“Ha. Ha.” I stared at his back and suspicion blossomed. “Did you talk to my mom today?”

“No.” His brows flew up. “Why? Should I have?”

I shook my head as I picked up the packet of hardware. Sitting on the bed, I watched him rummage through the boards. I liked how he was dressed, casual in jeans and a fitted thermal. My gaze got hung up on the clear definition of his chest and arms.

I started thinking.

Which probably was bad, but whatever.

Picking up the instructions, he sat on the left side of me, on the bed. “Well, this shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“It’s not. I’m just lazy.”

One side of his lips quirked up. “I’m surprised you don’t actually have any bookshelves overflowing with books, to be honest.”

Turning the packet of bolts and screws over in my hands, I shrugged. “I . . . I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

“And you’ve lived here how long?”

“Shush it,” I murmured, fighting a grin.

“But you’re now doing it?” He dropped the paper on the bed behind him and rose. “Interesting.”

I had no idea why he found that interesting. “I plan on bringing back a ton of books when I come home from Thanksgiving.”

“How many is a ton?” he asked while he laid out the shiny gray boards.

“A crap ton.”

That grin spread, and damn it all to hell, it was truly a sexy grin. Who had I been kidding when I thought it wasn’t? “Well I hope a crap ton fits in the Porsche.”

My eyes narrowed. “I never agreed to ride with you.”

“You will.”

“You’re awful sure of yourself.”

The look he shot me screamed he had reason to be. Feeling a little flustered, I eventually stopped supervising and helped as he told me how he was renovating his kitchen.

“You didn’t buy a newer house? Or have one built?” I asked.

“Did buy a new house. Wanted something different. Plus, there wasn’t a lot of land available where I wanted,” he explained, spinning the hex key like a pro. “Also wanted to get my hands dirty.”

I arched a brow as I picked up the shelf and held it in place for him. “Seriously? Since when are you into construction and renovation?”

“Hey, I know how to use these hands.” He glanced over at me, lashes lowered. “Trust me.”

My cheeks heated as my stomach wiggled. Yes. Yes, he did. “Why do you have to make everything so . . . so perverted now?”

Brock laughed. “You think that’s perverted? You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Yay. Something to look forward to.”

Shaking his head, he screwed two pieces together. “Some of the stuff I’m not going to be able to do. I’ve already demolished the kitchen, so it’s been carryout and grilling.”

“It’s kind of cold for that, isn’t it?”