Screwdrivered Read online

  “It is amazing, I’m glad you think so. But it needs a shit ton of work or it will literally fall down around my ears,” I replied. “You should see how much the roof leaks, or the rotten wood on the porch, or the world of scary that’s in the basement. I’m scared to death to turn the boiler on once it gets chilly at night. It’s like The Shining down there! And wait till you see how bad the—”

  “Yeah yeah yeah, we’ll get to all that. That’s what I’m here for. For now, we just want to enjoy the weekend and your new house. This is so exciting!” Caroline said, reaching out and squeezing my shoulder. She had a strong grip. Simon must be happy. “And I want to hear all about this librarian.”

  I laughed, escorted everyone back down the stairs and into the kitchen, where I had cold beer, wine, and snacks waiting. We all grabbed something to drink and nibble on, and ended up on the back porch, each nestled into our own rocking chairs. Watching the breakers roll in and the chickens scratch around, I entertained my first guests.

  After having a few drinks, we decided to walk into town rather than drive to get some dinner. It was a gorgeous night out, the sunset a perfect backdrop for a stroll. And as we walked, two couples plus me, I was struck with a sudden sense of longing. Not for a roll in the hay; not for a quickie up against a barn door, although those thoughts were tantalizing I’ll admit. No, tonight I was longing to be part of a couple out for a stroll.

  I wanted to have the easy comfort of a lingering hand on my waist, a gentle touch on the back of my neck, a whispered word. A hand to hold. I loved my romance novels, loved the passion and the chase. But the part I loved the most? Was when the hero took his woman into his arms and kissed her reverently.

  Sigh.

  I kicked absently at the gravel as we walked into town, the group’s easy laughter bringing me back to the present. Where I had new friends and one old, albeit three hours away. I saw the lights of John’s twinkling in the distance, and my mouth watered. Pizza.

  As it turns out, Mimi’s parents have a house in Mendocino, so she was familiar not only with John’s the restaurant, but with John himself.

  “Mimi! How you doin’, kid?” John called out from behind the bar, waving us all over. “Your parents were up here a few weeks ago, they told me all about your wedding plans in San Francisco. Sounds like it’s going to be some kind of epic event.” He came out to greet us, exclaiming an “oof” when Mimi launched herself at the burly linebacker of a guy.

  “John, this is Ryan, my fiancé,” she gushed, linking her arm through John’s and grinning at both of them. The two shook hands, and introductions were made all around.

  “So how do you know this one?” he asked Mimi, jerking his thumb toward me.

  “Just met her today actually, but these two go way back,” she answered, pointing at Simon and me.

  “Viv, the usual?” John asked, leading us all to a corner table.

  “I don’t know that I’ve been coming here long enough to have a usual, have I?” I asked, looking over the menu. “Although I am dreaming of pizza . . .”

  “Butcher Block?” Mimi asked, and I nodded. “Yeah, let’s get two of those. Large. And a couple of pitchers of beer, whatever’s on tap tonight,” she instructed. Everyone looked at one another, and then nodded. Pizza and beer all around.

  The jukebox was going, the place was packed, the food was amazing, and the beer flowed. Ryan was fascinating to talk to, both smart and funny. Simon told me stories all about his latest travels and Caroline described the renovation they had just completed on their new home in Sausalito. And the adventures of their new feline family they’d inherited. And Mimi? Mimi was a trip. She knew half the people in the bar, from family vacations over the years. And when Jessica stopped by after she closed down the restaurant she found herself at the table as well with a beer in hand after Mimi literally pulled her off her feet and sat her down with us.

  After days of near solitude, I felt almost overwhelmed. Just a touch. I grabbed my purse and headed up to the jukebox to take a breather while I picked some new tunes. A dance floor opened up out back behind the restaurant, along with additional seating for when it was this crowded. I studied the list of songs, made a few selections, and was just putting my quarters in when I felt a tickle in my nose. Turning, I spied one Mr. Hank Higgins perched on a barstool, the luckiest bottle of beer poised between his lips.

