“What do you think of Gwen?” Rob interjected, looking between Mitch and me with a glint in his eyes. Mitch remained focused on the road, turning onto the westbound onramp.
“Seems nice.” I shrugged, keeping my tone apathetic. Disengaged.
“She’s hot, huh?” Brandon added, smirking a little. I said nothing. I was busy trying to keep my hands from curling into fists.
I didn’t like shop talk—didn’t like participating in it or overhearing it, but when it was centered around Gwen—well, it made me want to punch the little punks straight in the teeth. She didn’t deserve to be spoken about like she was some prized filly at the county fair.
“Have some respect. Gwen’s a nice girl,” Mitch scolded, giving Brandon and Rob a hard look through the rearview mirror.
“Oh, I’ll respect her. I’ll respect hergood.” Rob smirked, sitting back in his seat.
“You’re too much of a chicken shit to respect her good,” Brandon tossed back, laughing.
The anger and flash of possessiveness that rolled around in my stomach were unnerving, and I bit down on my tongue to prevent from imploding. But never had I wanted to deck somebody so much before.
* * *
We pulledup to the shop around six o’clock. I didn’t have to look to know that Gwen was long gone, and I tried to ignore the disappointment that settled when I realized I wouldn’t get to see her.
Thankfully, Gwen’s name hadn’t come up again that day, and I fervently hoped it wouldn’t be a regular thing, or I’d have a hell of a time biting my tongue. It was boorish behaviour, and it enraged me.
It also forced me to admit that she had taken up space in my head, and it was frustrating. I did my best to tamp down thoughts of her, but it wasn’t easy.
I felt possessive over her. I’d had her, she’d been mine for a night. I knew I could have her again—knew it like I knew how to create the perfect bead weld.
Mitch drove around and backed the truck into a parking space near the rear of the shop. The massive garage doors that essentially made up the rear wall were opened still, and I could see a couple of employees finishing up welding on a huge metal beam that nearly took up the entire length of the shop.
We started unloading materials, and as we were doing that, Russell came out through the massive garage doors.
“How’d it go?” he asked, coming to a pause near the tailgate of the truck. He eyed Mitch and then me, waiting for someone to fill him in.
“Went great, we’re now on track to finish by Thursday,” Mitch answered, slamming the tailgate shut. “Especially if you keep sending Alaric out with us; the guy’s a beast. We’ll probably finish the job twice as quick with him around.” He chuckled, looking at me and giving me a solid nod of approval.
Russell smiled. “That’s what I like to hear,” he said, clapping me on the back. “Not that I’m surprised.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, relieved.
“Well, I’m going to go tell the boys to wrap it up,” Russell said decidedly, nodding once before he turned and headed back to the shop.
I rolled my head, trying to work the kinks from my neck. I was exhausted—my muscles were still burning from the day’s exertion. Climbing the beams had been sketchy at best and terrifying at worst. But the church itself had been a thing of marvel.
Mitch had been great to work with, and when Rob and Brandon did their job, they weren’t that bad. Tolerable, even. They all knew what they were doing, which made my job a little easier.
Mitch paused before following, looking at the three of us still lingering by the tailgate. “Be here bright and early tomorrow, fellows. Five thirty on the dot.”
We all nodded—message received—and watched as Mitch followed Russell into the shop.
“See you tomorrow.” I nodded to Rob and Brandon, grabbing my helmet and lunch bag before walking across the parking lot to my truck. I climbed in, bone tired and wary. I made the drive home on autopilot, turning on my road like it was second nature.
Gwen
At six on Tuesday night, I knocked on my parent’s front door. The intended goal was to pacify my mother, get a free and delicious meal, and slink out—preferably before anybody could grill me about my love life, or lack thereof.
The freshly painted dark navy door swung open. Mom’s arms wrapped around me in a big hug, and I felt a little homesick. Although she drove me nuts ninety percent of the time, she gave the best hugs. I knew she meant well and loved me.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, my voice muffled by her shoulder. She stepped away, eyeing me keenly.
“You look—nice,” she said, a secretive smile gracing her painted lips as she took me in. “Come on in, everyone’s just sat down to eat. You’re right on time.”
