Free Blue-Collar Boys (Service Calls - Alpha Male Romance Erotica Stories) by Aria Hawthorne Page B

jeans.  Levi’s—ofcourse.  Stone washed and tinged with grey, and their back pockets were weathered like the seat of a cowboy.  Susan noticed the metallic corner of something else in his back pocket, something small and square, something he kept there with insouciance and conceit, a blatant rubber invitation.
    The repairman stood and rotated towards Susan.  “Please, can you start the furnace?” But his lips spread into a smirk; he had caught her—staring.
    Susan turned with a huff, making it absolutely clear that she was doing him a favor.  She cranked on the thermostat and the gas furnace blazed on.  After a minute or so, there it was—the unbridled whirling whistle of air, escaping from the nozzle nut of the humidifier hose. 
    TwEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet .
    The repairman seized onto the nut with his wrench and tightened it with deep rotations.  The veins bulged in his hands and the muscles in his forearms contracted with ferocity.  Still, the whistling squealed on.  Suddenly, the young man flicked off the power switch to the furnace, killing the piglet trapped inside.  With his left hand, he closed the water valve while simultaneously loosening the bolt connecting the water supply hose.  Then, like a magician performing slight-of-hand, he swapped out his wretch for the screwdriver from his back pocket, and twisted off four screws from the face plate.  He removed the cover and peered inside the cavity of the exposed humidifier.
    “Your humidifier needs to be replaced.”
    “Replaced?” Susan repeated, skeptical. “What do you mean, ‘replaced?’”  She was testing him.  Mrs. Stanley Ice Queen Kirkeberg was back in full-force.  “Can’t you just swap out the bad hose or bolt or whatever?”
    “No,” he countered with his steady, blue gaze.  He had no intention of offering a further explanation, and Susan knew it.
    “Well, how much is it going to cost?”
    The repairman shrugged.  “If I have new one in my truck, then I charge one-fifty.”
    “One hundred and fifty?  Dollars ?” Susan crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto one heel.  “Just to replace a stupid humidifier?”  She glared at the name tag sewn into his blue service blouse.  “Don’t you think that’s kind of expensive, Joe ?”
    The repairman gazed at Susan, intentionally silence.  Then, he stepped forward and lowered his voice, stern. “My name is not ‘Joe.’ ‘Joe’ is sick today.  I am Cozma.  If you want it fixed today, the price is one-hundred fifty.  Or maybe you get your boyfriend to fix instead.” Cozma nodded over to a framed picture on bookcase.
    Susan followed Cozma’s glance to the picture of her future husband.  Stan couldn’t unscrew a set of training wheels, and this guy knew it.  Susan was starting to get the impression that Slavic Sir Speedy didn’t really care whether or not she replaced the humidifier.  He just wanted to irritate her.
    “You want it fixed today?  I fix it.  You don’t want to pay.  Then I don’t fix.” Cozma shrugged and replaced his tools into his suede tote bag.  He swung his bag over his broad shoulders and moved forward for the front door.
     “Okay, okay,” Susan said, jumping in front of Cozma with a forceful push against his torso.  She felt the muscles in his chest contract.  “One-hundred fifty.  But it better be fucking perfect once you’re through with it.  I mean it.  No more whistling.”
    Their eyes connected, and Susan peered into his playboy gaze.  She loved and hated it.  Cozma grinned wide; he was amused by her empty threats.  He lowered his tote bag to the floor and hovered over her, close and uncomfortable.  Cozma stood much taller than Susan, and he his chin tilted downwards, just to make his words meet her lips.
    “I fix all your problems, remember?”  he said with an arrogant wink.  Then, he brushed past Susan, heading towards the front door.
    “Wait—” Susan called out, her voice cracking with