Dad texts. “Miles is going to stop by to pick up some parts. Will you let him into the garage sweetie? Love Dad.”
Dad does remodels, makes good money doing it, too. He has a team of guys to help him build. I help him, too, between classes, answering the phones and email. It’s good to contribute, and the extra cash is nice.
Twenty minutes later, I hear someone pull up. I peek out. A white pickup truck on the driveway.
The garage door rolls up, revealing Miles inch by inch. He towers over me. I’m not short, he’s just a big guy. At least six-six. Broad. Built. Bald, in a good way. Maybe in his mid-30s. I’ve had a crush on him since I met him.
“Hey, Monica,” he says, grinning behind his wrap-around sunglasses, “Slow morning?”
It’s quarter past ten, he’s already half done with his workday, and I’m still in pajamas, cotton shorts and a t-shirt from my college. “Day off,” I giggle, “Anything I can get for you?”
“Nope. Just grabbing your dad’s scraps. He needs them for this thing.”
“I could make you some lunch?” I say. I’m smiling, flirting, shoulders back, tits out.