It takes me another hour to finish the paper. When I finally close my computer and start to pack up, I’m exhausted. I just want to go home, take a scalding hot shower, and then curl up in bed with a cup of herbal tea and a good TV show.
I decide that’s exactly what I’ll do. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a workaholic all the time. I’m capable of taking breaks. I know that’s how you avoid burn-out. So this evening, I’ll just let myself off the hook with work and relax.
I manage to bike home without falling over today, which is a relief. It’s March so it’s still a little chilly, and I’m looking forward to my sweatpants and quilt.
I toss my bag and jacket aside and head to the bathroom to turn on the shower. After a few minutes, the water is still freezing cold. I bite back a curse when I realize the water heater must be acting up again. Perfect. Just what this day needs.
I go to my bedroom and change into sweatpants and an old T-shirt, since if I’m going to have to deal with maintenance issues, I might as well be comfortable. Then I fiddle with the sink and shower knobs a bit before admitting that I don’t know what I’m doing.
The last time this happened, Nate came over and did something with the water heater. I glance at the closet where the water heater is. I was trying to pay attention, but I was distracted that day. I frown. Was I distracted by my to-do list for school, or was I more distracted by Nate and his charisma? It’s hard to say.
Either way, I don’t know how to fix the water issue, and I’m not stupid enough to risk messing it up even further by taking a wild guess.
I flop down on my bed and compose a text to Nate. I don’t want to make him feel like he has to rush over here, so I just tell him that I noticed the water heater is being weird. I say it’s no big deal, just letting him know so he can check it out later when it’s convenient for him.
I used to feel bad texting Nate about little issues like this, but he insists I let him know as soon as anything is wrong with the apartment. He is my landlord after all, so I guess it’s his responsibility. He’s just so nice, and whenever he comes over to fix one thing, he ends up fixing about five other random things I haven’t even noticed.
I send the text and curl up on my side.
I want a shower so bad, but I know it might be a while. Nate could be working or out running errands.
I briefly consider taking a cold shower, but then I reject that thought right away. After a day like this one, I’m not going to torture myself with frigid water.
I resign myself to having to wait.
I get out of the bed and grab my backpack so I can pull my laptop out. I open it up and start to consider what kind of TV show I’m in the mood for. Something light that requires very little thought. Maybe a sitcom or possibly some trashy reality TV. I just want to zone out for hours on end.
I’m mulling over the options when my phone buzzes. It’s from Nate.
He says he’s heading over right now.
Chapter Six
Nate
I hate how much I perk up as soon as I see the text. I had an uncomfortably vivid dream about her the night before, and I’ve been trying to forget it.
But now that I have an excuse, I might as well enjoy getting to see her again.
I grab my toolbox from its closet and make sure I have everything I need. I doubt it’s a complex problem. I check the water heater regularly, and it was fine a few months ago. The pipe just probably needs to be tightened. For someone so smart, Cynthia is pretty hopeless with home maintenance. I smile to myself. I can’t say I’m upset about it. I’m grateful for an excuse to pay her a visit.
I force my expression into a mask of indifference. I need to keep it professional. I don’t ever want to make Cynthia uncomfortable by letting her see how turned on she gets me. The last thing I want to do is act like some old lecherous guy towards her.
Once I’ve got my toolbox, I head out my door and cross the driveway to her door.
As soon as I ring the doorbell, I hear her feet on the stairs. She opens the door and gives me a bashful smile.
“You didn’t have to rush over here,” she says. “It’s really not a big deal, I’m sorry to pester you.”
I wave off her apology. “I’m done with work for today, don’t worry about it.”
She turns and leads me up the stairs, and I take note of the way her hair is falling in loose tresses down her back. She’s wearing sweat-pants that she has rolled at the waist. Her maroon T-shirt is cropped so that the faintest sliver of her stomach is exposed. I have an overwhelming urge to hook my fingers inside the elastic band of her sweatpants and feel her warm skin.
I swallow and keep my eyes on her shoulders and no lower.
When we enter her apartment, she turns to face me, and I examine her face. She’s tired, I can see it in her eyes. Her mouth is pressed in a firm line as well. She’s probably working herself too hard in school.
I don’t pry, but I resolve to try and cheer her up a bit.
“The water’s just not heating up,” Cynthia says. “I know you did something to the water heater, but
