you have water behind the tiles. And more than likely mold. This entire shower needs to be ripped out.”

  My jaw goes slack. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, you’re the one who couldn’t use a wrench to turn off the water. What do you think?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Right now, I think you’re being pretty rude to a paying customer.”

  He blows out a breath and pushes his hand through his hair. I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run my own hands through his hair. Then I want to slap myself for mooning after yet another jerk.

  “Listen, I’m not trying to be rude. You just pulled me away from something when you called. This isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night.”

  Right, I’m sure he had some hot date or something. “And you think I did?”

  “You own this place or rent it?” He looks around in judgment as though there’s no possible way I could be doing anything but renting.

  “Own it,” I snipe.

  He narrows his eyes. “I only ask because if you were renting, it’s the landlord’s problem, but since you own it, it’s yours.” He gives me a smug smile.

  Maybe I jumped to conclusions. “Is there any way to fix the problem without ripping the shower out?”

  I make good money at my job, but I was saving to finish the basement or maybe put in a home gym and a movie room.

  He shakes his head. “It needs to be ripped out to figure out where the water is coming from. The wall behind the tile is soft.”

  I frown and look around the space. The bathroom is one of the more dated spots in my house, but I’d hoped I would be able to live with it for a few more years until after I finished the basement. I guess that’s not happening now.

  “Guess I’m getting a new bathroom.” I don’t even feign excitement.

  “I’ve stopped the water for now, but I’ll have to hit the hardw
are store in the morning to get the parts to fix it… unless you’re planning to rip it out and redo the bathroom.”

  I’d like to tell him to fix it and just say the hell with it, but I don’t want to risk further damage to my house by letting it go. Who knows how much mold is back there? I don’t want it to spread to another area of the house.

  “I guess I have to rip it out and redo it.” I look around at the space. “I suppose I’ll do the entire bathroom while I’m at it. No sense just doing the shower.”

  “Do you have another bathroom in the house?”

  I cringe. “Only a half bath. But there’s a shower outside.”

  He tilts his head.

  “The previous owner had a hot tub and I guess you’re supposed to shower before you get in those things to preserve the pH balance. I don’t know.” I shrug. “He took the hot tub with him when he left, so I’ve never used it, but I’m assuming it still works.”

  “Better than nothing, I guess.” He places the wrench in his toolbox.

  “Do you guys do bathroom remodels?” I ask.

  The last thing I want is to try to find a reputable contractor. All of the RENT-A HUSBAND’s reviews were stellar, though now that I’ve seen this guy, I’m wondering whether the reviews are based on the personnel and not a reflection of their work. But he seems to know what he’s talking about, even if he’s rude.

  He shakes his head. “No, we’re more about doing odd jobs around the house for people. We don’t tackle projects this large.”

  I frown. “Do you know anyone reliable and honest to do the work?”

  He pushes his hand through his hair again, and once more I mentally chastise myself for wanting to know what that feels like. “Well…” It’s clear he’s holding back.

  I put my hands together in prayer pose in front of me. “Please tell me. I’m busy with work and I need to get this done right away so I have a place to shower before summer is up.”

  “I could do it.” He expels a breath. “But it would be after hours and on the weekends, so it wouldn’t be as fast as if I was here all day everyday.”

  “How long do you think it would take?”

  He moves his head side to side. “Probably three to four weeks, depending on if the finishes you pick are in stock. I couldn’t come every night, but I could be here a few times a week and one day on the weekends.”

  I run that over in my mind. That could work. If I say no, it could take me weeks to get estimates and find someone else. Even then, there’s no telling whether they could do the job or not. “You’re hired. Can you get me an estimate on what you think it’s going to cost?”

  “A lot of that will depend on what kind of finishes you choose. Granite counters are more expensive than laminate.”

  “I’m aware. Let’s say middle of the road finishes. Nothing too fancy but nicer than the most basic option.”

  He looks around the space, putting his hands on his hips. “I can do that.”

  “Yay, thank you.”

  One problem solved. Sort of.

  “You gonna be around tomorrow?” he asks. “I need to get some measurements and figure out how much material I need for the job.”

  “I should be home by ten.”

  He nods. “See you then.”

  He walks past me to leave the bathroom and I catch his scent. He doesn’t smell like cologne but rather soap maybe? It’s a masculine, spicy scent, and if he weren’t right here, I’d probably close my eyes and suck in another breath. But he is here, so I resist the urge.

  “Wait,” I say.

  He turns around and raises an eyebrow.

  “I don’t know your name.”

  He steps forward with his hand out. “Lucas. Lucas Abbott.”

  I take his hand, and our eyes meet when the heat from his palm seeps into mine. I swear we share a moment, but maybe I’m just feeling a little tipsy after all the wine.

  “Nice to meet you, Lucas. Let me get you a check.”

  I grab my checkbook from the drawer and write it out, meeting him by the front door. I hand it over and he accepts it, folding it and putting it in his back pocket without ever looking at the amount.

  His forehead wrinkles and he nods, then retracts his hand. “See you in the morning.”

