Dad Bod (Under Construction Book 1)

by Silla Webb

“Jo, get your ass over here and hug me,” my good friend Laney shouts as I walk into the local diner around lunchtime. I freaking love my friend. I make my way over to our favorite booth and hug her neck. With my running the gym and her molding young minds, we haven’t seen each other in almost two weeks. That’s a long time for us to go without our gossip sessions.

  “How’s my favorite preschool leader?”

  “Eager for adult conversation where I can mutter any words I want without repercussion.” Laney has always had the mouth of a sailor; I honestly have no clue how she does it. “And how is my favorite Jordan with a clit, not a dick?”

  “You all suck,” I tell her, laughing.

  “Seriously, though, are things better with Madden?”

  “Things are better; he is doing well, although we’ve only just begun.” She nods, and I proceed to tell her all about our adventure at Publix yesterday and meeting Belle. “Lan, I think Belle may replace you as my new best friend.”

  “Isn’t she a hoot? Full of sass, personality, and so much menace it makes her too cute for her own good.”

  “Be honest,” I prompt, “she has her daddy right where she wants him, doesn’t she?”

  “Hell, she has Madden, Carter, and Maverick all wrapped around that tiny little finger.” She laughs and then says, “Although yesterday she may have been a little more extra. I’m pretty sure Carter gave her chocolate cake after school, and he said she stole a drink from his Red Bull when he wasn’t looking.”

  Wasn’t looking my ass; Carter is vicious in his pranks. I laugh out loud with her.

  “Madden seems like the best daddy. He just lights up when he looks at her.”

  “Mmmm hmmm … does someone have a crush?” Laney asks, smirk firmly in place and mischief in her eyes.

  Holding my hands up, I mutter quickly in protest, “No, no, no. Why would you think that?” I think about my words and rephrase. “Well, yes, if you’re asking if I have a crush, you are right. Belle is my new girl crush.” Laughing, I also add, “But I do not crush on my clients.”

  Smiling, Laney looks at me pointedly and states firmly, “Back off my Belle, bitch. That five-year-old keeps me sane while dealing with that rowdy bunch of construction workers.”

  We laugh and cut up all through lunch, catching up on all that is life.

  “I’m sure that the preschool parents are happy to know you’re educating their children about stealing and gambling.” I recall Kenny’s story from the other day. I love giving Laney a hard time.

  “Pssh, the next time you pick up Kenny from school, I’ll make sure to let the class know that you think they should never be allowed cupcakes again, and you will forever be known as “Healthy Lady” to the room of rambunctious four and five-year-olds, you damn cupcake kill-joy!”

  I spit my water across the table, narrowly missing Laney. “You kill me, Lan! I’ll never know how you slip your filter in place while at work. It’s like you’re two different people—Miss Suzie Sunshine at the preschool, then this sarcastic asshole as soon as you close the classroom door.”

  “Meh, multitalented, Jo. What Can I say?” She shrugs and takes a bite of cheeseburger, grease dribbling down her chin. I’m envious of women like Laney, the ones comfortable in their own skin and able to eat whatever they prefer. If I eat a cheeseburger, I’m doing an extra workout at the gym. My diet is meticulously designed to keep me at a healthy weight of 140 pounds.

  “Now back to crushes,” Laney sing songs, pulling me from my thoughts, and I roll my eyes because this is a dangerous topic.

  “I told you—I do not crush on my clients.”

  “Shit, please crush on someone, Jordan!” she scolds. “How long has it been? Do you even have a giner anymore?”

  “Could you please not refer to my”—I motion in that area with my hand—“while we are eating?”

  “That thing and eating don’t even belong in the same sentence, Jo! Your poor womanhood is purring at the word ‘eating’ because it has been so long since she’s been dined on.”

  Fuckity fuck! Did I mention how crude and crass my best friend can be? It’s all part of her charm. “Laney, for the love of anything please stop. I’m too busy running Dumb Belles and preparing to take my fitness app to market. I don’t have time to crush on anyone.”

  “Gym closes at 5:00 on Saturday, right?”

