With his hands on his hips, he nods while critically surveying my room again. “I know that, but you can help with the build.”
Jackpot. The reason for my convenient existence here.
I sigh. “That’s what contractors are for. Doesn’t she have one?”
“Yes. Her eldest son owns his own company, and he’s rebuilding the house. Since Brenda is my assistant, as well as a friend, I’ve been helping. The construction has just started and I’ve been helping after work and during the past couple weekends. It’s turned into a grassroots project of sorts.”
I sleepily nod, but not really interested in the most likely long, and definitely boring story.
He must read my mind because he shakes his head with a sad laugh, disappointment rearing its ugly, yet familiar head. “Jared, a handful of kindness can go a long way.”
Scratching my head, I heavily drop my hand to the bed in protest. “It’s a Saturday!”
“They’re working every day since it’s his mother’s house. He lets most of the crew off on the weekend, so that’s why it’s helpful to go over there now.” For the love of Christ.
“So, you only need me for today?” I cautiously ask, praying I’m not signing my entire vacation away.
He puts his hand on the doorknob and hesitantly admits, “Well, no. My vacation also starts today, so I’ll be over there every day for two weeks.” My mouth blatantly falls open in horror, and he takes that opportunity to kick me while I’m down. “And so will you.”
I pound the bed with my fist. “What?”
“Get the lead out, Jared. Doing charity work will make you feel better. It’ll also help speed things along.”
“I’m sure the builders are doing just fine without me.”
“It’s not just the physical help. It’s moral support, too.”
“I don’t even know your assistant!”
Dad drops his hand and firmly orders, “Jared Adam. Get up. Now.” Fuck. I hate when he does that.
He leaves the room, but warns from the hallway, “I’ll be back with a water gun filled with ketchup if you’re not downstairs in 10 minutes!”
For fuck’s sake.
“And make your bed and clean up the cans!”
Sighing and cussing myself out for not getting a hotel room in the first place, I rub my hands over my face and drag myself out of bed to get dressed.
And make my fucking bed.
Damn it to Hell.
Walking into the kitchen that my grandmother decorated with fucking roosters when I was five and hasn’t changed since, I round the table too fast and nearly lose the load of cans in my arms. As I stabilize the cans, I see Dad looking out the window over the sink, drinking coffee out of the Rad Dad mug I gave him when I was in 5th grade. I then notice a squirt gun on the counter. My mouth falls open as I glance up at his profile. “Are you serious?”
Before taking a sip, he asserts to the window, “As a stroke.”
I shake my head. “You have some serious issues, dude.”
“It was effective, wasn’t it?” I scowl at the back of his head as I go to the utility room to dump the cans into the recycling bin. After dropping several on the floor and cussing them out, I return to the kitchen and head to the refrigerator. Already, this day can go to Hell.
Opening the door, I see what’s left of my beer after last night’s chugfest-for-one, invitingly calling to me and I’m tempted to grab a can, but not with my dad as my damn guardian. I resentfully decide on orange juice instead, but before I close the door, I check for a chilled bottle of vodka to add to it. Sadly, yet as expected, there isn’t any, so I make a mental note to get some.
I drag my feet over to the counter, almost dropping the jug on the floor in my attempt at setting it down. In my peripheral, I see my dad turning to watch me; hopefully, deciding that I should stay home instead of playing Lincoln Logs with his lapdog assistant.
I grab a glass from the cabinet and groggily pour my juice as Dad rinses out his mug and asks, “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“What?” I look up from my glass, then down at my clothes, and back up to his peculiar expression. I’m wearing carpenter jean shorts, a gray tank top, an old flannel shirt with the sleeves torn off, a baseball cap, and old work boots. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s usually what I wear fishing.
I raise a questioning eyebrow. “Is there a dress code?”
He chuckles and slaps my back, which is exceedingly jarring for this morning. “Nope. Just asking.”