  I watched as his tongue licked at his full lips, catching a drop. I watched as he ran his fingers up and down the long neck of the bottle, stroking it absently. I watched as his hand closed around the top, twisting ever so slightly before returning for the downstroke. And I watched as he cupped the nuts from below, holding them in his giant man hands.

  Did I forget to mention they were cashews? From the bowl on the bar? Aw yeah.

  “Pretty sure the jukebox won’t work when there’s drool in between the buttons,” someone said in my ear, and I whirled around. Jessica stood there, silently laughing.

  “Ass,” I said, pushing past her and leaning against the other end of the bar. From this spot, I could still admire the cashews.

  “He’s just a guy,” she urged. “Talk to him, don’t talk to him—he’s still just a guy.”

  I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. Tonight for once I wasn’t wearing sneakers and covered in dust. I was clad in an oversized men’s black button-down with a piece of rope belting it in the middle; it was a short dress on me. And in place of my combat boots, I’d worn sandals tonight. Laced up to my knees, they showed off my short but powerful legs. And my black button-down was artfully unbuttoned. Was I showing off some cleave? Yes’m. Could you see the edge of my black lacy bra? Yes’m. Was I looking fairly fetching tonight? Fuck yes’m.

  Perhaps this was the night, the night I’d make him notice me as more than just a sneezer. I peered down the bar; he was still there. With his nuts. I could do this.

  I handed her my purse, which she took with a murmured “Get it, girl.”

  I sauntered down toward him, putting an extra swish and sway into my hips. Something about leading with the hips makes a girl feel a little more sexy, a little more grrr. One of the songs I selected came on the jukebox, Al Green’s Can’t Get Next to You. I walked in time with the music, catching the eye of a bartender and tossing him a flirtatious and cheeky grin. He smiled back instantly, eyes appreciative of my perky perks. And was it me, or had the lighting changed? Darker, smokier, smudgier . . .

  “Grease fire is out!” was the call from the kitchen, but no matter. The smoke and the smudge gave an exotic feel to this neighborhood bar, this watering hole, this . . . opium den.

  The princess looked out across the sea of suitors, knowing that all eyes were on her. Her skin prickled, knowledge that he was in the room something that her body knew on a primordial level. Banners of silk hung low from the ceiling, fans paddled lazy air, swirling the heavy scent of myrrh and sandalwood thickly on the night breeze. And another scent, light at first but intensifying as she made her way through the men. The men, all there to woo and win her heart, but there was only one she wanted. And not just in her heart, she wanted him in her heat. Her secret female heat, the heat that only he would ever be privy to.

  And then, he was there. The crowds parted, and he was revealed to her. Tall, crushingly handsome, he walked with a hunger in his eyes and power between his thighs. Dark, dangerous, and instantly assessing, he found her. And found her wanting. And panting. He found her wanting and panting and—

  Blonde. Boobs. Big boobs. Tall. Blonde. Big blonde with boobs. While I was contemplating his nuts, he’d been contemplating the size-four sweater on the size-six girl who had plastered herself to his side. Bursting with enthusiasm was the kindest way to describe her.

  I tried to make a course correction, not easy when you’re midsaunter, and went right into the path of—

  “This is getting just plain stupid, Clark,” I said, when I ran righ
t into his elbow patch. He lowered his to-go box and glared at me—as well as he could, with two black eyes. Purple and gray bloomed on either side of his nose, hidden by a butterfly bandage and some tape. He was dressed a little less formally tonight, a T-shirt underneath his tweed jacket. Huh. Clark Casual.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, does it hurt a lot?” I asked, reaching up to—Wait, what the hell was I reaching up to do? Luckily, he dodged my hand.

  “Please don’t touch, Vivian. One trip to the clinic is enough for one day, don’t you think?” He looked around. “What are you doing here?”

  “Having dinner with some friends. You?”

