by Jodie Larson
As I’m pushing back the couch, my foot can’t quite grip the carpet and I keep slipping, hitting my knee on the ground more times than I’d like to admit. Standing to my full height, I blow back some of the hair that’d fallen from my messy bun and angrily put my hands on my hips.
“Need some help?” A strong, masculine voice carries over my shoulder.
Now a normal, healthy heart beats somewhere around 60 beats per minute. Pretty sure mine just broke a record at triple that speed. I scream and stumble, knowing my fate. A pair of arms wrap around my waist, saving my legs from taking another beating. Brecken’s smug expression is somewhere between amusement and concern, though he’s not hiding it well as his eyes dance with mischief. The bastard enjoyed giving me a slight heart attack.
“Brecken!” I yell, pushing away from his chest. “You scared the ever-living shit out of me. Don’t you know how to knock?”
He laughs, making sure I’m stable on my feet before letting go. “I did. Several times. Even rang the doorbell.”
“That’s broken,” I say, chewing on my bottom lip. Shit, now I feel stupid. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear your version of the song and realize you have zero knowledge of the Spanish language.”
“What do you mean? Those were the lyrics.”
“Pretty sure no one was talking about a burrito in the song.”
I scoff. “Yes, they were. They totally said something about munching on a burrito.”
“You know that’s a love song, right?”
“Are you saying burritos don’t inspire love? ‘Cause those are fighting words. I take my Mexican food seriously.” I quirk a brow, which only has him laughing more.
“Fine. The whole song is dedicated to someone’s love for food. Are you happy now?”
Sensing my victory, I smile and nod. “Glad you see things my way.”
Brecken takes a step back and eyes my outfit for the first time. “You’re going to wear that during demo?”
I look down to my barely-there shorts and tank. “Why not? It’s sweaty work, right?”
His Adam’s apple visibly moves as he pulls at the collar of his T-shirt. “Yeah, but I was thinking you’d want to wear something that consisted of more material. I mean, who knows what’s under this carpet. Would you really want that touching your skin?”
Good point. “Suppose you’re right. I’ll go change really quick.”
Breck nods, the lines on his forehead disappear, and places a small black bag down on the floor by the front entry table. Taking a last look, I eye his clothes and realize how stupid I was in picking my own. His shirt is well-worn. And by that, I mean it has holes in multiple places and others are so threadbare that soon enough they’ll add to the collection. Paint smears his jeans, which are frayed in several spots, especially at the bottom.
After finding my most hated pair of jeans and the biggest, rattiest T-shirt I own, I find myself watching Breck move all of the furniture to one side of the living room.
“You know, it might be easier to put this stuff in the garage for now. If I can come over here daily, your living room should be complete in a week; two at the most, if the label has us recording around the clock like they want us to.”
He’s right. We can’t keep moving everything from one side to the other. That’s wasting time and energy that could be poured into the project.
“Good idea. Let’s go see what we can do.” We walk through the kitchen to reach the garage door and I flip the switch as he steps through. It’s tiny, only a one-staller, but I’m only one person, so it works just fine for me.
“You okay with parking your car in the driveway for a while?”
I nod. “That’s what they make alarms for.” Not that our neighborhood is bad. The crime rate is relatively low, thanks in part to a lot of the officers who live in the area. Not a lot of criminals want to go where there’s a high probability of getting busted.
Walking into the middle of the room, Breck circles slowly, inventorying everything. “Good. Not much in here. We’d almost be able to re-create your whole living room if you wanted. There’s a power outlet over there,” he says, pointing to the opposite wall, “where we can plug in the TV. You won’t need to turn the lamps on due to the overhead light, so that’s good.” Breck turns and smiles. “What do you think?”
“I think,” I say, slowly making my way to where he’s standing in the center of the room. “You better get hauling some furniture because it’s not going to move itself.”
He grabs my shoulders and leads me back into the living room. My shorter legs can’t keep up with his pace. Grace isn’t my middle name by chance. Well, technically it is, but we learned early on that it was not meant for me. People say they’re accident prone when they have one or two accidents a year. I consider it a good week if I’m not discovering a new bruise somewhere on my body.
“Remember, lift with your legs.” Brecken crouches down, showing me how I should properly assist him on the other side of my couch.
“Got it. Lift in sharp, jerking motions, using only my back.” His unamused smile makes me laugh. “Come on, I know you’ve watched Family Guy before.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but you really need to expand your TV catalogue to something other than cartoons.”
“Why mess with perfection?”
He rolls his eyes and assumes the position. “Ready?”
I mirror his stance. “As I’ll ever be.”
“On the count of three. One, two–”
“Wait, are you going to say three, or are you going to skip it and we lift after two?”
“Stop being a pain in the ass and lift.”
He starts counting again, doing just as I thought and skipping three altogether, opting to lift instead. It’s not as heavy as I remember a year ago. Then again, I was trying to do it with my mom since my dad was out of town. I wouldn’t exactly say there was a lot of strength used the last time.
Brecken leads the way. Thank God he’s walking backward. Knowing me, I’d trip over a rug or miss a step and tumble down with the couch landing on top of me.
