Screwing With Perfect Read online

  Screwing With Perfect

  Louisa Trent

  Published 2004

  ISBN 1-931761-88-4

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 6280 Crittenden Ave, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright © 2004, Louisa Trent. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com

  Email: [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The door to Kesley Richmond's third floor apartment burst in. No knock.

  "Overflow," her downstairs neighbor announced, storming her threshold. "My ceiling just sprung a waterfall. A blue waterfall," Andrew Chandler added pointedly.

  Plunger in hand, he headed for her bathroom down the hall.

  Drew was a rebel, a renegade, a radical free thinker. He rarely, if ever, observed polite niceties; a knock before entering her private space was only one of the many customs he totally ignored. When she thought about it, and she did all the time, Kesley couldn't put her finger on a single social convention he observed.

  She, on the other hand, was a slave to convention. For example, every month she religiously plunked a blue tablet in her toilet tank. This was a major bone of contention between them, far surpassing the battle of the sexes over the correct protocol for the positioning of the toilet seat when not in use. Naturally, as a female, she adhered to the seat-down custom; Drew ascribed to the seat-up male prerogative. When it came to the bathroom politic, they held to strict party lines.

  As to the custom of blue tablets--well, Drew simply didn't understand their importance in the grand scheme of things. In his nonconformist view of the world, he missed the whole big picture.

  "Kes, sweetheart, prettying up the toilet bowl is a waste of time."

  That's what he said, anyway.

  Lip service. Only last week when the water flushed clear right before her company was due to arrive, he changed his tune. Fresh out of tablets, and facing the looming prospect of a naked toilet bowl in front of her snooty sorority sisters, she panicked. When she yelled the situation down to Drew on the second floor, he raced to the store for her without having to be asked. He didn't return with a single box of blue tablets either. Not Drew. He bought a whole year's supply. Just for her. Just so she wouldn't needlessly suffer the embarrassment of an ugly toilet bowl for the next twelve months. And the blue tablets weren't even on sale! Not only that, while she delayed her college friends in the front hall, Drew crept up the back stairs and dropped one in the tank before anyone knew the difference. Afterwards, when she thanked him for his thoughtfulness, he shrugged off the good deed as though it meant nothing, saying he'd only bought "the damn blue urinal cakes" so he wouldn't have to listen to her go on and on about her shortcomings when she had no shortcomings ... or words to that effect.

  She did tend to obsess at times.

  But her somewhat neurotic preoccupation with minute details wasn't the real reason Drew came to her rescue. The real reason Drew came to her rescue was...

  A blank was drawn in her thought processes.

  This was unusual. When it came to human motivation, she never drew blanks. Frowning, Kesley cocked her head to the side, twirled a lank piece of mousy brown hair around a finger, and considered Drew's hidden agenda.

  She had it!

  Drew was still in the closet about those blue tablets. He actually loved them.

  Poor self-deluded guy! When would Drew get in touch with his inner self?

  There was still hope for him. Someday, with a little prompting, he'd admit to his love. And Drew was the type of person who, once outed, would never go back to his old ways.

  That resolved, Kesley jumped up from her desk and hotfooted after him down the hall.

  "Sorry about the flood," she called at his retreating wide shoulders. "Can I help?"

  "That's okay, sweetheart. I can handle this alone."

  "Mind if I watch? I could use a break."

  Understatement. Before Drew's arrival, she'd been poring over the sketchy case history of the newest troubled teen to arrive at The Shelter, where she was employed as a social worker. The few details contained within the report were grim and all too familiar. God, what she wouldn't give for a laugh!

  The irreverent Drew was always good for a chuckle. Say what she would for his devil-may-care attitude towards life, the man did wonders for lightening her mood.

  "You wanna watch? Watch away. I don't mind voyeurs," Drew replied, rolling his gray pleated dress pants up to the knee.

  Drew did display certain exhibitionistic tendencies. However, as much as she needed an infusion of comedy, there was nothing to laugh about here. She lusted after men with good-looking legs, and Drew's muscled calves made her salivate, not chuckle.

  Correction. It wasn't only his legs that made her salivate. Everything about Drew was drool-worthy. The man was gorgeous. Tall, even with his chronic slouch. Athletic, though he never appeared to tax himself. And blond, without the enhancement of any hair products. Drew was by far the most naturally attractive man she had ever seen. When they'd first met, his male beauty had bowled her over, just about left her speechless. For a woman whose career centered on the give and take of effective communication skills, this was no small accomplishment.

  Ten years later, Drew's male good looks still bowled her over. Fortunately, she had long since recovered her ability to speak, especially about really important issues.

  "New shoes?" she asked as he kicked off his loafers.

  "Naw. I've had these for years. I like 'em because they don't need tying. Just slip 'em off and on. You know me, Kes, I never do anything extra if I don't have to."

  The extras included wearing underwear and socks. Drew never bothered with either.

