Major Renovations (Ritter University #1) (3 page)

Not that he blamed Ryan. The treasurer had been watching his mother battle cancer for the past couple years. Now that she was finally in remission, he was a little overprotective. Who could blame him? That shit was scary. Ski wouldn't want to watch his mother fight for her life while he sat by, unable to help.

The helping part was one reason he’d wanted to go into medicine. At first. Now he didn't know anymore. He couldn't think of a time when he didn't want to be a doctor like his father. But lately, he wasn't sure if he was following the old man's dream or if he was following his own.

The applications for medical school were sitting on the table, the blank forms howling their need for completion. If his father knew he hadn’t started filling them out…

He’d thought this time alone would help. Time to figure this shit out.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Quiet would help. But that seemed unlikely anytime soon.

His cell phone chirped to life.
Tata
. His father’s face filled the screen again. Just what he didn’t need. Maybe he should just let it go to voicemail. It wasn’t like he could talk with all this noise anyway.

He wasn’t the type to ignore the old man, though, and he’d already ignored him once today. He stared at the screen, heartbeat accelerating, and then jumped in the closet, kicking aside bags and trash before slamming the door. The low rumble of power tools persisted, but he could hear a helluva lot better.

“
Cześc, Tato
. How’s Poland?”

“Fine. We missed you the other day. We had an interesting case over at the hospital…” His father rambled on and on about a mitral valve replacement. The words might have zipped by, but the awe in his father’s voice didn’t escape Ski. That’s all Ski wanted, to feel that same excitement when he talked about something. Anything.

“How is class going?”

“Class?” Right— the only reason his father let him skip the yearly family vacation was because Ski was supposed to be taking Molecular Genetics this summer to get a jump on next term. “Class is fine. Learning a lot.”

“Did you submit the application to Harvard Medical School? Katia over in admissions is on the lookout for your application.”

“Not yet,
Tato
. I’m still working on it.” Ski could feel his nose growing with every lie. He looked around the closet for that chirpy little cricket, just in case. “But you know I’d rather go somewhere closer to home. University of Chicago has a great program…”
and other majors if I decide to drop med school.

“It’s important to keep your options open. A degree from Harvard and you can sign your own ticket. We’re always looking for a good heart surgeon, and that Harvard degree would guarantee you a spot.”

“So, if I don’t go to Harvard, I won’t have a spot?”

“It helps.”

“I’m working on it,
Tato
.”

“Well, work faster. This is your future you’re messing with here.” His father sighed. Yeah, Ski knew the feeling. “I need to get back to your mama before she falls asleep. We spent the day in the city so she’s exhausted.
Do widzenia
.”

“Yeah. Bye.” Silence filled the line as he inhaled deeply, the burning stench of lies filling his nostrils. He drew in another breath. Nope. Even lies didn’t smell that bad. How long had the closet smelled so foul? He stepped out into the noise and stared back into the half-empty closet. He picked up his suitcase and slid it past his nose. Nope. He sniffed the three hanging shirts. Nope. April fresh.

Well, maybe not April fresh, maybe more like a late June. He pulled out the garbage lining the floor and dumped it in the trash can. The one thing he hated about frat life was sharing a room with frat brothers, especially frat brothers who couldn’t be bothered with throwing garbage away. Frat brothers that left their shit all over the room. Barbarians.

He slid back in the closet. Ah,
that
smell. WTF? He peered at the top shelf of the closet. An old Nike bag was shoved into a corner. His own gym bag, no less. That it was his bag and not one of his barbarian roommates was not lost on him
.
Gowno
. O
kay, so he took back the barbarian comment, but they weren’t around to hear it anyway.

Putting the bag on the floor, he yanked the zipper and gagged. Rotted sweat and musty death hit his nose. He reached inside and found running gear encrusted with a black moldy science experiment. Shit. Rummaging further in the scary darkness, he pulled out his iPod. Nice. He’d looked everywhere for that damn thing. He tossed it on the table, but there was no way he could salvage the clothes. He shoved the whole bag in the trash and tied it off. Next time he headed outside, he’d get rid of the thing.

