Highest Bidder (Fanboys Book 2) Page 11

  He gave them both time to come down from their peaks, and when their breathing slowed, he rolled off her, dropping a lingering kiss on her lips.

  “Let me clean up before we talk.”

  She kissed him back but let him go without protest.

  In the bathroom, he dropped the condom in the garbage. If he had his way, he’d fill that damn garbage with condom wrappers. Would he seem too needy if he stuck around all weekend? He glanced around the bathroom. It was tidy, old, but well cared for. The rest of the place was the same from the little he’d paid attention on his way to her bedroom. The entire house could fit into his kitchen.

  But his place didn’t have signs of Tilly everywhere. Like her emoji shower curtain and her pink, plush bathmats. Her towels were just as fluffy and bright yellow, except for the black-and-red one hanging on the hook on the back of her door. It reminded him of her Harley Quinn swimsuit.

  And that she was waiting for his life story.

  He flicked off the light and opened the door. She was tucked into her bed, facing him.

  “Hey,” she said. The corner of the blanket flung back. She hadn’t dressed, and that fast he could take her again.

  “Hey.” He crawled in and her gaze dipped to his cock. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

  “Not forever, I hope,” she teased.

  His stress drained away. Threading an arm under her, he curled her into his chest and planted his gaze on the ceiling. “It was just Lynne and I.” How long had it been since he’d said her name out loud? “Growing up was okay. We weren’t a perfect family, but who is, I guess. Then the accident happened and my dad died.”

  Her head popped up. “Your dad drowned, too.”

  He only nodded. It was best that’s what she thought. “My mom blamed the world. She’d blamed him for everything. Working too much, not making enough money, having a beater car. But when he died, she never seemed to get past the anger phase of grief. Most of it she redirected at me. School was the only reprieve I got from her relentless hounding. I just couldn’t do anything right.”

  Taking care of his sister as a teenager had been hard enough, but when he was home, he couldn’t even sit down. Change Lynne’s diaper, dammit. She pissed herself again. Why didn’t you mow the lawn yet? The car’s past due for an oil change and I can’t fucking afford a service call. Get your ass out there.

  When he looked back, he wondered how he’d tolerated it all. Day after day after day. It had been his life. He’d wallowed in guilt for not being there when Lynne had needed him. The excuse that he’d only been a kid still fell flat. He’d been a stronger swimmer than her and the reality was, if he’d been there, at least she’d be alive today. Since his dad had died trying to save her, he’d probably be around, too. Chalk another life onto his conscience.

  Why couldn’t he have been stronger for Lynne? It was hard to remember her. There’d been nothing left. They’d gotten her breathing again, but she’d suffered a nasty seizure and the resulting brain damage had been hard for a teenage boy to process.

  The day he’d walked out the door and never looked back had been the ugliest of them all. He’d gotten home after school—no more sports for him because that took too much time away from being his mom’s manservant—and the house had stunk.

  Lynne had been parked in her wheelchair in front of the TV. Fear had shot through him that his mother had passed, too, and how the hell was he going to care for his sister?

  Mom had been asleep in bed while Lynne had festered in her own feces for hours.

  He’d wrestled his sister into the tub while his mom had hollered about the smell and demanded he take care of it. And he’d tried, but—

  With a gruff clearing of his throat, he continued, skipping past the worst. “Without Dad to take the brunt of Mom’s unhappiness, she deteriorated. Life was hell and I…left.”

  He’d almost killed his sister. Left her soaking the dried shit off her skin to go clean up her wheelchair. She’d slid under the water while alone in the bathroom.

  His mom’s screaming. He squeezed his eyes shut. God. He’d never hated himself more than that moment, though most days since then had come close.

  “My dad’s boss never quit checking on me. Abe owned the company I own now, but he built houses, too. That’s the company my dad worked for. I had nowhere to go, and I called and asked if he could spot me a night at a motel until I figured the rest out. He and his wife took me in and he gave me a job.”

  “How old were you.”

  “Sixteen.”