  I follow him to the door, which he opens on his own and leaves without a backward glance. I lock up behind him then lean against the door.

  What was that I felt when our hands touched?

  I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. The guy is clearly a jerk, even if he’s a handsome-as-hell jerk. After Elijah, I swore off jerks forever. Lucas will have to remain just the hot handyman. I can enjoy the view while he’s working on my bathroom, but that’s all.

  Four

  Lucas

  I was a bit of a dick to Camila last night. Okay, I was a straight-up dick.

  When I first showed up and her shirt was drenched, outlining a set of perfect modest-sized tits—nipples and all—I thought she was just another single customer looking for a little side action once the job was complete on a Friday night. I’m there to do a job, and yeah, I’m not performing brain surgery or anything, but I pride myself on my professionalism—usually. But last night when I saw her and thought I’d been called out just so some single woman could score, it ratcheted up my irritation. Some guys might take it as a compliment (ahem, Josh), but I’m not one of them.

  I owe her an apology. Which I’ll be sure to deliver this morning when I see her.

  After I hit the gym, I return home for a shower before heading back out. I put my toolbox in the back of my pickup, then I head over to her place.

  She only lives five minutes from me, so I arrive on time and park in her driveway. I get out, take the toolbox with me, and walk up the pathway to her modest bungalow. It’s a cute place, and from what I saw inside yesterday, it’s in decent shape for its age.

  I knock on the door and wait. After a minute when no one comes to the door, I knock again, listening more carefully this time. I don’t hear any noise behind the door. I knock a third time, then I step to the side to look through the living room window. I don’t see any movement.

  Maybe I pissed her off more than I thought and when she got up this morning, she changed her mind about hiring me. A phone call would’ve been nice.

  I turn to head home, pissed at myself for ruining a way to earn extra money for my grandparents’ anniversary gift. I’m about halfway down the path when I spot her on the driveway.

  She’s clearly returning from a run, dressed in a black sports bra with matching bike shorts. Her AirPods are in her ears and her shoulder-length hair is pulled back into the world’s smallest ponytail.

  Looking at her now, I can’t imagine why I ever would’ve thought she’d be single. Her slender build and olive skin make me wonder what she’d taste like. Her dark eyes draw me in even though she’s half naked. All of her features combine into a perfect package for a single horny man like me. And she’s standing in front of me covered in sweat and Lycra.

  My dick stirs in my pants before I can shift my thoughts past how it would feel to be the one who makes this woman work up a sweat.

  “Hey, sorry. I was doing a training run with my run club.” She stops a few feet from me, panting and bending at the waist with her hands on her knees. “Took me longer to run the route than I thought it would.”

  An amused chuckle leaves my lips. “This a new thing you’re doing?”

  She straightens and runs her forearm over her sweaty forehead. “Sort of. It was an old thing a few years ago, so now it’s a new thing again.”

  I nod. “Well, bonus points for not collapsing or puking.”

  She laughs and steps past me, pulling her house key out of a tiny zippered pocket in the waistband of her shorts. While she’s opening the door, I get the opportunity to check out her ass, which is stellar.

  “Sorry, this thing sticks sometimes.” She looks back at me over her shoulder.

  “Want me to take a look?” I ask.r />
  She steps back and motions with her hand at the door. “Be my guest.”

  I do and quickly realize the issue. “The wooden door is warped so the deadbolt isn’t lining up with the hole. With the weather here, a steel door could solve your problem.” I pull the door forward and twist the key, finally unlocking the door.

  “Thanks,” she says and walks past me into the house, pulling the key from the door.

  “You wrestle with that thing every time you come home?” I grab my toolbox from the ground and follow her inside.

  She shrugs and bends to unlace her shoes, giving me a perfect view of her cleavage. Instead of being a pervert, I set the toolbox down and remove my own shoes.

  “Pretty much,” she says.

  “You might want to think about getting that replaced.”

  “I’ll add it to the list.” She heads straight for the kitchen.

  I follow her in so that I can get this apology out of the way, even though she doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge. Camila pulls a water bottle from the fridge and holds it out toward me in offering.

  “No thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” She tilts her head back and swallows at least half the bottle. “I have a long way to go before I’m back where I used to be.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get there.” In truth, her body doesn’t even need the running.

  She tilts her head and looks at me quizzically. Maybe she’s shocked that I’m not being a complete asshole. I can’t say I’d blame her for thinking that after last night.

  “Do you need something from me before you measure the bathroom?”

  I shake my head. “No, but I do want to apologize for being an asshole last night.”

  Her eyes widen. “Wow. Thanks.”

  This isn’t the easiest thing to spit out, so I shift my stance. “I’m normally nothing but a professional, but I certainly wasn’t last night. I think when I saw you…”

  Her eyes narrow ever so slightly and her forehead wrinkles. “When you saw me what?”

  I clutch the back of my neck with my hand. “When I saw you soaked and your T-shirt…” I motion to my own chest as though she’ll be able to figure out what I mean, but she looks at me as though she has no idea what I’m talking about. “It was wet… and clingy.”