“Something like that.”
“You ever take a ride on that?”
My head snaps toward him. “No!”
“Sorry, man, I had to ask. I bet that woman is one hell of a lay.”
Have I thought about Jo in that way? Sure. I was in love with her. Of course, I pictured us together like that, but I’ve never been one to talk about women like that behind their back.
And I’d sure as shit never do it to Jo.
First of all, if she would have ever found out, she would have kicked my ass seven ways to Sunday.
And second, well, she’s just…Jo.
I almost forget that Jamie is standing next to me until I see him practically drooling through the window.
“You better get out of here before I tell Dylan,” I tell him.
He scoffs and calls me a narc, but ends up stomping away. Also not wanting to get caught looking by any of the Lawson clan, I do the same.
The rest of the day passes without any more run-ins with Jo. She stays in the office, working on things for Jack while I finish up the car I’ve been fixing. It’s all very uneventful, and that’s just the way I like it.
After work, I head over to my mom’s because she said she needed help getting some boxes down out of the attic. I figure if I hurry up and get it done, I can head home and rot in front of a computer screen for a few hours before bed.
Christie asked me if I wanted to get together tonight, but I’m just not in the mood. I’m tired and just want to spend time with no one else but my dog.
But first, I’ll help Mom. It’s not like she has anyone else to help her do it.
When I walk through her front door, I catch a glimpse of her in the hallway and see that she’s up on the ladder leading into the attic.
“Mom,” I say loud enough for her to hear but hopefully not loud enough to startle her and make her fall.
“Beau?”
“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing up there? I told you I was coming over after work.”
“What?” She asks, her head still poked through the attic access.
I repeat myself but just get another “What?”
A little louder this time, I say, “Why don’t you come down here, so you can hear me better?”
Slowly, she climbs down the ladder, and I watch intently in case I have to grab her.
“Mom, what are you doing? You could’ve seriously hurt yourself.”
“Oh, pfft.” She waves me off. “I’m fine.”
“Remember last year when you twisted your ankle simply stepping off the front porch?”
“Number one, that step is huge,” she says while pointing her finger at me.
“And number two?”
“I wasn’t actually going to attempt to bring anything down. I was looking at what all was up there to have you bring them down from the attic.”
“Yeah, sure,” I joke. “Tell me what I am grabbing.”