The sun beat through the open windows of his room as the workman continued with their ear torture. A cacophony of random loudness banged against his head.

The water he’d poured on his skin earlier had dried, leaving him with a new sheen of sweat. He thought about begging Samantha to start on the AC, but knowing how annoyed she got with him—? Well, she'd probably leave it for last. Call a girl “Sammy” a few times and all of a sudden you were Public Enemy Number One.

Good thing no one was around, because Ski couldn't keep the dopey smile off his face. She was so damn fun.

The nail gun, power saw, and belt sander symphony kept up their never-ending tune. Between the heat and noise, he needed a break. He could head out, but sitting alone at the local bar wasn’t high on his list. He could call some of the local brothers, but the noise-inspired headache made it impossible for him to be civil.

A shower. Showers generally didn't require civility, although he could muster up some civility with a dark-haired, blue-eyed shower companion. Just what he needed, another fantasy running in his mind.

Unfortunately, back in the real world, Samantha would slap the shit out of him for even thinking these thoughts. His head throbbed at the thought of the jarring thwap. No shower companion for him.

But maybe the closed door and falling water of a solo shower would block a little of the heavy metal concert outside. It would definitely cool down his body temperature. At this point, he was desperate. And maybe he’d even wash the stench of lies from his skin, because his father was going to go ballistic.

Ski not only wasn’t taking that molecular genetics class this summer, he’d dropped pre-med altogether.

He was now majoring in business. And when his father found out, the pain he felt in his head today would be nothing compared to the pain of his father’s disappointment.

~»ΨΡ«~

Chapter
Four

Sam

SAMANTHA STARED at the exposed wiring in the hall and mentally crossed her fingers. Bob had signed off on the electrical work she had done in the kitchen— good thing she’d thought to double-check the hallway last week. It turned out to be the same problem, different circuits. The fact that the downstairs framing hadn’t been charred was a miracle at best. Redundant wiring, overloaded circuits, and uncapped lines had plagued the entire floor.

They’d taken care of the last of the inside wiring before Bob had left last night. When she didn’t finish the complete apprenticeship, she didn’t get her license. So now she could only work on the wiring when she had a licensed contractor watching her every move. She could have had this done a week ago if she didn’t have to wait on Bob all the time. She pulled out a pair of capped wires. She really could have done a neater job. If only she had—

“Ms. Thunder?”

“Yes?” Samantha jumped, poking the offending wires back in place before spinning around.

A middle-aged man, complete with paunch and thick rimmed glasses, leaned toward her, his right hand outstretched. The badge clipped to his collar told her she had better be ready. The badge also told her she had been caught thinking bad thoughts— by the inspector.

“Hi, Ms. Thunder. I’m Doug Johnson with the Building Commissioner’s Office. I’m here to inspect the wiring.” He shuffled through a stack of paper on his clipboard.

“You’re on time.” She sighed. This guy seemed to have his crap together. Maybe she needed to get a clipboard, and then she too could have her crap together.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You
are
ready for me.”

There was no way she was paying for another inspection, not if she could help it. She pasted on a smile. “Yes. Yes— we’re ready. Please come in.”
Please, let us be ready. Please, don’t let us fail.

He walked in the house and stared at the gaping holes in the wall for a long moment. “I was told Bob Schmidt was the electrician on this site. Where is he?”

“He had an emergency over at the animal shelter, but I’m the general contractor.”

“Great.” He looked around again, glancing at Samantha’s crew as they taped and spackled at the other end of the hall.

She really needed this inspection over with as soon as possible. The painters were on loan from another project— she only had them through the end of the week, and they still had to paint the porch, patch the walls, and paint the downstairs hall once this inspection was finished.