  Her warm breath wafted over his chest. “What about your mom now? Is she still alive?”

  “Yes. We’re estranged.”

  You get back here and take care of your sister, you spoiled little shit.

  Why, so you can sleep all day?

  His mom hit him up to pay for Lynne’s care. Sending her monthly payments for the group home was barely a balm for his troubled soul, but it was all he could bring himself to do. Any more and the price tag was his mother back in his life.

  “Abe put me through school, trained me on the job, and when he died, he left me his business, which I grew and expanded.”

  “He’d be proud.”

  Flynn couldn’t respond. Take care of that sister of yours, son. She’s got less than you do.

  Somehow, Flynn didn’t think Abe would approve of his monthly stipend for Lynne’s expenses.

  Tilly’s breath evened out. Flynn stared at the ceiling. What would Tilly do if she found out he’d abandoned his sister? Tilly, the woman who made it her career to help children.

  He’d do his best not to find out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rapping on the front door had Flynn prying his eyelids open. The first sensation he registered was a firm bottom pressed against his side, then a leg draped over his. Tilly had rolled over and sprawled in a twist. How could she sleep like that? He was flat on his back but had slept solidly until some asshole had woken him with pounding on a Saturday morning.

  The doorbell rang, a sad sound that moaned like it was running low on batteries, only it was electric. Was the wiring bad?

  Tilly twitched, her head popped up.

  More knocking.

  “I’ll get it.” He’d give it to the bastard, too.

  Flynn swung his legs down. His gym bag sat by the front door. Thankfully, he’d had the foresight to bring it in so he didn’t have to pull on his suit pants. He crept out, checking the door and windows to see if anyone was going to get a view of a full moon in the early morning.

  He bent over his duffel and opened it to get his shorts. As he was stepping into them a woman called from the other side. “Tilly? Are you home?”

  He whipped open the door, his anger only partially mollified because it was a little old lady disturbing his peaceful morning. “Can I help you?”

  The woman paused, her hand poised to knock again, her eyes on his bare chest. It was probably the first time someone other than a bed partner had seen him in a state of disarray. His shorts were rumpled, but his gym was private and in his office building. His hair had to be pointing in every direction from the way Tilly had run her hands through it and fisted it the night before.

  Tilly approached behind him. “Hey, Mrs. B.”

  Mrs. Blumenthal’s gaze peeled off his chest. “Tilly. I feared you weren’t home. But this young, strapping gentleman answered.”

  Mrs. B may have been of average height in her prime, but she must be in her eighties now and was closer to five feet tall. Her gaze was as sharp as her mind probably was.

  “Flynn, meet my landlady.”

  He held out his hand. Mrs. B gave him an assessing look as her soft, wrinkled hand clasped his in a light shake.

  She switched her focus to Tilly. Had he passed her inspection? “I wanted to let you know that the roofers aren’t going to be here today. You mentioned having to leave while they were working, so I wanted to catch you early.”

  “Thanks. So when are they going to be here?”r />
  Mrs. Blumenthal heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m going to have to find a new place to do it. The owner of the company kept trying to raise the cost. I showed him the insurance estimate, I already have twenty percent to pay for the deductible, but he thinks he can con an old woman. Schmuck.”

  Flynn’s lips twitched. Abe would’ve liked Mrs. B.

  “I’m sorry.” That was the thing about Tilly. She sounded genuinely sorry.

  Mrs. Blumenthal waved her off. “It is what it is. I just hope I can get someone before the roof starts leaking. Everyone’s booked up after the hailstorm.”

  Flynn didn’t stop to consider what he was offering. “I’ll do it.”

  Both women stared at him. Tilly’s smile grew wider by the second.

  “Excuse me?” Mrs. Blumenthal turned her head, like she was positioning her hearing aid just right.

  “I’m a builder. I can do the roof. This weekend, in fact. The weather’s supposed to be great.” The more he thought about it, the better the idea was. It would be hot, but sunny. The place was small. If he worked today and tomorrow, he could knock it out. “No charge.”

