“Seriously, though,” I added. “Where are you going with a toolbox?”
“Holden got a last-minute gig. He didn’t want to pass it up because some music bigwig was going to be there, so he asked me to cover for him as the super for a few days. Trust me, I tried to say no, but he seemed pretty desperate. Now you could be a good friend and cover for me, though…”
I grinned. “No can do. I have a sweet girl waiting for me upstairs.”
“Come on. It won’t take too long. Uncle Owen can take her out for ice cream while you’re doing this maintenance call.”
“Why do you assholes always want to feed my kid sugar?”
Owen smirked. “That’s how we get all the girls to like us.”
I laughed as I stepped into the elevator and pushed the button. “You’re an idiot. Have fun sticking your hands in a toilet or whatever shitty thing you wind up doing.”
“Yeah, fun—fixing air conditioning. Maybe I’ll get a tattoo after, because the thought of someone continually poking me with a needle sounds almost as fun.”
The elevator doors started to slide shut, but my ears had perked up at the word tattoo. Reaching forward, I stopped the doors from closing. “The air isn’t working in the tattoo parlor?”
“Nope. The owner called it in a little while ago.”
Well, well, well. Maybe fate had other plans for me. “On second thought, you have no idea how to fix an air-conditioning unit. Why don’t I go check it out? My sitter has Saylor at the park right now, but they’ll be back in about an hour. You’d just have to be around to relieve her if I’m not done in time.”
“Really?”
I stepped out of the elevator and plucked the toolbox from his hand. “Really. But you owe me one.”
“You got it. Thanks. If I have an hour, I’m going to run to my office to get a file I need for the morning. But I’ll make sure I’m back before Saylor and the sitter return.”
“Alright. Just don’t be late.”
“I won’t. Thanks again, buddy.”
I almost felt a little bad. Although not bad enough to admit I would’ve used any excuse to go to Billie’s, and definitely not bad enough that I wouldn’t be collecting on Owen’s IOU one day.
***
“Hey,” I said to the receptionist. “I’m here to look at the AC unit?”
She squinted at me. “Aren’t you the guy from the other night? The one who fell into the middle of the Tinder reunion?”
“One and the same.” I smiled and extended my hand. “Colby Lennon. I’m one of the owners of the building. We try to handle the repairs ourselves, if it’s possible.”
She smiled and shook my hand. “Justine Russo. If you’re going to fix this AC, I’m pretty sure you’ll get a sunnier reception from Billie this time. It’s blowing hot air. I think it’s up to eighty-five in the back already.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Where is the unit?”
“It’s in the rear of the studio. Help yourself. Billie’s back there.”
I headed back, feeling a little too excited about fixing a damn air conditioner. But that excitement quickly deflated when I opened the door to the studio and found Billie lying in a tattoo chair while some big, tatted dude rubbed her shoulders. She was wearing what I was starting to consider her signature work outfit—a corset, but without the flannel over it now.
Neither of them seemed to have heard me walk in, and it felt like I was interrupting a private moment, so I cleared my throat before fully entering. The big guy lifted his chin, but never took his hands off of Billie. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m, uh, here to look at the AC.”
Billie sat up from the chair. The big smile that spread across her face made me feel a tiny bit better about what I’d walked in on.
“Hey, what’s up, big daddy?” She winked.
Fuck. My cock twitched. Was it her calling me daddy or the wink? Maybe both. I tried to play it cool and lifted my chin. “Hey. What’s up?”
She turned to the tatted guy. “This is the new landlord I was telling you about—the one I’m not tattooing a rose on. Deek, this is Colby. Colby, this is Deek.”
Billie swung her legs in the air and jumped down from the chair. It was impossible not to notice her tits jiggling in that little corset. Today’s was black lace, and I found myself wondering if she had on matching lace panties under her jeans. I bet she did. The flannel she usually wore was tied around her waist. I couldn’t blame her; it was fucking hot as hell in here.
Billie tilted her head toward the back of the room. “Follow me.”
I did my best not to stare at her ass as we walked, though it wasn’t easy. Her jeans were tight, and today’s corset didn’t meet the top of her pants, so she had an inch of skin exposed, too—it was so damn creamy.