I was worse than a schoolgirl with a crush. I got tongue-tied whenever he was around, and I didn’t know how to act or what to say around him.
He looked at me like he wanted to devour me, but he kept his distance. He had great restraint, better than me. If it were up to me, I’d have jumped his bones a hundred times by now.
But I was trying to play it cool, not frighten him off with my exuberance. I wanted to prove to him we could keep it casual, and I couldn’t do that if I appeared too over-eager.
Even though Iwaseager. Very eager.
He was enticing, and I wanted to get to know him more. I wouldn’t let myself go as far as to think of a relationship—I knew he was battered, just as I was, and I wasn’t entirely sureIwanted that.
I did, however, want to have mind-blowing sex on the regular, and I’d prefer to have it with him. I felt utterly and completely safe with him, and he turned me on more than anyone ever had before. I wanted more of that feeling because it fueled me.
If he was into the idea, it could work; we could totally be casual hook-up friends.
It was better than the other option, which was living with a constant lady boner, cursed to constantly have to look at the holy grail of penises and never have it again. I shivered, distraught at the possibility.
The metal door swung open, and I sat up straighter in my seat, hoping to catch another glimpse of Alaric. My shoulders dropped a fraction, but I smiled cordially at my dad. “Forget something?”
“Yes, your mother asked me to relay a message to you,” Dad scratched at his chin. “She wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Why didn’t she just call me?” I frowned, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. We were at work, after all.
“She says you never call her back,” Dad replied with the corner of his lip curling up. “Dinner’s at six.”
“All right,” I sighed. I’d actually managed to avoid dinners at my parents’ house for three weeks, which was pretty impressive, but if I held out any longer, Mom would show up at my place or worse—here.
“Excellent,” Dad said, turning to head back to the shop. “Oh, coordinate a meeting with George for Thursday morning, would you?”
“On it,” I replied with a nod, my gaze returning to my computer screen.
Alaric
I hadn’t wanted to leave that office, hadn’t wanted to stop talking to her or looking at her. But there was work to be done, and I didn’t want to keep Mitch waiting. I’d left, with the mountainous pile of words still sitting heavily on my tongue.
Although Mitch had seemed friendly enough when I met him earlier that morning, after hearing from Gwen how rare it was to score a position on the installation team so early on into my employment here, the pressure had doubled.
Mitch was already waiting in the work truck when I stepped outside. He seemed like a jovial guy in his mid-fifties with salt and pepper hair and a beard trimmed close to his face. His dark shred eyes seemed to miss nothing, and I’d heard whispers from other guys in the shop that he was a lot like Russell—kind of tough to impress.
We were all set to go work on a church restoration in the city, the truck loaded with supplies.
When I ran my own shop, we did a few projects for other trades companies, but nothing like what I’d be handling today, although I had my working at heights certificate.
I’d have to climb rafters and be tied off, and my stomach was tight with nerves. I didn’t like heights, never had, but I’d deal. I’d get the job done, and I’d do it right.
Two men were sitting in the back, and when I climbed in, Mitch handled the introductions.
“Guys, this is Alaric Petersen. Alaric, that’s Rob—“ he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, at the red-headed guy behind him, “and that’s Brandon,” he nodded at the second guy.
“Hey, man,” the guy behind Mitch, Rob, nodded in greeting.
“Sup?” Brandon asked, barely looking up from his phone.
“Don’t let these two knuckleheads fool you, they’re actually hard workers,” Mitch gibed, a friendly grin on his weathered face.
“Thanks, mini-boss, that’s a compliment coming from you,” Rob retorted, and Mitch laughed deeply before he put the truck in gear.
“So, how do you like Williams’ Tech?” Mitch asked as we left the shop parking lot.
“I’m enjoying it,” I replied, meaning it. There was something new to do every day, and it was always challenging—engaging.