Giving him a smartass smile, I sneer, “Well, that’s a relief. I thought I was getting cited by the fashion police.” I go to the cabinet where he keeps his Tylenol and grumble in frustration when I can’t open the childproof cap. After spewing more curse words, Dad takes the bottle from me and easily pops it open. I frown at his superior smile and shake two pills out of it.
“Why don’t you ask Dashiell to tag along? He’s on summer break.”
That would be excellent payback for last night’s antics.
I set my glass down, nodding. “Yeah. That’s a good idea,” I say with an eager laugh that is worth the painful surge in my head as I yank my phone from my pocket.
Fucking Dash doesn’t answer, so I text him with the address my dad gives me, threatening bodily and psychological harm if he blows me off. If I have to suffer, then so does Calder. He was all about including my dad and treating him all nice and shit. Well, here’s his chance.
Dad parks his truck in front of the house. It has a roof, so there’s that going for it.
I check my phone yet again, but no Dash. Fucker. I’ll drag him out of bed myself if he doesn’t answer me by noon.
I sit staring at my phone, hoping Dash isn’t going to leave me here by myself. This is going to be a whole shit ton of boring.
Rio hasn’t texted me, either. He’s probably waiting for me to text him first, but honestly, I don’t have anything more to say. I don’t need him getting all psychological on me again. I shudder at that thought.
A sudden, sharp knock on my window makes me jump 10 fucking feet in the air. “Jared, get a move on!” Fuck my life.
I let out a put-upon sigh and yank on the bill of my cap, lowering it so maybe I won’t be as noticeable.
As soon as I shut the truck door, Dad puts his arm around me and enthusiastically squeezes me to him, jostling my aching body and bad mood. “This will be fun. Put on a happy face.”
“Yeah.” When he lets go of me, I give him a sour look. “Did you drink the last of the booze this morning?”
He shakes his head with a laugh, smacking me on the back, most likely on purpose, harshly flaring my headache. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
I scoff, “I was here last night and this morning.”
“Not with me, though. You went straight to your room.” Fuck. Does he want me to punch in and out on a time clock? “Now we have some father-son bonding time.”
Son of a fucking bitch.
“Adam! Good morning!” A perfectly styled, longish-haired brunette and her big tits wave to us from next to a table with a drink cooler and white boxes. She cheerfully sashays over to us, way too enthusiastically for a Saturday morning. I want to kick my father’s ass for forcing me to be here.
“Brenda, good morning to you.” My dad grips my shoulder. “This is my son Jared. Jared, this is Brenda Stratton, the best damn assistant ever.”
She smiles, clasping her hands underneath her chin. Her teeth are blindingly white. “The Jared Beckett?” Huh? My forehead crunches and I’m certain I look confused as hell. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you! Your dad brags about you and your sister Hadley every day.”
He really needs a damn hobby.
She offers her hand to me and I give my dad an undecided look before taking her hand. “That’s surprising.”
“I’ve been his assistant for three years now, but I feel like I’ve known you forever without even meeting you.”
Letting go of her hand, I smile, but wo
uld rather roll my eyes. I have nothing to add to that since I didn’t even know my dad had an assistant, let alone one who looks like she displayed prizes on The Price Is Right.
He says, “Hadley will be here next weekend. I’ll bring her by.” Of course she will be here. What a fucking coincidence.
“You’re as handsome as your dad.” Brenda’s gaze slides up and down me and I involuntarily narrow my eyes. What’s her deal? Suddenly uneasy, I cross my arms from her intrusion. “I have a daughter about your age. She’s around here somewhere.” She swivels her head left to right, craning her neck. Christ. This isn’t what this is fucking about, is it—my dad setting me up like I’m the main attraction on The Bachelor? If so, he’s going to be sadly disappointed when I don’t play his game, because he owes his assistant a favor, and date her fugly daughter who probably can’t get a date otherwise.
My dad pats my shoulder. To Brenda, it most likely looks like an affectionate gesture, but I know he’s warning me to play nice. Fuck that. I’m not a stallion for rent.
Cutting the small talk, I impatiently ask, “What is it you need me to do?”
