by Jillian Neal
“No, ma’am.” He offered no explanation as to why, just attempted to scrub the exhaustion from his eyes with his filthy hands. He’d been up since four doing chores and talking to Lucky.
“Why not?”
“He was sleepin’.”
Ms. Fitzgibbons’ jaw clenched for a moment. She gave a single nod. “And your mother, dear?”
“She has to be at work before I get my chores done in the morning, and she don’t come home ‘til late. She works extra a lot. She says it’s ‘cause Pops owes lots of people money cause he keeps playing them cards.”
“Bless both of your hearts.” The words seemed to have slipped from his teacher’s tongue without her permission. She offered him a smile. “You know, sweetheart, I think since you have to work so hard and your parents … aren’t able to help you more, we’ll just find another way for you bring your grades up. Don’t worry about the test. I won’t tell your father about it.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” Relief was the only emotion he recalled feeling that day. The same scenario had repeated itself throughout elementary and middle school. No one wanted to burden his mother more, and no one wanted his jackass of a father laying a hand on Brock because of his grades. No one wanted to tell the Camden family that Brock couldn’t seem to be able to read.
Suddenly, another memory painted itself on the canvas of his mind. The first day of school his sophomore year. He noticed her as soon as she walked in. If the word freshman had been stamped across her forehead, it wouldn’t have been any more obvious that Hope was bordering on complete meltdown by fifth period.
His heart noticed the weary defeat that haunted her beautiful, emerald-green eyes as she tried to manage a stack of textbooks she’d been given throughout the day. His cock noticed the way her lips pursed as she considered a seat in the lab, and the way her wavy blonde hair framed her face and brushed over the cups of the slight bra he could just make out under her light pink t-shirt. He immediately noticed an adorable patch of freckles on her shoulder that were revealed along with her bra strap when her shirt slid to the right under the weight of the books.
“Sit here with me,” he urged with a cocky grin as she’d edged closer. God, you were such an asshole! He shook his head, still disgusted with himself. Yeah, she was beautiful and so damn sweet, but he’d asked her to sit with him because a ninth grader in a tenth grade class meant she was smart, probably smarter than any of the other sophomores in the class. She’d been his ticket to a semi-decent grade, one he might could actually earn for a change.
His father had sobered up just long enough when they’d moved to Gypsy Beach to decide that Brock’s natural athleticism could prove to the town that his dad wasn’t a complete loser. He’d wanted to stick it to Ev and Brock’s grandfather for forcing him off of the ranch. Uncle Ev thought that Brock’s father would allow Brock to stay and live in his aunt and uncle’s house with all of his cousins. His father had refused out of pure stubborn spite. Never one to leave the table with anything left in his pockets, his old man had struck a deal with the principals and Coach Chaney. Brock would win Wellsley High trophies, and they’d see to it that he got good grades without having to do anything more than practice football and baseball.
When he’d first met Hope, the lies and deceit had already begun to eat him alive. She was so pure and kind. She’d never have agreed to live the lies he’d signed on for. His shame was often more than he could bear. Talking to her always eased the suffocating feeling he’d come to associate with being alive.
He’d had to come up with new and improved ways to keep the near constant boner she caused him out of her line of sight. He wanted so badly to help her do something, anything in class, almost as much as he simply wanted her. He’d thought about asking her out dozens of times. He’d jacked off thinking about her for half of his life. He loved her laugh and the way she could talk about most anything. But she’d deserved better back then, and she sure as hell did now.
He’d tried so hard to be just as good of a friend to her as she always was to him. He’d willingly performed every single dissection that year in class, as long as she dutifully read him the instructions. And now she wanted him. How could anything that good and that smart want him? And more importantly, how did he get her to talk to him about it? How did he make up for ignoring her attempt the evening before? If he’d made her feel half as stupid as he was, he’d never forgive himself.