  "Geez, sweetheart," he shot over his shoulder as he waded barefoot across her flooded tile floor. "Haven't you read the signs posted in the little girls' room about the proper disposal of those things? Flushing 'em clogs up the works. "

  "Wrong time of the month, pal. So, those things are not causing the overflow. And I never flush 'em," Kesley said, not only defending herself but all of womanhood from the arrogance of male plumbing superiority.

  She darted Drew a suspicious look. "And how do you know what's posted inside women's restrooms?"

  "Direct observation." Drew rolled up his shirtsleeves and got to the business at hand, namely unplugging the lazy toilet trap.

  Kesley had always secretly admired Drew's outrageousness. She harbored no small curiosity herself about what went on inside the opposite sex's restrooms. Like, why was there invariably a line inside the pink door but never one inside the blue? Men were in and out in seconds flat while women chatted in polite agony until a stall vacated. Rather than wait, many a time she'd wanted to cross the gender barrier and enter that mysterious blue door. Naturally, she never did. And here was Drew openly acknowledging he'd taken the daring leap. This was one story she had to hear!

  She bit her lip in gleeful anticipation. "The ladies inside the restroom--what did they say when you barged in on them?"

  "Hey, Kes, I'm no perv. It was after hours, during overtime, when hardly anyone else was around. There were only the two of us in there, her and me." He gave a phony shiver. "Brr. Scary places are women's restrooms."
Drew removed the toilet lid, went in up to the elbow.

  "Wait a minute! Don't leave me hanging like this. What were you doing in there with a woman? Do you just randomly offer your plumbing services to anyone and everyone, free of charge?"

  Drew glanced over at her, a squinched look of male exasperation making his face all the more handsome. "Kesley, sweetheart, what do you think I was doing in there with a woman?"

  "Oh, that."

  "Yes, that. The men's room didn't have a lock on the door and the women's room did, so we went in there. And for your information, I never offer my..." he paused for effect. "...plumbing services randomly. I have to at least like the woman. And I never charge. A simple thank you is more than sufficient."

  "Generous of you."

  "I think so," he said loftily.

  Same as always, she couldn't tell if he was teasing or not, but she laughed anyway. God, it felt good!

  Startling blue eyes twinkled at her. "I consider what I do a public service. In this instance, the woman was a fellow consultant, away from home on her birthday. She was lonely, and I was available." He shrugged. "What the hell? I couldn't very well turn her down. Not on her special day. That would have been rude and heartless. As it was, we had some fun and it didn't mean anything to either of us."

  "You could've bought her a cake."

  "Birthday candles are so not what this lady had in mind to blow."

  Kesley didn't need to ask what the woman wished for, she already knew Sexy Drew was any woman's wish. But if he was aware of his affect on the opposite sex, he never acknowledged it. A conceited ass about his sexual prowess, he had no vanity at all about his appearance. He never looked in a mirror and like everything else he did, personal grooming was done while doing something else. He combed his hair on the fly, shaved perusing the newspaper, brushed his teeth watching the morning sports on TV ... done without leaving toothpaste trails on the floor she could later sanctimoniously point to and say: "See those globs? Those globs are the reason you should brush your teeth over the bathroom sink like everybody else!"

  But Drew never left globs. He did everything with effortless style.

  The classy guy offered, "A lav's ambience isn't exactly conducive to romance."

  "Could've taken her back to your motel room."

  "I did, smarty-pants. Afterwards." He shook his head ruefully. "I tell you, I was not up to my usual high standards. Why, I could barely perform in that tiny cubicle."

  A first for Drew. The man performed with greater frequency than a jackrabbit on Viagra.

  Leaning a denim hip against the doorjamb, the raised threshold damming the room's wet interior, Kesley offered a not-so-spontaneous aside to Drew's salacious restroom story. "I haven't had a date in over a year."

  "What about me?" Drew looked over at her again. "Don't I count? We go out all the time. Last time I looked, I still had all the right working parts. And, I can fix your plumbing too."

  Kesley smiled. She was counting on it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Kesley, sweetheart, about that plumbing remark. It wasn't meant in a double-entendre sort of way. Honest. I was talking literally. You know, I can fix your broken stuff, do household repairs, like fixing toilets. Not the other thing. Not the sex thing."

  "I know," she said to the strained look on Drew's face.

  "Just so you do." The handyman returned to work, his features relaxing.

  Drew never talked sex with her. Oh, he alluded to his escapades with a broad and comical sweep of the brush, but the intimate details stayed blurred. Even so, she knew Drew was everything outside her realm of experience. Then again, just about everything was outside her realm of experience. In school, she studied. During work hours, she worked. After work hours, she worked overtime. She always did the appropriate activity for the setting. In bed, for instance, she slept. That's all she did in bed. Ever. Appropriateness was the bane of her existence.

  "I meant, I haven't had a real date in a year," she corrected, appropriately qualifying her previous statement. "Finding a guy interested in commitment, even one who practices serial monogamy is just about impossible. Why is it so difficult for a man to have sex with only one woman at a time in any given week?"

  "I can't speak for all men, but I don't practice anything just because it's the expected thing to do. There has to be a reason. A good reason. Look at this way," he said philosophically, "no commitment means no back-and-forth bickering over who gets custody of the houseplants when the relationship sours. And relationships always eventually sour."