  “Just picking up some dinner myself,” he said, shuffling his dinner in his hands so he could push his glasses up on his nose. Which must have been habit, since he wasn’t wearing them. Due to his injury? He winced when he touched it, and almost dropped his pizza box. “I gotta go,” he muttered, and started for the door.

  “Look, Clark. Stay. Let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do for breaking your nose.”

  “In point of fact, it’s not actually broken. Just incredibly bruised,” he said.

  I sighed. “Does it hurt?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Then drinks are on me. Come on,” I insisted, gently taking him by the elbow and steering him toward the table. Over his shoulder I glimpsed the cowboy and the boobs about to head out the front door. She was giggling. He was cocksure. He was also looking over his shoulder at me. And when he made eye contact, he grinned. Ass. And what a fine one it was . . .

  Another missed opportunity. And I so rarely wore dresses. Ah, well.

  “Everyone, this is Clark. Clark, this is everyone. Except you already know Jessica,” I announced, pulling an extra chair over to the table and plunking him down while taking my purse back from her. She raised an eyebrow as if to ask if I’d made any headway with the cowboy, and I shook my head.

  “Clark! What happened to you?” Jessica exclaimed, whisking his pizza box out of his hands and depositing it on a neighboring table while she fussed over him. The people at the table said thank-you and started to open it up. I nabbed it right back and set it behind me.

  “It’s fine, just a little accident. No big deal,” he said, catching my glance and now my questioning eyebrow. He shrugged, shaking hands all around and meeting everyone.

  “It looks terrible, does it hurt?” Jessica asked, leaning over and raising her hand. Before I could tell her stop, and that he didn’t want anyone touching it, she softly touched his cheek, then patted him on the shoulder. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t tell her not to do it, he just let her.

  So it was me he didn’t want touching him. Well, no big surprise there. After all, I was the one who’d socked him.

  “It hurts some, but I’ve got some painkillers, so I’m all set,” he replied.

  “Well, if you’ve got painkillers then let’s get you something soft to drink. I bet you drink Perrier, right, Clark?” I teased, waving over our waitress.

  He rolled his eyes. “I live three blocks away, I think I’ll make it home okay.” Instead of Perrier he ordered, “Scotch. Water. Neat.”

  My eyes widened. That was my drink. When the waitress asked if anyone else wanted another round, I told her I’d have the exact same thing. Clark shrugged out of his jacket and I got another glance of tanned arms. Not popping out of his T-shirt like a meathead, but muscular nonetheless. And speaking of his T-shirt, it was covered in letters and numbers. As I peered closer, I realized it was the—

  “Drake equation! Nice to see a fellow math nerd,” Ryan exclaimed, reaching over for a fist bump. Looking cautious but pleased to be doing it, Clark fist bumped back. A tentative smile on his face, he appeared to relax a bit. As relaxed as someone with a butterfly bandage could be.

  “What’s the Drake equation?” Caroline asked.

  I said, “It’s an algebraic equation that calculates the possibility of not only the existence of alien life, but also postulates their ability to be radio-communicative.” I took a bite of my pizza. “Mmmm.”

  I realized it was quiet at the table when I heard Clark let out a very small but still audible whimper. His nose must be hurting. I looked at the rest of the table, and saw all the girls smiling at me, while Ryan and Simon just looked impressed.

  “What?” I asked. “I hate it when everyone assumes that because I have tits, I can’t recognize something as simple as the Drake equation.”

  Did I enjoy changing people’s perceptions of me? Me, with the piercings and the tattoos? Yup. Did I hate that people made assumptions about me? Yup.

  Just as I was about to share this little nugget of Viv insight with the table, Caroline jostled Clark while reaching for her purse just enough that he bumped into me, his face turning toward mine in apology.

  His eyes met mine and I noticed that what I’d mistakenly thought were the same boring brown eyes as Tom, Dick, and Harry were instead the exact color of rich dark chocolate, flecked with gold and a hint of green. I’d never noticed them before, what with the dusty glasses and the lecturing me about the house.

  Dark chocolate was supposed to be good for you, right?