  Mrs. B’s mouth worked. She glanced at Tilly, back at him. “You’re a builder?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He leaned forward. “It would give Miss Johnson a reason not to kick me out.”

  Mrs. B harrumphed. “I wouldn’t kick you out for eating crackers in bed.”

  Tilly traced down his abdomen. “Look at these. He doesn’t eat crackers.”

  The ladies cackled and Flynn couldn’t stop his smile. “My tools are in my truck. I’ll run and grab supplies.” He glanced up. “Black shingles?”

  “Whatever the hell is up there.” She pinned him with a hard look again. “Seriously, though. Don’t touch a nail until you tell me how much.”

  “It’s nothing. I don’t get my hands dirty nearly enough.” Life had been simpler when he could shut the lid on his toolbox and the day was done.

  “I’ll vouch for him,” Tilly said.

  Pride bubbled up. She hadn’t seen any of his handiwork, had never seen him hang so much as a picture. But she’d vouched for him. He was going to throw up the best damn roof of his career.

  ***

  Tilly crawled into Flynn’s pickup. She was more graceful than the first time she’d scaled the distance from the ground to the seat.

  “Where are we going first?”

  He fired up the engine and backed out of her driveway, which barely fit his massive truck. “We’ll hit the home improvement store first. Then I have to run home for my ladder.”

  She gasped and clapped her hands. “I get to see the Halstengard residence? In person?”

  Flynn in his suit, even as casual as he’d been the night before, hadn’t gone with the vehicle. But today’s shorts and T-shirt fit the image better. The image fit him better, too. What would his house fit with, the suit or the truck?

  She still had no clue why he needed such a large vehicle.

  His gaze strayed to her legs, like they had at the lake. Her outfit wasn’t crazy on purpose. Her clearance-rack workout leggings were covered with large blocks of bold color, but she’d muted it with a black shirt. Not intentionally—it was just an expendable shirt in case it got stained or ripped helping Flynn.

  He was helping Mrs. B. He must be terribly generous with his business, too. With all he had, he must shovel tons over for charity.

  He smiled and draped an arm over the steering wheel. “I’m warning you, my house is incredibly nice. Quality-built perfection you’ll have a hard time finding anywhere in the great state of Minnesota.”

  Genuine pride rang in his voice.

  “You built it.”

  He shot her a grin that warmed her more than the late June sun. What would his perfect house look like? She’d never thought of hers. Space would be her first pick. Just space. And a kitchen like the cabin’s.

  “Did you build the cabin, too?”

  “No, I haven’t dabbled in those. They’re not much different, but I moved on to corporate as soon as Abe died.”

  “When did he pass away?”

  “About five years ago, but I was managing his business even during college. His wife wasn’t interested, and they had no kids.”

  “He was lucky to have you.”

  Flynn’s lips flattened. “It was the other way around. I tried to earn my keep. It caused an uproar when I changed the name, but the contractors who’d been with the company for years kept telling me what Abe would do. It was a clear way to tell them who was in charge.”

  It was hard to see Flynn being a hard-ass. Maybe that was why he’d gone the route of changing the name. She could see him putting in long days. At the cabin, he’d never quit working unless she’d intervened. During their fishing trips and hikes, he’d fidgeted and acted nervous. She’d worried it was him being with Crazy J, but no, it was him having work withdrawals.

  They pulled up to the home improvement store. It was no massive box store. The building he’d parked in front of was a quarter of the size of Home Depot.

  She got out and followed Flynn inside. A woman her mom’s age greeted Flynn with a hearty hug. His answering grin was genuine.

  “Tilly, this is Dorothy, an old friend of Abe’s.”

  Dorothy shook her hand. “There were some years if I didn’t have Abe’s business, I had nothing. Whacha need, Flynn?”

  He ran through a list of supplies and they cruised around the store, gathering nails, tubes of stuff, and other things while Flynn and Dorothy chattered in what seemed like a different language.

