Life left her in the dirt—kicked her while she was down—she’s just plain broken.
But there’s someone around—the one she least expects—he’s a
handyman. His methods might seem odd, but he knows what he’s doing. He’s
pretty good at mending things that are broken and he already knows
she’s worth fixing—even if she doesn’t.
In the second installment of Handyman Special: Worth Fixing, follow
five more women who think they’re beyond repair and their handymen that
will stop at nothing—including spanking them—to put their tender hearts
back together again.
"Jenna, get down here and open the damn door!" I reached beside me, clasped the first thing I touched and tossed it at him. He jumped and swore. My Snoopy alarm clock smashed at his feet.
"Drew, I love you, but take a freaking hint!" I slammed my window shut and skulked back under my covers, ignoring the heavy smell of sheets badly in need of washing. The clatter of shattering glass made me groan. It was inevitable, and I'd been rather naive to think otherwise.
Drew, my saintly best friend, who had been nothing but patient and supportive this entire time, had finally lost it. For a moment, I grumpily thought about the fact that I'd have to call someone to fix the door, and my savings had dwindled drastically since I'd realized Charles was gone for good. At least I couldn't be fired; working freelance had its advantages.
Drew stormed into my room, scooped me out of my warm but smelly bed, and dumped me, fully clothed, (yes, pyjamas are still considered clothing to me) in the shower. He turned it on, and I screamed a moment before the water warmed.
"Jenna, I've had it! It's been six months!" I was sputtering, crying and shouting in an undignified, sailorish sort of way, when his words sank in. Six months? Really? I had been living in this hell for six months? And what was the ex doing? Bonking a twenty-two year old until her teeth rattled. Nu uh, I was having none of it. Pity party over! I was about to tell Drew just that, when he spoke again. Like a dog, my ears seemed to perk up.
His voice was sharp and stern, and it gave me that weird, hot and weak fluttery feeling below my waist. I couldn't have spoken even if I'd wanted to; my blood had been rerouted to lower places.
"Jenna, you've got an hour to pull yourself together. I am going to the hardware store to get a new damn door." His eyes narrowed, and he put his hands on his hips.
"If you aren't up, dressed and doing something productive by the time I get back, you'll be one sorry lady." His brows rose at my questioning look. He pointed at my bedroom door.
"You and I will be heading into that bedroom, and you'll be over my knee! I promise to set fire to that butt of yours and give you something, other than that worthless imbecile, to cry about!" He cranked off the faucets and wrapped me in a towel. Water dripped from my bangs, into my eyes and onto the tip of my nose. My cotton PJs clung to me, and I shivered involuntarily.
"Don't test me on this, Jenna. I am in no mood to let you self-destruct anymore." He turned and stormed out of the house. My head was still cocked to the side, digesting his words, when I heard the side door slam shut and the rest of the glass tinkle to the floor. What had just happened? A spasm of something deep and needy clenched inside of me. I had seen a new side of Drew – one I liked very much.