That gets my blood pumping hotter. “Oh really? When?”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Says who?”
“Me. We’re going on a date.”
A giddy pitter-patter takes flight in my belly. “Are you going to tell me where and when?”
Another shake of his head. “All you need to be ready for is a shitload of wooing.”
All argument dies on my tongue. Damn, I really loved the sound of that.
15
Grady
Happy something #103: Planning ahead for better days, no matter how stupid it seems.
Islide another plank into place and position the nail gun. The hydraulic pop-pop-pop that rapidly follows has become more of a distant hum. It’s been the same monotonous cycle all afternoon. Measure. Set. Nail. Repeat. I could’ve finished this section of flooring hours ago if my head was screwed on straight.
There isn’t a lot I can claim to be good at and reliable for, but my work ethic is solid. Doing a job well gives me a boost of pride. I don’t slack off or put in half-assed effort. My reputation is tarnished enough. More slams against me will land my ass in the unemployment line. That won’t pay the bills I have piling up on my counter. Yet I don’t reach for another piece of glossy oak. A small breather won’t derail me much further.
The rubber mallet bounces off the wood beside me. I wipe at the trail of sweat that’s dripping down my temple. It’s hotter than Hades in this house, even with all the windows open. The owner is paying us to renovate so he can flip this place for a nice profit. Air conditioning is out of the question. Cutting time is the priority, not our comfort while doing it.
Speaking of, seconds have never ticked by so damn slow. If time speeds up while having fun, that leaves hours to drag while nothing is happening. Here I sit with my head spinning in a thousand directions. Usually I credit myself with having the ability to focus until a task is complete. Working diligently while keeping my nose to the grindstone isn’t asking for much. But there’s no controlling my thoughts. Not today.
My mind has been wandering down a path that I’d been ignoring for too long. The floodgates burst open and any attempts at concentrating are utter shit. I’m a lost cause because of her. And I always have been.
Big blue eyes the color of a tropical gulf. Dark hair that hangs in loose waves, falling down to a slender waist. A lush pout that’s still swollen from my kiss. Toned thighs squeezing my skull as I lick faster. What’s a man expected to do? There’s no ignoring her, even in my imagination.
“Yo, Bowen.” The greeting bursts into my fantasy. “What’s shaking?”
I look over my shoulder toward the voice. Cane leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed, looking relaxed and loose. His posture contradicts the mounting ball of pressure building in my chest. Must be nice.
There aren’t many people I can stand hanging nearby for hours on end. I prefer being alone on the best days. Same goes for these jobs. But there are a few guys I’ve found to be tolerable. Cane is one of them. He’s a decent carpenter and mostly keeps to himself. I appreciate my space. This guy is good about giving it.
He steps into the foyer, reminding me of his question. I motion to the mayhem scattered around me. “Trying to put a wrap on this room.”
“I just finished installing that southside window.”
Why do I care? I lift a brow and drawl, “And? You want a cookie?”
Cane chuckles at that. “I need to take off. Wanted to see what you’re up to.”
I grunt. “You’re looking at it.”
He’s not required to check with me before dipping out. We’re on a level playing field, responsible for managing ourselves and the tasks assigned to us. There’s no official foreman, other than the owner himself. He drops in weekly to check our progress but otherwise leaves us alone. It’s a definite perk that we’re not required to report on a daily basis. I get to rule my own post without someone hovering.
“Quittin’ time for you soon?” He taps at his phone.
I glance outside, finding the sun still high. A quick scan around the living room shows rolls of matting and stacks of oak waiting to be placed. The floor is far from done. I could stick around another hour and get more boards down. Boss says to cut corners as needed. Visions of Sutton begin replaying, providing more than an adequate shove. Fuck it, I’ll haul ass tomorrow. “Yeah, I’m ready to call it a day.”
Cane is quiet for a moment, his gaze doing a slow sweep of the space I’m still crouched in. “You all good, man?”
I glare at him. Why is everyone so concerned about me lately? Do I have a stamp on my forehead requesting assistance? Didn’t think so. I rise to my feet and face him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Not sure. Trouble at home?”
