Page 20 of Wrecked

I don’t get a chance to ask any because Adam opens his mouth and says, “I take it, Bob Paige taught his kids how to do construction?”

I laugh at the absurdity of his comment. “My dad? Use a tool? If by tool, you mean, a KitchenAid mixer, then, yes, he taught us everything he knows. If you mean a hammer and drill, the answer is no.”

He looks at my hands clasped around a ham sandwich. “Who taught you?”

“What? You think a girl with an ass as fine as mine, who makes the best Long Island iced tea in town, can’t hang a wall?”

He shrugs. “Kinda. Yeah.”

I shake my head at his assumption. I should be a bitch and argue with him, but instead, I tell him the God’s honest truth. “You know how boys sign up for the dance elective in high school to meet girls? Well, I signed up for shop to meet boys.”

Adam lets out a low laugh, but I can’t tell if he’s laughing at me or because he actually thinks what I said is funny.

“How’d that go for you?”

“It’s how I met Brad.”

The mention of his dead best friend changes the aura around him. The light laughter in his voice falls, as does the carefree expression on his face. In its place is a look that turns serious.

“That’s right. I forgot.” The wall he momentarily let down is back up.

I take a bite of my sandwich and chew. I swallow and carry-on, “Turns out, I like working with my hands. There are a lot of things I’m good at that no one gives me credit for.”

The muscles in his forearms tighten and release. His mouth opens and closes just barely. For a man whose every movement is precise and calculated, he seems to have a hard time with deciding what action he wants to present at this moment.

“Leah, what you said earlier.” He pauses for a moment. Those onyx eyes look at me the same way they did last night. “I’m the asshole. But you’re not the idiot.”

Not expecting an apology of sorts, I just stare back at him and wait for the rest of it—the part where he reprimands me or says something demeaning about my career, my bar, my dress, my personality.

Instead, he says nothing.

In silence, I accept his words for what they are, and we finish our lunch, sitting under the tree. When it is time to head back, I know I should say something. He’s about to walk toward the house when I place my hand on his forearm and pull him back.

He turns to me, and I suddenly feel awkward.

I’ve never been shy with words, but something about the way his arm has gone stiff underneath the pads of my fingers and how his pecs rise without an exhale makes me freeze. My mouth is without sound.

Adam looks down at my hand on his arm and stares at my skin touching his. His face forms a frown, and I’m dying to know what he’s thinking.

But I’ll never know because he jerks away.

“Don’t touch me,” he says.

I stand and watch his back as he walks away.

chapter FIVE

“What a jerk,” Suzanne says from her spot on an upside-down crate in the stockroom of The Bucking Bronco.

“I know, right?” I’m counting the cases of Absolut.

The room is small and windowless, lined with metal shelves. It’s strictly known as the liquor room and where we keep the booze. There’s a room under the bar where the beer is stored and another in the back near the kitchen for the food.

“You get arrested, and he comes in and makes this deal with you to keep you out of trouble?”

I mark the number of cases on the paper in front of me. “It’s like he wouldn’t even listen to me when I said that I was not behind the goddamn wheel.” I look up from the clipboard and move over to the Grey Goose.

“Well, that other officer, sure, he should have listened to you, but how dare that awful Adam Reingold act like some knight in shining armor by saving your ass and your dreams of owning a bar.”