  Dorothy rushed to the back of the store. “Pull around back and we’ll load the shingles.”

  Tilly followed Flynn out. “Aren’t we going to pay?”

  “Dorothy’ll bill me.” He walked with easy confidence, looking like a guy out for a basketball game, more relaxed than she’d seen him. He was in his element. Dorothy was one of his people. How many others like her did he have in his life?

  Once the shingles were loaded, he took off for his place. He crossed through town and hit the 494.

  “You don’t live in Minneapolis?”

  “Chanhassen.”

  He’d told her he’d built his house, but she still pictured him in a top-floor condo with glass walls and a view of the city. “Wow, that’s a nice area. You really are like Bruce Wayne, then? Massive manor, bat caves hidden on the property. Do you have a butler?”

  “I have a cleaning service and a personal chef. I don’t get company, so no Alfred.”

  “I have a hard time believing you don’t get company.” She poked him in the side. “Someone had to let Becky in.”

  He grunted and scowled at her. “I don’t have women over, either. It was—”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “Go on.”

  He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “It was easier if they didn’t know where I lived.”

  “Solid plan.” She snorted. “You don’t have a personal assistant that’ll ‘take out the trash’ like Iron Man?”

  A grudging smile lit his face. “No Pepper working for me, no. Though I’m sure neither Matthew nor his husband would object to kicking out anyone I asked them to. In fact, he gets frustrated if I don’t give him more to do.”

  “You’re a total control freak.” She sat forward and slammed her hands on the dash. To Flynn’s credit, he didn’t jump. “This is your house? Get. Out.”

  A sprawling three-story house that had to appraise in the millions was spread before her. Rock accents matched perfectly with the white trim and dark blue siding. She lost count of the arches, but every room inside must have a peaked ceiling.

  And the landscaping. June was the heart of summer, and a rich green lawn surrounded the house and outbuildings that matched the style of the home. Neatly trimmed bushes lined the driveway and smaller manicured bushes rimmed the walkway to the house. To one side, a fountain spewed water next to a wide expanse of lush grass that made her itch to kick off her shoes an
d frolic. She might have to do that before they left.

  He pulled along the driveway to a garage that took up one entire side of the massive structure. The wider of the four garage doors, doors that were nicer than any door she’d ever seen, lifted to reveal an open-bay garage.

  “You do have a Batmobile.” She couldn’t identify the sports car, but it was sleek, black, and probably did zero to sixty in four seconds—if that was good for a car. She had no idea.

  Flynn chuckled and parked. “Sometimes I need better gas mileage.”

  He hopped out. She slid down. This garage didn’t have the musty, cracked-floor smell of her rental’s garage. There was also enough room for her to fully open the door and not have to slither against the wall. She could park another vehicle next to his truck and hang all the doors open and they still wouldn’t touch.

  She couldn’t help herself. She wandered outside into the sun as he loaded a ladder in the bed of his pickup, which was now full. And that was why he drove such a massive truck.

  The weather beckoned her. Sunny, a light breeze, there was nothing more summery than the smell of a freshly cut lawn. She toed off her shoes, rolled off her socks, and scurried across the driveway.

  “Holy shit.” She stopped to inspect the surface. “Even your concrete is fancy.” The surface had been pressed and polished until it resembled cobblestone.

  Flynn’s athletic shoes came into view as she felt up his pavement. “There’s a new company in town that does this. They gave me a deal. It was the biggest project they’ve ever done. And it’s good business for them; they can say they did a job for the owner of Halstengard Industries.”

  She straightened. His green eyes paled in the sun, almost iridescent. “You like helping the underdog.”

  “I don’t do much,” he muttered.

  She popped up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss. “Now excuse me while I go feel up your lawn.” Spinning, she sprinted away.

  The second her feet left the warm concrete and hit cool grass, she could’ve collapsed and sighed. Mrs. B hired mowers and that was as much care as her tiny stretch of lawn got. All the mowers did was beat back the weeds. Tilly doubted there was much grass left to grow after years of neglect.