  Immediately I feel like I should tread lightly here. Normally when she asks a question, she already knows the answer to, I’m more than likely going to get sucked in to doing something I don’t want to do. “Umm … yes… Why?”

  Without answering my question, she already has her cell phone at her ear. Who is she calling? It honestly could be anyone. You never know with her.

  “Erin, girls’ night next Saturday. Your sister’s giner is almost non-functional, and this must be fixed.”

  Reaching over the table, I try to pry the iPhone from her hand, but she giggles and keeps it out of my reach all while continuing to talk with my sister. “Ooh yeah! We will ask Bryn too, but that bitch Gia ain’t invited. I wanted to kick her in the twat last time she invited herself to girls’ night, but it’s untelling what kinda vaginal diseases that ho breeds.”

  Oh Jesus. Just the thought of Gia crashing another girls’ night has me cringing. She is definitely my least favorite employee.

  “Uh-huh. Sounds good. See you next Saturday.” Laney sets her phone on the table and smiles. “Saturday night, hoochie. It’s on!”

  “You guys always gang up on me,” I whine.

  “It’s only ’cause we love you, Jo. You have to start living. There is life outside the gym.” Deep down, I do know this. Life is simpler in the gym. I’m comfortable in the gym. On dates or in a club—not so much. I’m like a fish out of water.

  I always find myself in the most random situations, especially when I go out with my sister, Laney, and Bryn. Then the alcohol flows, and we all become alter egos of ourselves with a couple drinks in us. Bryn is a lot like me. We both think we are comedians with our joke telling and we're handsy when we are inebriated. Whereas Erin and Laney become loud and mean. The stories Carter could tell you are not for the faint of heart.

  As we’re getting ready to leave lunch, I remember something I wanted to ask Laney without appearing too interested.

  “So yesterday,” I start, “at Publix when we were leaving, we ran into Gia.”

  Laney doesn’t have a poker face. She already knows where I’m going with this, so before I can even finish, she mutters, “Did he stumble over his words and make a complete fool of himself? Damn, I hate missin’ the good stuff!”

  Laney is an asshole.

  “So she was the one who got away?” I ask, bringin’ her back to the topic at hand.

  “I guess.” She shrugs. “Madden hasn’t mentioned her in years, though.”

  Well shit, I hope to hell she was a much better person back then because the Gia that I foolishly employed at the gym is not a nice person. She’s the type of girl that made my life miserable in high school. She gives Regina George a run for her money and is definitely the mean bitch screaming, “You can’t sit with us.”

  *~*

  Ten days later

  Fridays are normally my favorite day of the week. First thing in the morning, I catch my favorite body pump class that makes me feel kinda bad ass, and it is cheat day so I allow myself a guilty pleasure for breakfast—a glazed donut and caramel iced coffee, with real sugar and milk. Little things seem to make me the happiest these days. My schedule is light on Fridays, and Madden will be my last client of the day. I stand in my office waiting for Madden to arrive. We are scheduled to start in five minutes, and he is usually very punctual. Just as I’m thinking this I hear his laugh from outside my office door. Walking out into the common area of the gym, I find him, blushing yet again as Gia talks to him. I want to aggravate him about her, but I don’t. Why does him flirting with her low-key kind of piss me off? Hell, I sound like a jealous girlfriend.

  “Reporting f
or Bitch Camp, Healthy Lady,” Madden chuckles as he walks up to me.

  I can’t help but smile. Belle has nicknamed me. “That kid takes her love of cupcakes seriously.”

  “She does.”

  “Let’s get to work and get you that reward cupcake very soon then. I don’t want to be on her bad side.” I wink. “Do you think you’re ready to weigh-in yet? We’re a few weeks into your training, and you haven’t stepped on the scale since your intake.”

  He shakes his head, serious. “Not yet. Let’s give it a few more weeks, okay?”

  “Sure, Madden. Whatever you’re comfortable with. Sometimes seeing the numbers drop will give you more motivation. But the choice is yours.”

  I walk him toward the cardio room as I explain that today, we are going to switch it up and do some stair stepping, and then we will focus on his upper body. As I’m setting the intervals on the step machine, Bryn comes into the room, bag on her shoulder.

