I snort. “Well good luck with that!”
What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Me.
I cringe, physically, and I decide the best course thing I can possibly do right now is go drown myself in the vat of bun frosting. I’m waiting for him to ask if I’m having a stroke, or to just look at me like I’m insane. But instead, he just grins even wider.
“I’m from Farrow HVAC?”
I blink, still wondering how fast I can stick my entire head in the vat of frosting. Mr. Gorgeous grins again, and I swear, if they weren’t already melting off from the heat, my panties would be spontaneously combusting right now.
“I’m the AC repair guy,” he growls in a low, velvety and deep voice.
Oh fuck me sideways.