Mister Fixit (Love in New York #3) by Elle Casey

stopping except for lunch, every day. They eat on the job site and then go right back to work until six o’clock, poking holes in walls, running pipes, soldering, and God knows what else. I just try to stay out of their way.
    I keep expecting Robinson to call me and explain himself or apologize, but my cell phone remains free of his number popping up. Leah calls me daily to see how everything’s going and to find out how I’m feeling. James called once and left me a message, but I haven’t called him back. I don’t know how much Robinson is sharing with him right now, but I don’t want to have to apologize to him for my behavior. I’m not ready to admit I’ve done anything wrong. So what if Robinson’s feelings were hurt? He deserves it. My moment of weakness as he drove away was easy to understand. He’d looked so pitiful. But after I had a good night’s sleep, I realized it doesn’t matter how pitiful he looks; he’s not the man for me. Not anymore.  
    “Penny for your thoughts,” Jake says from off to the side.
    I turn to look at him and smile, walking over to wipe the black smudge from his cheek.
    “I’ve got schmutz?” he asks, taking a rag out of his pocket and swiping it across his cheek.
    “Yeah. You had schmutz, but I got you covered.”
    “Thanks, you’re a pal.”
    I feel kind of bad about the pal moniker, but he’s right. We are pals. It makes me even more curious about why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Does he have a problem with other women finding him adorable in an older brother kind of way?
    “Doing anything fun this weekend?” I ask casually.
    He leans back and barks out a laugh.
    My face goes a little red. “What? Did I say something funny?”
    “You’re using my moves on me. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
    I throw a piece of bent wire at him that’s sitting randomly on my counter. “Shut up, I was just being friendly.”
    He leans on the counter. “Okay, I’ll bite.” He readjusts his expression. “Yes, in fact, I am doing something fun this weekend.”
    “Oh, really?” I nod, acting like we’re just having a conversation. “And what might that be?”
    “Well, a friend of mine and I are planning on going to Central Park to throw a frisbee around.”
    My eyebrows go up. “Isn’t it a little cold to be throwing a frisbee around in the park?”
    He shrugs. “No snow. We’re tough.”
    I smile all evil-like. “So I know your friend is either a guy or a dog.”
    He chuckles. “Or a hardcore chick who doesn’t mind freezing her buns off to spend the day with me.”
    “You have a point.”
    “Would you like to join us?” He bites his lip for a second and I have to laugh.
    “Oh, man, you’re bad.”
    “What?” he acts all innocent when we both know he’s not.
    “Now I’m screwed.”
    “How so?” He takes a step toward me.
    “Because. Unless I ask for details, I could be accepting an invitation to a doggy frisbee throwing date or a sexy threesome.”
    “Hmm… a threesome?”
    I gesture out into the room. “Yeah, your friend could be an electrician or that hardcore chick you mentioned.”
    “Sounds kinky,” he says, stopping just next to me.
    I look up at him and his sparkling green eyes. “Do you have a dog?” I’m trying really hard not to smile.
    “Yes, I do.”
    “And does he like to play frisbee in the park?”
    “Yes, he does. He’s a border collie and he lives to play.”
    “Why don’t you bring him to work with you?”
    “Because he prefers to stay home with my wife.”
    My heart drops into my stomach and I stare at him as the blood leaves my face.
    He smiles. “I’m just kidding. I’m not married.”
    I punch him right in the stomach, and he doubles over as the air whooshes out of him.
    “Holy shit,” he grunts out. “You pack a hell of a punch.”
    “Oh my god,” I say, laughing, still incredulous over his answer and the fact that I just gut-punched him.
    Who does that? Who socks her sub-contractor in the belly? I