Crappity-crap.
There was too much to do and not enough time to get it done. Too many moving parts. Too many things to keep her eyes on. She rubbed her forehead, trying to dull the pain spreading from her eyes to her temples. She hadn’t had this bad a headache since she’d been called Sammy.
Ski.
“I need to grab the property representative.”
Babysitter. Gorgeous dreamy-eyed babysitter.
What the hell was that? “He asked to be included.” She smiled at the inspector.

Johnson nodded. “All right.”

“Barry.” She waved her hand, and he hustled right over to them. “Can you please escort Mr. Johnson out to my truck? I have some water in the cooler in the back.”

“Sure, boss.” He grabbed the inspector’s hand and pumped it. “Doug, how are the kids?”

The men walked outside laughing like long lost BFFs. Samantha looked for somewhere to stash her tablet, but everyplace looked like an accident waiting to happen. Coat closet. She opened the door and stepped in, placing her lifeline on the tippy-top shelf. She stepped back out in the hall and froze when she heard the inspector clear his throat right outside the house.

“Let’s be frank here, Barry,” Doug said after a moment of silence. “Was Bob Schmidt really on site for this project?”

Samantha’s heart stopped. Why was he asking that?

Barry apparently agreed with her— what a shock. “Why?”

“Your site manager was poking around with some of the wires when I got here. Let’s just say I know Bob Schmidt’s work, all right?”

Silence. Barry was silent. This was how he’d get her. He’d say she did the work when Bob wasn’t here, and let the inspector assume the worst. It wouldn’t matter she’d worked with Bob. It wouldn’t matter she’d followed the rules. One word, and she’d never be able to work as an electrician again.

“She was checking Bob’s work.” No animosity or venom in his tone. Apparently, trying to destroy her was fine, but not in front of the inspector. Her stomach unraveled, and her breath left in a large whoosh.

“Checking Bob’s work? He has twenty-seven years of experience. How old is she? Twelve?”

Samantha peered around the door to watch the men. Barry laughed, and then threw up his hands and sighed. “Now you see what I have to deal with without Bryan.”

“Hopefully he’ll come back soon.”

The men drank deep from their water bottles. If she wasn’t so damn thankful Barry hadn’t stabbed her in the back, she’d slap him for that
now you see what I have to deal with
…

Whatever.

She ran up the stairs to Ski’s room. Crap. He didn’t technically tell her which room was his. Of course, she’d happened to see him walk into his room a few times. And maybe she'd seen him through the window once or twice. But it wasn’t like she was looking for him or anything.

She knocked on the door.

Silence.

She knocked again. She didn't have time to play hide and seek. She turned the doorknob, and it was unlocked.
Go in. Don’t go in.
It seemed wrong to just walk into his room. But if she didn't, and Ski missed the inspector, she would never hear the end of it. She inched open the door, just wide enough to call inside. “Mister Kaminski?”

Silence.

“Ski?”

Crappity-crap
.
She threw open the door and looked around. She could definitely see the masculine touches in the room. A small couch faced a large coffee table and a big-screen TV on one half of the room, with papers stacked on the coffee table.
A half wall divided the room, and on the other side stood three beds. Two were stripped to the bare mattress. But one was immaculate. Military corners on the made-up bedspread. Surprising, given the stale beer and pizza smell embedded in the walls of the house.

She always figured jocks were the messy sort. But with the exception of the paperwork on the coffee table, this room was spotless. No food wrappers. No empty cans of beer. Really surprising. It was almost like a grown man lived here.

Too bad
grown man
was an oxymoron, stressing the
moron
.

“Ski?” she called one last time. She needed to get back to Mister Johnson before Barry bored him with construction stories of old and he ran away.

Across the hall, the click of the bathroom door was followed by a large body— make that a large, almost-naked body— strolling out of the bathroom. She watched a drip slide off his chin—
my God, his shoulders are broad
— and slither down his abs to the towel at his narrow waist. His abs. His abs were ridiculous. Six pack didn't quite explain it. She had an overwhelming urge to do an old-school load of laundry, running her hands up and down the hard ridges. The room was really warm, wasn’t it?