Cole Bristol is none of that.
He’s rough edges and calloused hands. The kind of man with hair dusting his knuckles and forearms, a hint of it on his chest where his shirt gaped open just enough to tease my imagination. The kind of man who smells like the outdoors and very bad decisions.
My lips twitch, because I want to text Maddie and tell her a man finally gave me the tingles. Real, full-body, spine-melting tingles. The kind of tingles she always swore the next guy would give me after another failed date. But I can’t. Because the man who did is her brother.
Guilt hits fast, curling hot in my stomach. I should not be thinking about him like this. About the size of his dick that I’m confident I felt twitch against my ass earlier. And yet… when I glance at the coffee table he promised to finish tomorrow, my pulse jumps again.
Because I can’t wait to see him walk back through that door.
CHAPTER 7
Cole
By noon, I’ve measured the same damn beam three times. Twice wrong, once out of pure distraction.
“Boss, you good?” Travis asks, hammer hanging from his belt. “You’ve been staring at that thing for twenty minutes.”
“Fine.” I circle something meaningless on the blueprints. “Focus on your spacing.”
He shrugs, trades a look with Jake, and they get back to work. The clang of hammers rings out, steady and familiar, but my head’s nowhere near this site. It’s back in that apartment where it has no fucking business being. Her laugh keeps echoing in my brain, her bare legs teasing me.
“Yes, sir.”
I set the clipboard down, rub the back of my neck, and mutter, “Get your shit together, Bristol.”
The wind kicks sawdust into my face. I deserve it. She’s Maddie’s best friend, for Christ’s sake. The one person I should keep a professional, brotherly distance from. Not the one I imagine pressed against a wall, hair slipping through my fingers while my tongue explores her mouth.
“Hey, boss, watch your step—” Jake shouts but I’m already airborne. I trip over a damn air hose, catching myself on the framing, and my crew’s laughter explodes around me.
“Real graceful.” Jake grins. “You sure you don’t need a day off?”
“Just so you can call me every twenty minutes to ask me a question?” This time, the guys laugh at Jake. I shake my head, pretending to check the level on the studs when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from Mads.
Maddie: Hey, did Hailey ever reach out for help? She was having a hell of a time yesterday.
My thumb hesitates over the screen. The first instinct is to lie. To protect… what, exactly? The tiny thrill I felt when her text popped up? The fact that I dropped everything like some idiot teenager when she finally asked me for help?
It’s more than that. It’s the fact I went to bed hard thinking about her and woke up hard, still thinking about her. But I can’t lie to Maddie.
Me:Yeah. Helped her fix a shelf.
Maddie: Aww! I knew you’d come through. She was scared to text you, lol. She really needs a friend out there right now. You’re the best big brother.
I stare at the part where she says she was scared to text me. I want to ask her why but it’s none of my business. Nothing about Hailey Simpson is any of my business.
Me: She’s fine, Mads. Don’t worry.
Maddie: Still… thanks. Love you.
I pocket the phone and turn my attention back toward work. Somewhere behind me, the generator sputters. “Damn thing,” I mutter, fiddling with the choke until it purrs back to life. My hands stay busy, but my brain’s already counting down the hours until six.
I spend the rest of the day trying to come up with a reason not to go to her apartment. I bounce back and forth between faking a work emergency to get out of it and the guilt I’d feel for not helping her out after I told her I would.
Yet every time I picture her frustrated little frown or the bruise blooming on her elbow, something in my chest gives way. If I can’t put my fucking cock on hold to help out a woman I find attractive, then I have no business being around women at all.
By four, the guys are packing up. By five, I’ve glanced at the clock at least half a dozen times since they left. By five thirty, I’m already sitting in my truck, engine idling in front of her building, pretending I’m checking emails instead of waiting for the clock to hit six.
By 5:58, I’ve determined it’s an acceptable enough time to ring her buzzer.
