Rakeem
It doesn't matter how much space I take, Veronica lives at the forefront of my mind now. I wipe down the spackle on the drywall of Mrs. Lombardo's master bathroom, and reapply it for the third time. I need to get my head in the game.
We were simple. It was all supposed to be simple. Just me and Veronica, doing what we do. I guess shit isn't that simple anymore. Maybe it never was. Everything else in my life has just been so complicated that this seemed simple in comparison.
A wave doesn't have to be a tsunami to drown in it, though.
The renovation of Mrs. Lombardo's bathroom was on the books for ages, but because it was such a big job, we hadn't gotten to it until now. This whole week there's been a few of us knocking down a wall to open up the bathroom and installing a clawed antique tub along a stone tiled wall.
In other words, bougie.
The bulk of the work is done, though, and I'm here for touch ups on the spackle and some interim cleanup. After the weekend, we'll paint with a crew.
But today, it's just me and Eva. Just how she likes it.
I can't complain. It's been quiet. I've been listening to music. I can't focus though. I just keep thinking about how good Vivi feels and then about how quickly she shoved me away when shit went down with Janessa.
I can't stop thinking of the sexual tension between them that was so thick it was hard to breathe. I can't stop thinking of the look of horror on her face when Janessa touched me. Was it for her? Was it for me?
If what Janessa said was true, it wasn't for me. I'm just a stand in until a woman comes that can meet Vivi's needs.
I cut my finger on the edge of the putty knife while I clean it. My hands are so dry and my head is so far up my ass I don't even notice when I'm doing stupid shit. It takes a special kind of stupid to get hurt from a spackle knife.
I'm a special kind of stupid.
"Fuck," I sigh, and reach for a paper towel from my bucket. I need a distraction from Veronica, not from work.
"Ouch," Mrs. Lombardo says. I look up. Mrs. L is wearing a cream blouse that clings to her like Saran Wrap, with a plunging neckline that dips starkly down to the bottom of her sternum. Her high waisted black pants are like a second skin.
"Good morning, Mrs. L, looking beautiful as always," I smile and nod politely, as though I'm not bleeding.
She raises her finely arched brows and smiles, "You're funny. Let me help you with that.
As though she was a ghost, Mrs. L glides past me into the bathroom and rummages in her medicine cabinet. I straighten, heavy and sad, but try to shake it off before it draws attention.
"Come," she declares, a smile playing on her lips.
I stretch and amble towards her, not at all missing the innuendo. I have to give credit where credit's due, she has absolutely redirected my focus.
"What has you down, Mr. Harris?" she purrs, cleaning my hand. Her scent is redolent and feminine, making my head spin a little.
Alas, attention drawn. I gaze at her for a moment, almost wishing I could tell her. Wishing I could just say that I don't understand how I can feel so unmoored, lost, and listless while simultaneously so very restricted to the point where it feels like my bones will break. That my respite from the storm of bullshit that is the unending drama in my life, with her musical laugh and razor sharp wit, just became yet another port in its path.
Dramatic. I am so tired.
"I'm fine," I murmur quietly. She bandages my hand. "Thank you."
"Now, I know you're quiet," Mrs. L smirks, dragging her eyes up and down my frame. I'm numb, largely, but I'm rooted to the spot. "Even for you, though."
She leans her hip against the newly installed countertop and examines me, hiding nothing in her expression. Just open lust.
There's an honesty to it.
"Girl trouble?" she asks. It's her go to, but today she's on the money.
I don't say anything though, it would only invite more questions and I don't have therapy with Mrs. Eva Lombardo scheduled today.
"Would this have anything to do with that phone call you had on break?" her voice is low and husky, and I know exactly what she's referring to, and suddenly every nerve ending is at attention. "Hmm. It is."
And here I almost forgot about her fangs. I take a step back. "I should get back to work, ma'am," I clear my throat.
She laughs her airy laugh with a "suit yourself", and disappears around the corner. My face feels hot at the memory, a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. I don't know where she's taking this. She let it rest for so long I allowed myself to relax, to almost forget about it. Again, a special type of stupid.
She fades into the background, however, leaving me to my thoughts. I focus on getting everything done as efficiently as possible so I can get out of dodge.
By lunchtime I'm cleaning up, setting the room for painting, and removing all the debris and unnecessary items. I start taking trips to the truck, satisfied with my work, and packing up my supplies.
Just before my final trip, I come back and evaluate the drywall, the room, looking to see if there's anything missing that we'd need to bring on Monday, and pick up any residual trash.
"Why does it look like you're leaving?" a pouting Mrs. L appears. I smile, but I'm wary.
"I'm done for the day, Mrs. L."
"Eva," she pouts.
"Eva," I amend. I wipe my brow.
"Rakeem," she murmurs, taking another step forward. "What do you have planned for the rest of the day?"
"Heading back to the shop, ma'am." I am uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
"Do they know you've finished?"
I pause, and I can't help myself. "What would make you ask that?"
"Just curious, I guess." Her eyes are sharp and dilated. I hand her my clipboard with the paperwork to sign. She dutifully takes care of it making sure her hand is on mine.
I have to get out of here. She's got the devil on her mind.
"Thank you, Eva," I nod when she lets go of me and my clipboard. I pull out my phone and take a picture of the contract and I text over the photo of the contract while I'm walking towards the door of her bedroom to grab the garbage and leave.
She catches me by the belt loops of my jeans. A chill runs up my spine.
Did she really just put hands on me?
Eva tugs me backwards and slides her hands over my hips from behind. Her nails are red and long and natural. The rock on her left hand has a blinding sparkle, and my heart is in my throat.
I look over my shoulder in surprise. "Ma'am?"
She presses her body up against my back. Veronica's teasing about taking Mrs. L to bed flashes in my mind and I can feel my dick stirring. Her hands are dangerously close to my growing bulge.
I don't have time to think. I
have
to think. But she wraps her arms around me, under my shirt to run her fingertips along my belly, groping.