“Oh! So eager!” She laughs and looks behind her, waving to someone else, before turning back to Dad and me. “My son Tony is over there. He can tell you what he needs help with.”
“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” my dad says, grabbing my upper arm, leading me past a white van with Gephardt Construction in bright blue lettering. He walks me over to a stern-looking, blond, bearded guy, maybe in his late 30’s, wearing a camo shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and a worn, red cap. Dad makes an introduction on my behalf and Tony’s facial expression remains unmoved, but he instantly puts down the large box of screws he’s holding, offers me a greeting and his hand, giving me a firm handshake accompanied by a terse nod with steadfast eye contact.
After a couple more awkward introductions, along with amazing restraint from grabbing a nail gun and putting it to my head, quickly ending my misery, I’m given the job of helping Tony install windows. Just what I had dreamed of doing this very morning.
While my dad is off helping Ed with windows upstairs, Tony and I work downstairs. I flip my cap backward and focus on Tony’s brief instructions. As Tony and I work, I find him to be a man of great contradictions but few words, frequently communicating with hand gestures, grunts, and nods. We fall into a mostly silent, yet comfortable working partnership and actually move smoothly from window to window without driveling small talk slowing us down or making our task fucking unbearable.
Caught up in our progress, when Brenda interrupts us from behind, I flinch. “Jared, I wanted to introduce you to my daughter.” I suck in a deep breath and inwardly roll my eyes as Tony puts in the last mounting screw before giving me a nod, clearing me to let go of the jamb.
Initially, when I turn around I’m met with sunglasses and purple-streaked, chocolate brown hair, and I’m fully aware that my mouth has just fallen open as I look at her, then to Brenda.
What the hell? How old did Brenda say this girl was?
Moving past the shock of the hair, I notice her banging body. I can’t help but give her a slow once-over. Her tight, red tank top hugs her tits and waist nicely, and her cut-off jean shorts complement the curve of her hips perfectly. God, I hope Brenda didn’t lie to me and her daughter’s a minor.
When she lifts her dark sunglasses into her purpled hair, I’m met with big, profoundly blue eyes, and I freeze. There is something familiar, yet peculiar, about them. The blue is almost fake looking, being too blue. Aside from that detail, with the black eyeliner and mascara, they’re the kind of eyes that scatters your thoughts, ceases your breathing, and compels you to forget time completely. Though they’re not the same color that had drawn me in years ago, they’re still rare to encounter. I thought I’d only see those kind once in a lifetime.
An illuminating grin methodically brightens her face and sweeps her glistening, berry-pink lips, which in turn, involuntarily induces me to smile back.
Quite a feat.
“Jared, this is my daughter Kat.” Fuck. Of course, it has to be that name. “Kat, this is Adam’s son Jared.”
Lost in the look she’s giving me, I’m suddenly Rio Duquesne—not knowing how to act or of the right thing to say. Good thing Dash isn’t here. He’d already have fucking talked her ear off before I speak a word.
Risking a brief glance at Tony and Brenda, I’m unnerved how they’re watching us with mixed curiosity and amusement.
Kat doesn’t say anything, leaving a heavy, expectant pause hanging between us.
I need to take charge of my damn faculties before she thinks I’ve taken a vow of silence.
Since her mother and brother are standing inches from us, and without taking my eyes off her face, I stick my hand out. “Jared.”
She quickly puts her hand in mine. Her touch is warm and I strangely feel a connection to her as she slowly returns my handshake, nodding; again, looking as if she’s waiting for me to say something more.
I rush out, “Nice to meet you.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say on the spot.
Unexpectedly, her smile’s intensity dims and her lips falter as her eyes widen.
Another moment of silence commences, only this one is prickly for some reason. I’ve been friendlier than I usually am when I’m introduced to a girl. I don’t know what her problem is.
