I got a ride from Lacey this morning and texted Troy he didn’t need to come.
His response.
Hawk the dork
K Greer, but I better not find you walked in and froze your fingers off.
Freddie Donovan is next to him, nodding along as he talks, but the second Troy spots me marching toward them, his mouth twitches into a grin. I only recognize Freddie because I’ve, against my will, seen a photo of him topless that Brianna has saved on her phone from when they were seeing each other.
I already regret this.
“Hawkins,” I say when I reach them.
“Greer,” he mimics, sounding way too pleased to see me. “I missed our morning drive.”
I ignore him and turn to the real reason I’m here. “We need to go over some details for the project.”
“Right now?” Troy tilts his head, sipping his coffee leisurely. “Damn, Greer, I didn’t know you missed methismuch. We’re meeting in like”—he checks his phone—“three hours anyway.”
I exhale sharply. “If I could discuss it with literally anyone else, I would.”
“Brutal,” Freddie mutters.
“She likes me,” Troy tells him, winking.
I groan. “Can you be normal for five minutes?”
“Unlikely.”
“The soil sample results came back from the lab,” I explain, pulling out a report from my bag. “The drainage is more severe than we anticipated.”
Troy takes the paper, scanning the results with surprising focus.
“This could add at least three thousand to our budget,” I continue. “We need to decide if we want to scale back some of the other elements or find cheaper alternatives for the materials.”
“What about using recycled aggregate for the drainage bed?” Troy suggests, still looking at the report. “I know a professor in Civil Engineering who's been experimenting with crushed glass aggregate. It's basically free because they're trying to find uses for it.”
I blink, actually impressed. “That... could work. Would it meet filtration standards?”
“According to his research, it outperforms traditional gravel in some applications,” Troy says. “I could get us the specs by tomorrow.”
Before I can respond, Troy suddenly changes the subject.
“Wait—what's going on with your bike again, Greer?” Troy cuts in, swinging a hand toward Freddie. “This guy's the man to ask.” He claps Freddie on the back.
“Oh. Uh, it’s fine.”
“You said it broke, right?” Troy presses. “You figure it out yet?”
I open my mouth, not even sure what’s about to come out.
“It’s—”
Before I can dodge the question, Troy turns to Freddie.
“Think you can fix it?”
Freddie shrugs, easygoing. “What kind of bike?”