“Careful of the steps.” It’s almost like he’s reading my thoughts as we make it to the middle of the garage, setting down the sofa with a small grunt. I smack my hands together for a job well done.
“Easy.”
He lifts a brow. “Is that so? Well, then, you just earned yourself a solo trip with the tables.”
Once all the furniture has been moved and arranged as it was in the house, we fall onto the couch, our hands brushing against one another.
“That took longer than I thought it would.”
I look over, letting my head roll along the back of the couch for support. “Right? I didn’t think I owned that much stuff. Apparently, I was wrong.” Pointing to the TV, I grin. “At least we got the important things set up.”
He laughs, the whole couch shaking from the force. “Can’t leave you bored, now can we.”
“I have my books. Don’t think I’d ever be bored.”
“Very true. I’m stuck in the middle of a series right now and I’m dying for some downtime to binge read what I have left in the book.”
“Really?” I perk up, settling into the corner and bringing my legs up underneath me. “What series?”
“The Vince Flynn one. I started the first book a few years ago and got hooked. I think a new one is coming out soon and I want to be all caught up before it releases.”
“Isn’t that the worst? I feel like that all the time from my favorite authors. They keep releasing books and I want to devour them. Only I have hundreds on my Kindle, all vying for attention.” I shrug. “The downfall of being a book nerd and following multiple authors at one time on Facebook.”
He smiles, leaving his hand resting between us. “That sounds like you. You always had an obsessive/compulsive streak.”
“Just about some things. Not everything,” I say, feigning hurt. Of course,
he doesn’t buy it and grabs my hand, playing with my fingers as he looks straight at me.
The whole room feels like I’m trapped in a vacuum, the air sucked from my lungs as his fingertips brush over my palm and back through my fingers. It’s like a game of footsie, exploring the other through simple touch. Something stirs in my stomach, foreign and not entirely unwelcome. But for the sake of keeping things friendly, I pull my hand away and soften the blow with a smile.
“Pizza? I believe you were promised pizza and beer. How about we go back inside, order a pie, and work on demo while throwing back a few cold ones?”
Breck stands, slapping his thighs before helping me to my feet. “I’d say it better be an extra-large with lots of meat.”
Fuck. My. Life.
I’ve never been one to like carpentry. Correction. I never enjoyed installing or removing flooring. All the extra bending over, strain on my joints, it never appealed to me. Building things with my hands, creating something out of nothing. Sure. But this shit right here? Pulling staples from the floor while trying not to step on the carpet tacks sucks balls.
At least it has a nice view.
Lizzie insisted on pitching in. I wasn’t going to say no. It is her house after all. But watching her on her hands and knees, wiggling her ass as she tries to pull a staple out is not helping the strain in my pants. Or the dirty thoughts that keep filtering through.
“Who put these damn things in here? Superman? The Hulk? They do not need to hold it down until the end of time.” Her bitching is cute.
“You’re not doing it right,” I say, setting my wonder bar down and crawling over to her spot. “Here, use this.” I lean over her body, laying my chest on her back as I grab the vise grip and put it in her hands. If someone came in now, it’d look like I was trying to mount her from behind. Not saying I’m not thinking about it. Another lie. I’m actively not thinking about it. The last thing I need is for that to happen.
Through the thin cotton of her shirt, I can feel the change in her breathing, growing faster while her heart pounds a little harder. Maybe I’m too close. I am right inside her personal space, but I’d like to think she’d shove me away if she didn’t want me there.
Taking her hand in mine, we grip the tool as one and pull out the stubborn staple.
“See? Easy,” I say, practically breathing into her hair. Damn, she smells good. What kind of shampoo is that? Something minty and definitely not floral.
Lizzie turns her head minutely, putting our noses mere inches apart. If I lean forward ever so slightly, our lips would connect. And she’s staring at me, begging me to make a move. Her green eyes shine with desire. There’s no denying it.
Only I will.
Pulling away, I rock back on my heels and run a frustrated hand through my hair. “Think you can handle it now?”
“Yes.” Her breathy answer nearly has me rethinking my decision to work on the opposite side of the room. And if she keeps looking at me like that over her shoulder, I’m going to have to leave early and take a shower. A very, very cold one.
“Um, good. Well, I’m going to finish up with the tack strips,” I say, jutting my thumb over my shoulder. Lizzie smiles shyly, reminding me of the glances she used to give me when she was a teenager. An innocent look that’s not helping my situation.
Okay, need to clear my head.
“We need some music.” Lizzie turns around again with her brows drawn together.
“I thought we agreed no music since we wouldn’t hear it over the clanging noise.”
“Yeah, well, I thought it over and we definitely need something.” Reaching for my phone, I point to her speaker that we purposefully left in the hallway. She nods and I scroll to one of my favorite Pandora stations.
“Awake” by Godsmack blares through the speakers, visibly shaking them as the bass pounds out the rhythm.
“Great song,” Lizzie says, bobbing her head while she goes back to the task at hand.
