Meg Maguire - Driving Her Wild

“What happened to the lights?”

“I’m not exactly sure. But good news! The locks are working.”

“That’s great, but it’s ten degrees out and I need to dry my hair. Could you get the power back on? I’m in a hurry, here.”

“Hang on.”

He fumbled for his Maglite, illuminating the space between them. Steph was dressed in her towel again, her long wet hair plastered to her neck and shoulders. Quite without meaning to, he let the beam drift down to her chest.

“Can I help you find something?” she demanded.

He hoisted his gaze to her face, along with the beam.

“Oh Jesus.” Her hands flew up to block the blinding light, an elbow clutching the towel in place.

He aimed the flashlight at the ground. “Sorry.” He sure wound up using that word a lot around her. “My bad. And sorry about, you know. Your chest. It’s... That wasn’t my fault. That was just biology. You know. Because you’re in a towel. Sorry.”

He wished she’d just go and get dressed. His attention was being dragged down, down, from her chin to her neck to her collarbone, her freckled skin dotted with water, hair dripping. He hauled his eyes back up. “Maybe you should...you know. Put some clothes on?”

“I’m not done with my shower. Maybe you should fix whatever you broke so I can get on with what I need to.”

Again, his gaze dropped to her breasts, utterly by accident.

She gaped at him. “Oh my God.” And with a mighty glare, she flashed him.

Patrick blinked, barely registering the glimpse of full-frontal female.

She reknotted her towel. “Curiosity satisfied? I’m a natural redhead. I’m sure you were wondering. Now fix. This.”

Never mind the wiring he’d botched—Patrick was more worried about the stuff short-circuiting in his head. “Uh...”

“Listen, Patrick McFlan O’Shanahan or whatever your last name is—”

“It’s Doherty.”

She tossed her arms heavenward. “Of course! Of course it is.”

Never piss off a redhead, his dad’s voice echoed. Too late. “You realize you’re the most Irish-looking thing that ever was, right?”

“I’ve got a date in forty-five minutes. I haven’t had an excuse to smell nice in over six months, let alone one that involves a hot doctor, and I am not missing this. So whatever you messed up, fix it.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Do you want to stay employed?”

Right. Close enough. He could let the rudeness slide in light of him invading her privacy, clocking her in the face, tripping her, trapping her at work late, ogling her, blinding her, and endangering her chances with some fancy doctor.

“It’s probably just a tripped fuse or something.” Or something. Patrick’s electrical chops were suspect under the best of circumstances. He’d been certified by a buddy he’d graduated high school with, and landed this contract through his cousin. So no, Patrick wasn’t the most qualified guy for the gig, but hey—a job was a job. And he goddamn needed this one.

“If for some reason I couldn’t fix it...”

Her brow rose.

“What about what’s his name? The manager? He said he lives upstairs. He could at least come down and maybe take over, so you can go on your—”

“He’s in California ’til Tuesday.”

“Oh.”

“We’re probably the only people in the entire building.”

“Hang on. Let me check the fuse box—could be a totally simple solution.”

Her eyes were blazing hot, burning his back as he crossed to the panel in the far corner. He stole a backward glance as he swung the metal door open. She hadn’t budged. She was just standing there, glaring daggers at him, arms locked over her chest—her modest but perfectly feminine chest. He fiddled with the connections by the shaky beam of the flashlight, but nothing. Not so much as a flicker. Frowning his apology, he returned to the seething statue formerly known as...Sara? No, that wasn’t it.

“I’ll just run up to my truck and grab a book. It’s got, like, every electrical issue there is and how to fix it.”

Her narrowed eyes said he’d better be literally running.

“Hang on.” He jogged for the front exit. He fairly slammed bodily into one of the double doors—the bar depressed but the lock didn’t budge. “Ow. Damn.” He shook his aching wrist. He gave the other side a fruitless push. “It’s fine,” he called as he hurried toward the rear emergency exit. “Just some glitch with the new system.”

He grabbed the handle and twisted it down—nothing. Twisted it up, another big heap of nothing. “Oh come on.”

“No,” she said, striding over by the light of her phone and elbowing him aside. “No, no, no.” She grasped the handle, twisting and tugging and pushing and pulling in every possible combination. “Oh, you are kidding me.” She checked her screen, her sigh rattling with frustration and despair.

“Let me just disarm the system.” He ran for the front.

“No need to rush,” she called. “There’s no way I’m making it on time now.”

But there was also no way Patrick was giving her any more reasons to think he was useless. If he was going to screw all this up, the least he could do was be speedy about it.

He flipped the security system’s plastic panel up, but something was wrong. No red light, but no green light, either. The screen was black. That shouldn’t be. It was supposed to connect to the same power supply the emergency lights ran off—

What emergency lights? he had to wonder. They hadn’t come on when he’d blown the main ones. “Oh crap.”

“No,” she said, stalking over. “No ‘oh crap.’ Why ‘oh crap’?”

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I can’t fix this. I don’t even know what I did.”

She blinked at him. “But that’s your job. You’re the guy we’d call to come and fix this.”

“If I could get at my book, maybe I’d stand a chance. But this thing’s as dead as the lights.” He tapped the security console with his flashlight.

She rubbed her temples. “You are a terrible electrician.”

“I know. But I’m an amazing carpenter.”

She gaped. “Then what are you doing here, botching a job you’re not even qualified for?”

Keeping a roof over my head? “Don’t worry, I’m licensed.”

“Somehow that doesn’t comfort me.” She wandered a few paces away, face lit by her phone’s screen. She put it to her ear, staring at Patrick as it dialed.

“Hello, Dylan...? Yes, it is. Um, I’ve been better. I’m really sorry about this, but I have to miss our date. I’m sorry it’s so last minute, but I’m trapped at work...No, I’m actually trapped at work. We’re having a new security system installed and the electrician’s managed to lock us in with no power...Yes, I’m looking at him right now. I’ll tell him.” She put the phone to her shoulder and told Patrick, “He says you owe him a date.”

“I’m not really into doctors.”

She spoke to her phone. “I’m so sorry about this. Want to touch base when you’re back in town...? Okay. Great.”

Patrick whispered loudly, “Tell him I said you look great naked, and he’s totally missing out.”

For a breath she beamed poison at him, then returned to her call. “No, thank you, really. I was looking forward to tonight...What are the chances, right? Yeah, you, too. Good night.” She hung up looking defeated, but calmer.

“Won’t it be cute,” Patrick said, “when you guys get married, and you get to tell this story during the toast?”

It didn’t look as though cute were quite the word she’d have picked to describe this situation. “You have a half hour to get us out of here before I call the fire department.” She turned to head back to the locker room.