"I hate rain."But today I needed this.If I was close to Belle when her shop closed, I'd probably do something stupid like go inside and kiss her like I'd been dreaming about for weeks.I had a feeling it would eclipse that time under the bleachers.
The only problem was that if I touched her, I wouldn't be able to stop.I didn't have any qualms about doing something in her shop, but her bed was just upstairs.It was too great a temptation.Taking her to bed meant making a commitment I wasn't ready for.
Ford shrugged."When you work outside, it's inevitable."
"I hate delays."I accepted the beer from the bartender and tipped it back.The burn felt good on the back of my throat.
"You're crankier than usual today," Hudson said.
I set the bottle down."I can't wait for this job to be done."
"I would have thought you'd be excited about this one.It's a big job," Ford said.
"She already wants to add a fireplace."
"Are you saying she's a difficult client?"Ford asked.
I sighed."Not exactly."
Hudson leaned his elbows on the bar top."So you don't like her?"
I tipped the bottle back."Something like that."
“You like her,” Hudson said.
I slammed the bottle down with a little too much force.
The bartender gave me a sharp look.
"I don't want to like her.She's nothing but trouble," I growled, wishing we could talk about anything but this.
Hudson shifted on his stool to face me, and Ford moved back, an amused expression on his face."You're telling me that Belle, the good girl in high school who wears cardigans and skirts?—"
"And reading glasses during story time," I added with a sneer.
Ford chuckled.
Fuck, I was probably proving their point.
Hudson nodded seriously."You're saying she's a troublemaker."
"Yup."I tried to look at the screen where a replay of some baseball game was playing.
"You're full of shit," Hudson scoffed.
Ford swirled the liquid in his bottle.He was probably nursing his beer so he could go home to Natasha."Are you sure there isn't a small part of you that's attracted to her, but your brain is telling you she's not your usual type?"
"I don't have a type," I persisted, knowing I was being stubborn.
"Women you pick up at a bar who are all too happy to go home with you and not say a word when you disappear before morning."
I picked at the label on the bottle."I haven't done anything like that in a long time.I'm focused on work."
"You're not interested in a relationship," Ford said matter-of-factly.
"The house and the white picket fence aren't for me.I want to build the business to something I can be proud of first."
Ford raised a brow."And then you'll find someone?"