Huh. Never would have pegged her to like this type of music. I remember her being all mainstream and Top 40 back in the day. Not to say people can’t change.
After a few songs, we take our first break. “Not bad progress,” she says, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.
I look around and chuckle. “We’re only done with one wall.”
She smiles, crossing her feet in front of her while hugging her knees. “It’s more than what we had an hour ago.”
“Technically, I guess.”
“Not technically. Actually.”
Before I have a chance to argue, a knock at the door catches our attention.
“Dinner’s ready,” she says, jumping up and carefully navigating through the disaster area to grab her wallet.
After a short conversation with the pizza delivery guy, we walk to the kitchen and grab a few plates.
“Shorty’s. Man, I haven’t had this in ages.” It’s only the best pizza in town. Everyone knows it and we keep it a secret from the tourists. Not that they care. They’re here for the barbecue.
We take our plates into the new living room and curl up on opposite sides of the couch.
“Want to see if the TV works?” she asks around a bite full of pizza.
I try not to laugh. “Sure. Whatcha thinking?”
She shrugs. “Not sure. I have Hulu and Netflix, or we can pick something from my vast DVD collection.”
“Netflix and chill?” I can’t help the smirk as I think about what all that would entail. My thoughts drift back to the outfit she was wearing when I first walked in and my dick starts getting ideas.
Lizzie looks over and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, how about no.” She points to the DVD case against the wall. The one that weighed about a hundred pounds. “See if anything appeals to you in there.”
I saw that collection when we moved it in here. That’s a big negative. It’s all chick flicks and romantic crap. The last thing the two of us need is more inspiration. Not when I’m trying my best to fight the attraction I feel right now.
“Anything good on Hulu?”
After several minutes of debating different shows, we give up when we can’t agree on anything. Lizzie taps her chin and I can practically see the cogs in her head working.
“I know,” she exclaims, exiting the program and opting for the Amazon channel instead. “Close your eyes.” I quirk a brow but follow instructions. After several more clicks, she finally says I can open them.
“What are we watching?”
Her sly grin has me equally nervous and excited. “You’ll see.”
Within a few minutes, I know exactly what we’re watching. “Justified?”
“Yep,” she says, letting the “P” pop at the end. “I love this show.”
“Me too, though I didn’t get to finish it. By the time I discovered it, we were constantly on the road and free time was precious.”
Setting her plate down on the table in front of us, she brushes her hands together and scoots closer. “Then let’s get lost in everything Raylan Givens.”
“You can get lost in Raylan. I’m gonna get lost in Ava Crowder,” I say, wagging my brows.
“Ugh, men,” she scoffs but doesn’t remove her smile.
It doesn’t take long to forget that we’re supposed to be working on her living room instead of sitting in the temporary one, having a debate over a television show.
“Raylan had every right to do what he did.”
“No, he didn’t. That’s an abuse of power.”
“Says who?”
“Um, most of the population.”
“Let’s agree to disagree,” she says, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
I smirk. “That’s what the losers always say when they know they’re wrong but don’t want to admit it.”
“Loser? I’m sorry, did you just call me a loser?” Her bright green eyes widen with mock surprise. “Why Brecken Lavery, I do believe that used to get you in trouble with your mama.”
“I do believe my mama
isn’t here, so who’s going to punish me?” I say mockingly.
Pink tinges her cheeks, giving her a beautiful glow, even with the harsh fluorescent lights above.
We stay silent for a long moment in a stand-off of sorts. I’ve never noticed the little gold flecks at the outer edges of her pupils. They’re subtle, not easily noticed unless you’re looking directly at her.
A phone chirps back in the house, breaking our gazes and refocusing our attention to where it needs to be, away from each other.
“That’s mine. I’ll be right back.” Lizzie leaps from the couch like she’s being chased by a pack of wolves.
Fuck, what am I doing? Dragging a hand down my face, I look up and blow out a harsh breath. This was stupid. I’m following a teenage dream, thinking something will be different this time around.
I should go. It’s getting late and I have to be at Kade’s in the morning to practice. Not to mention Lizzie has to work and I’m sure she wants to get to bed.
Just as I’m standing up, she walks back into the garage, the smile slowly slipping from her face. “That was my mom checking up on me.” Not that she needed to tell me who called. It’s her business, not mine.
“Oh, you should tell her hi for me next time you talk to her.”
She shuffles her feet back and forth, looking down at the floor. “You’re leaving?”
I shove my hands into my jeans pockets, bringing my shoulders to my ears. “Yeah, I have an early morning tomorrow and should really get some sleep.”
Looking down at her watch, her frown deepens. “I didn’t realize how late it was. Yeah, I should get some sleep too. Kids can be monsters in the mornings, especially if they’re having shots.”
“I still find it funny that you and Quinn work together.” We walk to the front door, making sure all electronics are turned off in her make-shift living room. Last thing she needs is to start a fire.
“She’s hilarious.”
“In small doses,” I add.
Lizzie rolls her eyes. “Not all the time. She’s a good friend, especially since I don’t have many around.”
“Yeah, I was going to ask you about that last week. What happened to everyone?”
