“You’re running all of this?” I ask. It’s impressive.
“Yeah,” Brad shrugs his jacket off. “Me and the guys, of course.”
“Yeah…but you’re their boss.” My eyes flicker to the door where a few guys file in.
“Hey boss,” they all repeat after each other as they make their way inside. There are only about five of them today, which makes me assume the others are working on the other houses along this street. I’mdefinitely the youngest here, but there are a few who are only slightly older than me, and a few others who are even older than Brad.
One older guy, whose name I learn is Terry, gives me a hard time about my outfit, making me laugh. He’s got my humor, which I like. After I tease him about his bifocals, I’ve clearly earned his respect as he pats me on the back.
“I like this kid,” he says to Brad. “What are you, eighteen? Nineteen?”
I narrow my eyes. “Twenty-three.” My birthday’s coming up, actually, but I keep it to myself—pointing it out would only make me seem younger.
“Twenty-three?!In what? Four years?” Terry bursts out laughing, completely cracking up. I shake my head and chuckle along.
This is a good group of guys. Brad clearly built himself a pretty cool team.
“Everyone’s kind of scattered for the most part, doing their thing. But, today, we’re installing the cabinetry.” Brad explains to me. “Want to help?”
I nod my head. “Put me in, coach.”
“Boss,” he corrects. His eyes flicker to my lips. A beat passes between us, and I can’t help but feel the undeniable pull I know too well.
“Boss.” I echo, quietly. Because for some reason, it feels as dirty as'sir'always did.
He can only blame himself for making me say it again. He loves making me—
“Okay, let’s get to work.” He claps his hands together, snapping me out of that daydream.
I follow Brad, and before long, we’re moving in-sync. I’m helping more than I expected.
Brad lets me hold the cabinets up as he levels and screws them in.
When I see that no one is within earshot, I make a move to test him.
“You’re really good at that,” I say, holding it steady.
“What?” he mutters around a nail in his mouth.
“Screwing,” I finish.
His eyes jump to mine, and I can’t help but wink.
“Noah,” he says lowly, voice edged with restraint.
“Brad,” I mock in the same tone.
“Knock it off,” he mumbles quietly, but I catch the way he subtly shifts himself on the counter.
Oh, he makes it too easy.
***
Before I know it, Brad’s calling for lunchtime.
Which is fantastic because I’m starved.
“Shit.” Realization dawns on me. “I didn’t pack lunch.”
