He’d been on enough calls with his dad while he’d worked his way through high school and college to know what he was doing, and it didn’t take him even two minutes to get the door open. Mandy shrieked with glee over what looked like a plastic cup. The seals were tight, and the racks looked almost new. After another ten minutes, while the woman made lunch and wrangled all the kids to the table, he determined the issue. She didn’t need a new machine, just a new motor.
The yappy little black dog perched next to him, looking up suspiciously like he didn’t trust Marc.
“You want to unscrew it?” he asked the mutt. “Be my guest.”
The kids were eating lunch at the table as he worked so the room was chaos. He tried to hide a smirk when he heard a girl yell out a knock-knock joke that wasn’t funny—the tenth joke told in the last two minutes—but the kids laughed at it anyway. Two girls, two boys, one baby. Lots of damn kids.
Since they were busy eating, Marc decided to get the motor out today for a quick install tomorrow. As he leaned into the small opening, the other damn dog jumped onto his back. He sighed.
With the “help” of his new canine friends, he loosened the bolts then turned to the hoses. At the first twist, ice-cold water shot straight up his nose, burning his eyes and filling his mouth. Both mutts yapped and clawed like cats afraid of getting wet. He jerked his head back reflexively and slammed it straight into the top of the dishwasher.
“Fuck,” Marc blurted, rubbing his head, coughing. He couldn’t move away from the spray because the hose was shooting water all over the kitchen. He reached back in and, with one great yank, tightened the bolt and stopped the flow.
He met the gaze of the beautiful green eyes across the room, and glared.
* * *
Beth watched in horror. Because of her connection to the company, she’d known the former Metros all-star pitcher was filling in for his father. But Beth had been leery of him coming. Marc was the type of super-celebrity who filled the gossip pages; even the daily news often covered his tweets. None of that pointed to him being able to fix a dishwasher, and Beth’s flooded kitchen disproved Glory's assurance that Marc knew what he was doing.
“When you said the water’s off, I guess you meant the sink?” Marc snapped at her.
Beth had meant the dishwasherpowerwas off. How was she supposed to know the difference?
“I—no, I thought you meant the power,” she stammered.
His eyes were slits of frustration as water dripped off his face, his annoyance clear as day as he stood to his feet. Beth headed toward him with a clean dish towel, but her foot slid in the giant puddle of water and she wobbled. He reached out to stop her as the dogs shot at his legs, tripping him. He and Beth both fell, landing on the wet floor with a thud and a chorus of barking dogs.
“Fuck!” She heard him curse again as her head smacked into his solid chest. Her arms tangled with his, and one of her legs rested between two powerful thighs. His hands were in the air, clearly unsure where to touch.
“You said a bad word two times,” Mandy accused while Beth tried to apologize.
“Not now, Mandy,” Beth said, mortified. This couldn’t possibly get worse. She tried to move off the substantial male body below her, but he tensed and grabbed her, holding her in place.
“Your knee is uncomfortably close to something I deem very important,” he said tightly. She pushed up carefully to see her knee less than an inch from his crotch, but before she could move, her daughter reappeared.
“Soap to qween the potty mouf,” Mandy lisped as she dumped blue liquid all over him. Beth’s head snapped around as her hand suddenly became slick with the soap running off of Marc.
“Amanda!” she yelled. She reached for her daughter, but she slid and fell again. Teeth clenched, Beth pushed up using Marc’s chest, but he grabbed her leg as her knee brushed against him, propelling her forward. Her body pressed into him, and Beth’s stomach fluttered as she got a whiff of his cologne. She looked his way again; too good-looking for his own goodcame to mind as he brushed his thick brown hair off his forehead. His irritated chocolate eyes, taut lips, and even the locked jaw with the scruff of day-old stubble were sexy. When you added the warm complexion he’d inherited from his Columbian mother, it wasn’t surprising he was on some magazine cover at the grocery store being toted as “Sexiest Man Alive.”
“Jesus,” he snapped. She swallowed the sudden awareness of his proximity.
She shifted, but he jerked when her leg got too close. Before she could attempt to move again, his muscular arms pinned her against his body. He flipped them both, so she was flat on the floor, and he was glaring down at her.
“Stop wiggling around before I end up with permanent damage,” he demanded. His eyes sparked, and she blushed. She started to speak, but he cut her off.
“I know—you’re sorry. It’s fine.”
He pulled himself to his feet before helping her up. She skidded like a child learning to ice skate, and Marc reached out to steady her. Unfortunately, soap is worse than ice, and his feet slipped right out from under him. Back down in a heap, they both went.
The kids at the lunch table shrieked with laughter. That sent her dogs into another frenzy—jumping on Marc and barking like crazed animals. Marc pushed and slid across the floor, away from her and the dogs.
“Now I get why no one will look at your damn dishwasher,” he snapped.
Then Beth looked on with wide-eyed horror as her dog did the unthinkable.
“No!” she yelled, but it was too late. The dog had already lifted his leg and peed straight onto Marc. And ten minutes ago she’d thought it couldn’t get any worse.
Why is life always like this?
* * *