  She smiles at Madden then looks at me. “Excuse me, Jordan. I’m heading out for the night. Just shoot me a text tomorrow and let me know what time I should meet you guys, or if you’ll be picking me up.”

  Looking up, I smile and nod at her. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Laney will have a group text going by sometime tonight to firm up all our plans.”

  “Woooohooo! I love girls’ night,” she cheers, heading to the door.

  Looking back at Madden, I blush. “Sorry about that.” I smile up at him, but the look on his face isn’t as relaxed.

  “Girls’ night, huh?”

  “Yep,” I reply. “Laney, Bryn, and Erin, my sister, didn’t give me much choice, so tomorrow night it is.”

  Madden mutters something that sounds a lot like, “Laney needs to mind her own fuckin’ business,” but I can’t be sure.

  “What was that?” I ask him.

  Shaking his head, he mutters, “Nothing.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MADDEN

  “Man, I’m tellin’ you now. This workin’ on Saturdays is bullshit! I had tickets to the Sailors game today!” Carter complains over the sound of the saw.

  “If you jackoffs wouldn’t dick around so much, we wouldn’t be behind schedule. Keep it up, and we’ll be working Sundays too,” I retort, tossing a two-by-four to Maverick.

  “Each time you taint suckers cause me to miss a Bama kickoff, I’m dockin’ your pay an hour. Each and every one of ya,” Carter shouts at his crew.

  “You can’t do that shit, and you know it.” He throws his head back and laughs. “Besides, my Bulldogs are gonna steamroll The Tide this season, so your ass better be ready to put some hard cash down on that game.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout,” Mav cuts in from across the room.

  Carter’s crew are all steadily at work putting the finishing touches on the Peterson project. They’ve been onsite for three weeks now, ten days over the expected completion time. But Mrs. Peterson has been our typical elitist client. Difficult to please. Renovating the kitchen of their vacation home on the island, she presented us with her vision which could have easily been achieved with supplies readily available to us locally.

  But no. She insisted on custom barnwood flooring that the guys had to travel to Kentucky to pick up. Then they had to hand cut, install, and stain the wood. She wasn’t happy with the cabinet selections we offered, so she asked that those be custom built, with a matching island center of the space that she only decided she wanted to add to the reno this past week. She needed more storage space, and thought having additional seating in the kitchen would add comfort to the layout.

  The only simplicity this project has offered is the soft gray walls with white crown molding, which is the common trend on renos along the coast. And that was after the crew painted the walls aqua, buttercream, and white—all of which were colors she chose from the paint swatch but hated once the walls were finished. Mrs. Peterson has been the client from hell.

  Mr. Peterson has been understanding of the delays, obviously realizing that his wife is often difficult to please. He didn’t care if the project was over budget by $15,000; he simply wanted his wife to be happy with their new beachfront home. If all goes well, the couple will be able to enjoy the most of summer here on Tybee Island, and the sooner we can complete this project, the quicker we can move on to the next. I came out today to help move productivity along.

  “We wouldn’t be behind schedule if that woman wouldn’t have changed her damn mind so many times,” Maverick jokes. “I told you fuckers to let me manage this project, and I’d have persuaded her to accept our first design proposal.” He grabs his junk and smirks.

  Mav is our playboy. A highly decorated ex-Marine, he’s always got his dick willing and ready for some unsuspecting woman to fall onto it. Literally. He loves ’em and leaves ’em; only a one-night stand for this fucker.

  “And that, my friend, is the very reason why the big boys manage and the playboys do the heavy lifting. Can’t have you swinging your dick around in client meetings.”

  “So you’re saying I can fuck a client as long as it’s not on a job site?” His brows quirk as he stares at me pointedly. How the hell did he take that away from what I just said?

  “Mav, what the fuck! Are you kidding me?” I throw my hands up in the air, exasperated.

  Carter cuts in, pointing the nail gun in my direction. “I told you, Mad, you can’t trust this walking hard-on around a set of tits.”

  Mav smirks, laughing to himself.

