She pushes the door closed and walks across the room. Liam trails behind her, checking out the way her ass sways in her worn-out jeans. She’s babbling at him again.
“…and it just stopped going down. I’m sorry about the smell. I tried the window but it only opens a few inches. I can’t afford a plumber and I don’t know if you know anything about sinks but...” she trails off and motions to the sink.
Liam steps over the sink, his lip curling up at the smell. God, what a reek. He wonders how long it’s been like this. He wonders why she just didn’t call maintenance. He wonders what the hell h
e’s doing over here. Fuck it, he’s here, might as well take a look. If he fixes it she might leave him alone. Giving an exasperated sigh, he flips open the lower cabinet doors and slides under the sink.
There’s a wrench that just fits the pipe shoved to the back of cabinet so it must be a recurring problem. He grabs it and gives the pipes a tap, listening for a gurgle. He can hear what’s-her-name, Willow, babbling at him again but he can’t understand what she’s saying. Damn, chatty chicks drive him crazy. He eyes the U-bend in the pipe and slides back out.
“You got a bucket?”
“Uhhh…” She’s looking around the room like a bucket’s going to drop out of the sky.
“Bowl? Pot? Anything that will hold water?” He shakes his head and heaves himself off the floor when she doesn’t move, snatching a pot off the stove and shoving it under the pipe before applying the wrench and opening it up. Fetid water gushes into the waiting pot along with a little plastic car that plops out. He fishes it out with the edge of the wrench and flicks it onto the counter. “Don’t let your kid stick crap down the drain.”
“I didn’t let him drop stuff in there on purpose,” she huffs.
He shrugs and reconnects the pipes. When he finishes up he hands the wrench to Willow. “Here, you’ll probably need this again.” He runs cleans water through the drain and washes his hands. Willow is watching him, not saying anything but he can see the red flush high across her cheeks. His remark about her kid pissed her off then. Tough shit.
Liam stalks across the kitchen and to the front door, Willow right behind him. He can tell she wants to say something and he wants to be out before she can open her mouth. He reaches for the door knob but before he can twist it open she’s there, her hand on his, warm and soft across the back of his knuckles. It’s been a very long time since anyone has put their hand on his. He’s not sure he likes the feeling.
“Hey,” she says softly “I’m not a bad mom. But I’m a single mom and it’s hard sometimes.”
Liam doesn’t answer her. His experiences with moms are limited to his own mother and it wasn’t exactly cupcakes and kisses.
“Thank you. For fixing my sink,” she says to him.
He can hear the catch in her voice. He never could resist a woman in tears. Fuck, he hoped she held it together until he got out of her apartment. He shakes her hand off of his and starts to turn the knob but stops again.
“Next time you got a problem, call the manager or maintenance guy. I pay my rent and this ain’t my job.”
Then he snatches open the door and stomps down the hallway to his own apartment. When he glances back at her door before opening his own, she’s still in the doorway, watching him.
Chapter Three
Willow
Willow pulls off her little black apron and bundles it into her work locker, slamming and locking the metal door before dropping into a nearby plastic chair and counting her tips. They’d been short-staffed and overrun with customers all evening but judging from the paltry pile in her hand they weren’t feeling all that generous tonight. At this point she’s basically just working to pay the sitter. She just can’t seem to get ahead. Willow kicks at the bottom of her locker, the metal ringing her frustration as she pulls on her jacket and heads out the back door of the club to the bus stop.
Fifteen minutes later, Willow is wiggling her key in the lock and slipping quietly into her apartment. Olivia is on the sofa, engrossed in her phone, and Frank is pushing a plastic truck around and through the legs of the coffee table. Willow looks at the clock on VCR and swears quietly under her breath.
“Olivia,” she says, her voice high with fake sweetness, “why isn’t Frank in bed?”
“Mommy!” Frank flies across the room and flings himself onto Willow’s legs, wrapping his little arms around her knees. She smooths her hand across his hair before gently detangling him and giving him a little nudge toward his toy truck. “Mommy needs to talk to Olivia, honey.” He gives her kneecap a smacking kiss before toddling back to his play.
Olivia has stood up, her hip cocked, arms crossed. Light winks off the ring in her raised eyebrow. Everything about her screams attitude and Willow hasn’t even said anything to her yet.
“Olivia,” Willow starts patiently “I’ve asked you to please have him in bed eight-thirty. It’s almost nine-thirty now. I don’t ask you for much and he’s a well-behaved kid. Could you do that next time? Please?”
Olivia holds out her hand without answering. Willow sighs and drops a pile of bills into her outstretched palm, waiting as she quickly counts it.
“Yeah, you don’t pay me enough to bathe a kid.” Olivia ruffles the bills at Willow.
“What? You get most of MY tips every night!” Willow’s voice is rising and she tries to level down her volume when she sees Frank look over.
The sitter shrugs and sucks on her teeth. “Not my problem. You don’t pay me enough to do anything really. You don’t have cable or even any decent snacks. What am I supposed to do?”
“Um, how about you watch my son! You know, the job you get paid to do?” Willow’s temper is rising and she’s trying not to reach over and knock the girl off her feet.