Astrid cracked a smile. “Brussels sprouts?”
“Loathe them entirely.”
“Is that what you do? Picture brussels sprouts?”
Jordan’s wry expression dimmed, just a little, and when she spoke her voice was softer. “Something like that.”
Astrid turned back around but felt suddenly empowered. Something she hated. Jesus, where did she even start? Clutter. Victorian-era furniture. Berry-flavored sparkling water. Shape wear. Four fork choices at dinner. Her mother’s eye twitch. Her mother’s sigh. Her mother’s pursed mouth when Astrid ate a goddamn carb.
Her ex-fiancé’s face appeared in her mind. Spencer Hale’s perfect, chiseled, golden-boy face with his new perfect golden-girl fiancée. She didn’t hate him. Not exactly. She certainly didn’t hateher. More like she hated who she was when she’d been with Spencer, hated how she believed she needed to marry someone like him. Hated feeling powerless to make her own choices, live her own life.
Astrid heard a grunting noise, a growl almost, and it took the sledgehammer actually flying through the air for her to realize the sound was coming from her. The steel end slammed into the cabinet with a crash, splinters flying everywhere. The action and resulting consequence surprised her so much, she loosened her grip and the sledgehammer plummeted to the ground, taking her arm with it.
“Whoa, killer,” Jordan said, suddenly right next to her. “Keep ittight, remember?” She slid her fingers over Astrid’s bare wrist and helped her lift the tool back up.
Astrid shivered. Her whole body was shaking, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Goose bumps erupted along her arms.
“Again,” she said, and Jordan’s brows lifted. The other woman said nothing, though, stepping back and flourishing her hand for Astrid to proceed.
And proceed Astrid did. She forgot all about the cameras, about Natasha Rojas watching. She demolished the cabinet until it was nothing but a husk of wood hanging from the wall by its brackets. Then she pulverized the one next to that, swinging the sledgehammer over and over until she was out of breath and her fingers stung despite the gloves protecting her skin. She felt wild, alive, like every bit of her will had been poured into this tool and she alone was calling the shots.
She didn’t think she’d ever had so much fun on a jobsite.
When she finally stopped, her arm was sore, bits of wood and dust speckled her white tee, and she didn’t even want to think about what her hair looked like.
She shoved her goggles on top of her head and turned to face an open-mouthed Jordan Everwood. “Damn, that felt good.”
Chapter Nine
JORDAN STARED ATAstrid, an mixture of amusement, irritation, and... fuck,arousalchurning in her gut.
“You’re surprisingly good at that,” she said, stepping toward Astrid and taking the sledgehammer before the woman could go on a bashing spree.
Astrid laughed and shook her hair, dust cascading from her shaggy bangs like snow. “I had no clue it would be so therapeutic.”
“See? You resisted me over nothing.”
Astrid frowned. “I didn’t resist you.”
Now Jordan laughed. “I’d love to see what you actually consider resisting, then. Poor guy.”
Jordan watched Astrid’s reaction carefully. Yes, she saidguyone hundred percent on purpose. Yes, she was looking for any sign that Astrid wasn’t straight, because goddammit, she was getting vibes. One didn’t date women and nonbinary people exclusively for nearly two decades and not pick up on these kinds of things. First, there was that whole long look they shared yesterday at the flea market, with Astrid looking all soft and vulnerable over a baked good. Then,today, that little hitch in Astrid’s breath when Jordan had touched her wrist, a sound that had the potential to completely wreck Jordan for the rest of the day. And she couldn’t even think about the way the designer had legit checked out Jordan’s entire body in the driveway—mouth open, eyes scanning skin—without grinning.
Then again, Jordan had seen all of these things from straight women too. The curious ones, the bored ones, the repressed ones who longed to show off their midriff without feeling like they were going against their mama’s wishes. Astrid could most definitely fall into one of those categories, and if she did, Jordan was most definitely not going there.
What the hell was she thinking? She wasn’t going there even if Astrid ended up as queer as a glitter-covered unicorn. Astrid was the enemy, the purveyor of white and gray, the ruiner of character and atmosphere. A fact Jordan would do well to remember when teaching her to wield a sledgehammer.
Now, though, Jordan noticed a distinct blush creeping into Astrid’s cheeks as she looked down, long lashes brushing along her cheeks.
Well, fuck.
“I don’t think my ex-fiancé would use ‘poor guy’ to describe himself,” Astrid said.
Yes. Good. Himself. Ex. Still didn’t mean she was straight, or that the fiancé in question even identified as a man, but Jordan was going to take what she could get here. Anything to cool her suddenly heated skin down a little.
“Is that who you were picturing?” she asked. She couldn’t help it. She was curious. Astrid had come alive when she was swinging the tool, her teeth gritted, her slender arms taut. And that growl. No, Jordan would not think about the growl.
Jesus, she needed to get laid.