  “My old man is probably rolling over in his grave as we speak. This company was his life, man. These clients—most rely on Davenport Construction based on Dad’s name alone. Don’t fuck this shit up for me! I have a family, Mav, and we can’t lose business because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”

  “Dude, relax. She wasn’t a client,” Mav says, holding his hands up in defense. I exhale a breath. The stress of this job is gonna kill me.

  “No, she was the client’s daughter,” Carter shouts over a roil of laughter.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head.

  “Okay, I don’t wanna know any of the sordid details, so keep that shit to yourself. Can we get back on track so we can get this job done already? I’m missing the day with my kid to help you assholes.”

  “You’re the boss,” Mav agrees, tossing a bottle of water in my direction. He kneels on the floor to help Carter frame in the island while I clean up the scrap wood and sawdust.

  After the island is built, the crew will have to stain the wood and install the countertop which all should be done today.

  “Y’all wanna cookout at my place tonight?”

  “No can do. Gotta date with Marci Browning.” Mav winks. He dates so many different women, one—sometimes two—every night of the week, that all their names sound the same to me.

  “Mad, you and Belle wanna come over? Laney and the girls are going out, so I figured we could have some beers and brats while I wait on their drunk asses to call for me to pick them up,” Carter asks.

  “Jordan mentioned yesterday that they were all going out.”

  “Yep. Disaster waiting to happen. It never fails, every time they go out, cops are called on the scene to the four of them being belligerent bitches.”

  “Then why are you letting Laney go?” I ask. It seems a simple enough solution if they get that out of control.

  “Are you kiddin’? Dude, you've gotta start datin’ soon. No damn clue about women.” What the hell did I say wrong? I look at him, confused. “I’m her husband, not her dad. If she wants to go out and have fun—I’m all for it. She always comes home to me at the end of the night. Or after I bail her crazy ass out of jail.”

  Okay, we are not discussing my dating life, so I need to divert this conversation, quickly.

  “Have Jordan and Laney been friends long?”

  “Since high school, I guess,” Carter supplies.

  “Jo went to Coastal?” Carter nods.

  Interesting.

&n
bsp; “Why am I just meeting her? I never heard Laney talk about her before.”

  “Because you’re married to your job and life as a dad.” Carter shrugs, as if I didn't already know. “And Laney talks about her all the time; you have probably heard plenty of stories about Jo.”

  Ahhhh… Fuck—Jordan is Jo?

  “I still can’t believe she’s your trainer.” Mav shakes his head, that cocky smirk ever present. “It must hurt like fuck to run the treadmill with a hard-on.”

  Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth. But I don’t like Maverick talking about Jordan like that.

  “Come on, Mav. Don’t disrespect Jordan.”

  “No disrespect. Any woman who can turn down a ride on Maverick Reynold’s face obviously has ovaries of steel. Or she's a lesbian.”

  I’m gonna kill my best fuckin’ friend with my bare hands.

  Carter side-eyes me, then steps between Mav and me just has Mav says, “And believe me, I’ve tried more than once.” All my blood surges to my face suddenly, and my fists tighten at my sides.

  “Come on, boss. Check out the crown molding job Fifty did.” Carter claps me on the shoulder and forcibly turns my attention away from Mav.

  “Don’t let that asshole get to you, Mad. You know he fucks anything with a V.”

  Jordan isn’t just anything, I want to say, but I take a deep breath and try to suppress my emotions.

  Fifty stands back admiring his handiwork. “Look at you, givin’ a hundred percent … for once,” Carter tells him.

  “I wasn’t about to lay down on this job. That Mrs. Peterson is almost as mean as Robin. She’s harped and moaned about everything.”

  “I’m sure if your lazy ass wouldn’t give just fifty percent, your wife wouldn’t have any reason to be mean.”

  Fifty deadpan glares at Carter and says, “Have you met Robin?”

  “Touché.” Carter laughs.

  He’s got a good crew of men.

  “Good work, man.” I shake Fifty’s hand. “The angles were cut nicely.” Fifty nods his appreciation.

  “Give Mav a hand on the island. Todd and BJ are gonna start cleaning up. We should be finished in a few hours.”