Writing On The Wall (The King Brothers Duology #2)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IVY

I’m unscrewing old light switch covers in my living room, wearing my earbuds and pretending to listen to music. I’m sure I’m convincing, even throwing in a fake hum now and then. But the truth is that I paused my Billy Joel playlist the moment Ethan's phone rang. I could hear the dejection in his voice as he answered, and I couldn’t help but continue eavesdropping.

He’s made two more calls since then, and now it looks like he’s wrapping up the second one as he stands there all sweaty from climbing on the roof. I notice him throwing sneaky little glances my way, probably checking to see whether I’m listening.

Ha! Newsflash, Buster: I will absolutely intrude on others’ conversations every chance I get.

“Hey, no worries man. I’ll find someone to help me,” he says with a soft laugh hanging up.

“ No worries , man,” I mimic his voice under my breath.

He turns sharply, aiming a scowl my way.

Shoot!

“Got something to say, Marsh? ”

“Mmm…nope. Just singing.” I smile, pointing to my sleeping earbuds. Ethan continues to frown at his phone, mumbling to himself.

“What’s got your panties in a twist there, Tool Man?”

“Nothing,” he grunts, grabbing the ladder and stomping outside. I watch carefully as he climbs back onto the roof, his forearms flexing as he pulls himself up each of the rungs and that frown still etched on his face. It’s not that I’m being a perv—it’s more like scrolling and stopping on a reel of a tree being cut down or a rug getting cleaned. It’s universally fascinating.

Once he disappears past the gutters, I refocus my attention and manage to remove three more ugly light switch covers, adding them to a pile on the dining room table. And it just so happens that, like my involuntarily eavesdropping ears my eyes have a similar snooping problem. Let me be clear—there are no fingers involved in this curious streak, strictly eyes and ears only. I have a line I won’t cross, but that line’s looking a little blurry right now, and my gaze locks in on the message that just popped up on Ethan’s phone screen.

Cooper

Sorry I can’t help you, bro. I’m in Cleveland for…

I can’t read the rest, though, because that would involve breaking my self-imposed sleuthing rules, specifically the one with the fingers.

So, that’s why Mr. Grumpy Pants is in a mood, because he needs help and can’t find it?

You should offer to help him, Ivy. He’s gone out of his way to help you, after all.

Do what? I don’t even know what he needs help with. What if it’s something super annoying or gross?

Besides, Ethan is obnoxious and bossy, and we don’t need any more reasons to spend time together. Not to mention, he’d probably just twist my offer around and try to make it sound like I’m hitting on him or something like that. He can call one of his many previous flings if he’s desperate. I may be nosy, but I have too much self-respect to let Ethan King set me up that way.

I flinch when I hear the door closing, so I back away from the phone. Then he saunters inside, wiping his forehead with the crook of his arm. The man never just walks anywhere. It’s always a strut or a stomp or an overconfident waltz as he enters a room. It makes it so much harder to ignore him the way I really want to.

He strides over to the sink and pours himself a glass of water before gulping it down like a barbarian, letting some of it trickle down his chin and neck. I bite my lip and continue observing him. He picks up his phone, and I notice his shoulders deflate as he reads the text I’d examined earlier.

“I can help you. With your thing,” I blurt out. “Or whatever it is you’ve been on the phone about all morning.”

Hang it all, Ivy! You weakling.

He lowers the glass, twisting slightly to glance behind him. “ You’re offering to help me?”

“You have ten seconds to accept or the offer is rescinded.”

That head of dark brown hair is thrown back, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a throaty laugh. “You’re somethin’ else, Ivy June,” he says, shaking his head. “But seeing as literally everyone else in my life is busy this weekend, I guess you’ll do.”

I scoff. “Rude!”

“Sorry,” he cringes, rubbing his chin. “I meant, thank you. I could really use your help, if it won’t kill you to be civil for an afternoon.”

I glare at him, folding my arms. “Yeah, well, sometimes exposure to pathogens is good for the immune system…in small doses.”

Why did I sign up for this?