Kat stares at me, wide-eyed, but I can’t even look away. Astonishingly, I’m trapped in her eyes with the weirdest, goddamned feeling. Discomfited melancholy. That’s what I’d call it, though I still can’t even explain it completely. I can’t even blink. I’m not even sure if I’m breathing or if my fucking heart has started beating again.
Suddenly, she seems to come to, rapidly blinking her eyes and reassembling her gaping mouth. In a trance, I watch, not because I want to, but because I have to. It’s a fucking obligation to some unknown energy and I’m unwillingly bound to it.
I’m unsure of what’s she’s going to say; however, she promptly answers all my unanswered questions when she swiftly replaces her sunglasses over her eyes, closing off any further discussion, before mumbling, “I have to go,” and nearly knocks over her mother on her way out of here.
What the fuck just happened?
“That was weird,” Brenda states, turning in the direction Kat flew.
Tony shrugs. “Pretty normal for her.” He returns to securing the window and I’m left dumbfounded by a girl, especially one I just met, and even more confused about why I’m giving her a second thought at all in the first place.
Frowning, Brenda explains, “She’s been busy. I’m sure you two will talk again. She’s always here helping since school’s out.”
“School?” Holy shit. I thought Brenda said her daughter was my age. Maybe it was another daughter she’s referring to, and here I was checking out this one, who could possibly be a fucking minor. I’m bad with guesstimating people’s ages, but how young is she? Purple hair. College?
Fuck. High school?
Putting my hands on my hips, I stare off into space and Brenda fills in the blanks. “She’s a teacher. Third grade.” Thank Christ.
Blinking out of my stupor in time to see my dad trotting down the stairs, I blandly nod. “Slacking again?” he asks, smugly grinning and raising an eyebrow. I irritably roll my eyes. I don’t get the point of his constant harping on me.
Pivoting away to slyly look out the window for any signs of her, I edgily retort, “Hardly.”
Brenda says, “He just met Kat.”
“Oh. Scare her off already?” Fucking hell, Dad. I disregard his comment and he asks, “You ready for lunch?”
Reluctantly—as if I’m being dragged by my hair to my own hanging—I follow him outside. He tries to chat me up, but I’m severely distracted and Dad eventually gives up on trying to engage me in any deep conversation.
Kat…
That name… She’s so… Those eyes… She reminds me of…
I can’t fucking go
there.
I spend the rest of the day looking out each window we hang for any sign of Kat, but it’s as if she disappeared into thin air. I avoid asking Tony anything about his sister because I don’t want to seem overly interested in her. I’m not. She seems unhinged to me and I don’t need that kind of shit in my life. Tony would probably tell his mom I asked and she’d run to Kat about my inquiries anyway. I don’t need Brenda getting the wrong idea. I just wonder what the hell is up with her daughter.
Late afternoon, I finally get a reply from Dash.
------------------------------------------------
Sorry. Helping my mom with the shop.
Maybe next week?
------------------------------------------------
Asshole.
Still nothing from Duquesne.
By the end of the day, Tony and I finished the downstairs windows and even picked up Dad and Ed’s slack upstairs. Tony warned me that we’ll be working on siding tomorrow if I want to ditch. I promised I’d be back.
Because purple streaks and pretty lips have rudely invaded my every thought.
In the morning, my dad didn’t have to wake me. I barely slept and was up at the first light seeping through the blinds.
Yes. I even made my goddamn bed.
When we get to the site, I jump out of my dad’s truck before he turns off the engine; I’m so fucking edgy. Everything seems to be grating me so far this morning, especially him. His numerous attempts at joking with me have fallen flat, more so than usual, even for his track record.
Stealthily, I look for her. I have no reason to. We didn’t exactly hit it off yesterday and if we had, it’s still not my style to hunt down a female; however, my curiosity needs squelched. I just have no reasonable explanation why.
I obligingly wave to Brenda. Hopefully, it’s a good sign that she’s here, because then she will be here.
Seriously. What the fuck is my problem? I don’t even know this girl, but I’m so hell-bent on finding out why after meeting me, she took off like she just robbed a bank.
The Keys to Jericho Page 5