  But I didn’t want good for you. I wanted bad for you—a passionate tryst, feelings and desires and things that were dirty and naughty and taboo. I mean, except for that one thing that seemed to be so popular these days. No one, not even the cowboy, was getting anywhere near my—

  “Back door?” Clark asked.

  “Excuse me?” I spluttered, choking on my Scotch. How did he, wait, did I say—

  “I left you a note on your back door, about coming by tomorrow. Are you all right?” he asked, as I continued to choke a bit. “You really shouldn’t order Scotch if you can’t handle it—but most people can’t drink it straight like this. Shall I get you some soda?”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” I grimaced, gulping down some water. “You left me a note?”

  “Yes, Vivian. I was able to dig up some of the original plans for the house. I can bring them by tomorrow if you like. I thought you might need them if you insist on proceeding with your changes.”

  “Wait. Whoa. You want to bring me something that could actually help me?” I asked, a wry smile on my face.

  “As opposed to what? Hurt you?” he asked, a hint of a grin on his lips. He pointed to his nose.

  “Touché.”

  I clinked his glass, and he downed his drink. Damn.

  “I should get going, my pizza’s going to get cold. Lovely to meet you all. Vivian, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

  “Call me Viv and you got it,” I replied. He gave me a puzzled look, then said his good-nights to the table. A moment after he left, Mimi and Caroline leaned in.

  “Tomorrow? You just got to town and you already have a date? Nice work,” Caroline said, Mimi nodding her head excitedly.

  “With Clark? Oh no, you got it all wrong. He’s the librarian.”

  “He’s the librarian?” they said in unison, and I shushed them immediately. He hadn’t even made it to the door, for pity’s sake.

  “They don’t make librarians like that where I come from,” Mimi said.

  “Me either,” piped up Caroline.

  “They don’t make them like that anywhere. That’s just part of why our little town is so fantastic,” Jessica added, and we all leaned out of our chairs just enough to watch him walking out of the bar, elbow patches glowing in the moonlight.

  “He’s cute,” I allowed, sipping my Scotch. “But you’ll see the other side. You’ll see it tomorrow, when he picks a fight with me about some corner piece or whozit that he thinks must be restored and never thrown away, or the entire history of the world will be threatened by this one teeny tiny scrolly looking piece of bullshit I am trying to throw away in order to clean up my house and
put it somewhat in order, but nooooo. No. Clark must save it—he must save it all.”

  My voice may have gotten higher and a wee bit more shrill toward the end of my diatribe, because Simon and Ryan stopped talking. As did the three tables on either side of us.

  I looked at them, then downed the rest of my Scotch. “So, tomorrow?”

  By the time we finished dinner, walked back to the house, and enjoyed cookies on the back porch, everyone was reasonably sober and ready to call it a day. I packed them into their car and thanked them for coming down, and we made plans for them to come back after breakfast in the morning. As they left for Mimi’s family’s vacation house, I reread the note I did indeed find from Clark on my back door. And if I didn’t think it possible for someone to be uptight in a note, I now did.

  Vivian—

  In spite of what occurred this morning, I still feel it my duty to advise you on your restoration project. While I am opposed to a complete and total overhaul, I can see how there are some aspects of the home’s deterioration that may seem untenable to you. Therefore, I have some suggestions that may help to guide you in your efforts. I can return tomorrow morning with the original plans. Please call me at your earliest convenience.

  Regards,

  Clark Barrow

  Come on. Regards? And it was on embossed stationary. Embossed! With Mendocino Historical Society at the top—as if I could forget for one second whom he represented.

  And what was this? At the bottom, his phone number?

  I dialed it without thinking. It rang twice, then he answered.

  “Clark Barrow.”

  Christ, he answered the phone with his full name?

  “Hi, Clark Barrow, it’s Viv Franklin.”

  “Vivian? What a surprise,” he said, his voice deeper than I remembered it. Must be the phone. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  The pleasure. Ooooo, that deep voice. The—why did I call him?

  “I got your note, and yes, I’d like your assistance.”