  She shook her head. "That's so sad."

  "Don't be sad, Kes! I shouldn't have said that. Forget I did. Monogamy is dying out, but it's not extinct yet. Some men are faithful. Some never stray. So don't give up, my girl. Somewhere out there, there's a guy for you. And if he fools around, I'll break both his legs and tie his you-know-what up in a knot so he can't cheat on you ever again. How's that?"

  "A two-timer on a stretcher with a knotted you-know-what. Every woman's dream date."

  "We shouldn't be talking about this Kes," Drew said uneasily.

  No, Drew never talked sex in the specific with her. This didn't mean she'd missed out on the infamous stories, a secondhand retelling through mutual friends in the know. She'd gained a whole new respect for Drew's ability to multi-task after hearing his adventures with the Monroe triplets. Of course, Donna, Lonna and Sondra happened before he turned thirty. In the last year, he'd mellowed considerably. According to her sources, Drew now stuck to twins.

  The ambidextrous expert jiggled something metal in the toilet tank while juggling a balloon-like object close by. "Listen, sweetheart, if you want to go out, why don't we take in a movie? Hell, I can fall asleep just about anywhere."

  "Thrilling offer."

  "That's me. Thrilling to the bone. So what d'ya say?"

  "No thanks. I can go to the movies with a girlfriend."

  Drew replaced the toilet lid, fiddled with the handle. "Okay. Dancing then? I can do that. Not fast dances, though. I gotta draw the line somewhere. Real men do not fast dance."

  And Drew was a real man, right down to his pluralistic dating tendencies. "Let's drop it, Drew. I don't know how we got started on this, anyway. It was unfair of me to put you on the spot. I wasn't hinting around for you to take me out." Nope, she was hinting around for something else, something more intimate than a date.

  "Don't let me off the hook too easily. When I put my mind to it, I'm damn scintillating company."

  "Scintillating is far too much to ask of you." Was the other thing too much to ask of him as well? It shouldn't be. Drew did it all the time.

  "It's not the handle," Drew decided, now up to the ankles and elbows in overflowing toilet water.

  While staring at his blue appendages, wondering if that dye would ever come off, she broached a sensitive subject. "Why are we still living in this dump?"

  "It's only a toilet, Kes. Silly to flush what we have down the drain because of faulty plumbing--that is, if we could flush, which we most definitely cannot."

  "It's more than the temperamental toilet. The toilet is symptomatic of deep-seated underlying issues." She wagged her head pensively. "We need to work this through, examine the dynamics, maybe discover the causal factors of why we hang on in a place that no longer addresses our needs. We might learn something invaluable about ourselves, something we're denying, through processing this."

  Drew groaned. "You gonna throw in co-dependency and enabling too? How about closure? Now there's a gem," he said in undisguised disgust. "Listen, I don't want to be processed, Kes. I like my denial. And leave my dynamics the hell alone. And remember our deal. You speak in social work jargon; I get to talk in the programming language of my choice."

  "Oops! Sorry. In plain English, I'm saying we should move. Get a condo somewhere. We can both afford better. Why not take the next big step of adulthood and live someplace habitable? Now that we both have credit ratings, what's keeping us here?"

  "Conveni
ence."

  "All over Boston there are convenient condos with plumbing that actually works."

  "I like it here," he hedged.

  Once, she had too. The run-down three-decker was her first real taste of independence...

  Junior year in college she had drawn a high number in her dorm's lottery system. This piece of bad luck cast her into the swelling rank and file of Boston's student homeless. No choice but to seek off-campus housing, she'd stumbled onto this three-family on the outskirts of the increasingly gentrified area of Boston known as Jamaica Plain. To help pay the rent, she and four other displaced female friends decided to live together, settling into the top floor of the building. Meanwhile, Drew and four of his college friends, meeting with a similar lottery fate, opted for the second floor. In the eight years since graduation, all their roomies had moved on. To jobs in other cities or states. To shacking up in lust relationships with members of the opposite sex--or with the same sex in the case of Bruce and Freddy. One of her friends and one of Drew's had even gotten married. Not to each other. Heaven forbid! Those two were now simultaneously paying off divorce lawyers and wedding expenses before the gift silverware had a chance to tarnish.

  It was a tough, transitory, throwaway world out there, the only constant being indebtedness: college loans, car loans, vacation loans, and the aforementioned wedding cum divorce loans. Having been given the gift of poverty by her parents--a present money can't buy--she'd always understood the meaning of pinching pennies. Her bank account backed her up on this. As far as she knew, Drew was in good shape financially too. Neither of them owned a car or maintained an expensive lifestyle. They could afford better housing! Yet, they stayed on in the same run-down three-decker; stuck in place, living in an undergrad time warp. Why?

  "Fuck a duck! Where's the plunger? Where'd I put it?" asked the other remaining survivor of their college life. "This bowl has gotta be jammed. Think maybe you flushed the deodorant again?"