“First things first,” he sighed as he stared at store entrance and begged the ether for some kind of plan. He had to make this order. This is numbers. His mind offered him. Numbers weren’t quite as hard as letters if he could get them in the right order. That was the hard part. His handwriting still looked like he was in third grade. Get them to write it for you. Yeah, that might work. Just tell them what you need. Let them write up the order.
His boots hit the gravel parking lot, and he prayed that somehow his plan would work and he wouldn’t come off looking as dumb as he was. With every strike of his foot on the crumbled rock, he continually reminded himself of all he owed Hope Hendrix.
*******
Hope slumped against the counter, just before lunch. Jana had sweetly gone into town and hung up flyers they’d made up that morning announcing the one-day raise the roof sale. Julie had passed out a few at the twins’ preschool and the grocery store. It seemed people had decided to stock up on the deeply discounted books. Hope had called to check on Sophie that morning. She was home and not even hungover, so that was good.
With the momentary reprieve in customers actually wanting to make purchases for a change, she wiggled and tried to discreetly relocate the thong she’d stupidly worn from its rather irritating location. She’d been determined to say something, anything, to Brock that night about them, so she’d located the black thong out of the back of her underwear drawer, certain that the kinds of women Brock normally slept with never wore the cotton boyshort panties she preferred. She had no idea how she’d even come to own a pair of thong panties, but if she somehow managed to get his hands in them, they should be thongs. It must’ve been one of the free pairs she’d gotten from Victoria’s Secret when she was in college. She was fairly certain she’d never worn them before. Surely, she would’ve remembered being this uncomfortable. And like the idiot she was whenever it came to Brock, she was going to be spending hours and hours that evening bending over and packing boxes with a scrap of silky elastic flossing her butt-cheeks. Oh, yeah, I’m a genius! She rolled her eyes and plastered on a fake smile as a customer approached the cash register.
“If I find these on Amazon for a better price, I’m returning them,” the pinch-faced woman informed her as she slapped three books from the 75% off bin on the counter.
Hope’s jaw clenched, and she tried to draw three quick breaths before speaking. “Actually, we’re closing up for several weeks for renovations, and we have a no-return policy on sale items.” She added a “ma’am” for good measure.
“Yes, well.” The woman studied the books again. Two on finding inner peace and one on being cut throat in multi-level marketing schemes. Hope bit her lips to keep from laughing. The day was getting to her, and she still couldn’t figure out Brock’s odd reaction to being told he was going to get to foreman a job. Something was definitely up with him.
“Well, ring them up,” the woman demanded, effectively jerking Hope out of her incessant worrying.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Sorry, I thought you were still deciding.”
Four
As soon as Ryan let them off work, Brock had rushed home to shower and then headed to the Pizza Hut near the beach. His confidence had been moderately restored. Placing the order for the roofing supplies hadn’t been as bad as he’d envisioned. They had all of Ryan’s information on file, and he’d supplied the amounts of wood, shingles, tar, sheetrock, and other supplies he’d need. He was fairly certain he’d managed without any issues, even though he’d had to fill in the numbers for the supply amounts.
Now, he just h
ad to figure out exactly what Hope wanted and how he could be of service. Most importantly, he had to figure out how to give her everything she so deserved without it ending their friendship when they were no longer sharing a bed. His imagination offered him stunning imagery, but he had to tread carefully.
“Camden,” bellowed from the cashier.
“Those are mine.” He stepped up to get the boxes and to begin what was sure to be one hell of an interesting evening.
********
At 5:20, Hope pressed her back against the door as the last customer finally left. Brock said he’d be there at 5:30 with the pizza. That gave her just enough time. Trying to draw in energy and resolve with her deep breath, she raced to her phone. “Julie? Hey, it’s me. Okay, you have less than ten minutes to tell me exactly what you said to Kev when you finally told him you wanted to be more than friends.”
“Oh, my gosh, are you going to tell him tonight?”
“Yes … I think so.” Hope ordered herself to stop chickening out.
“Okay, well, honestly Hope, I looked him dead in the eye, sitting at Bernie’s Pizza and Pasta, and said I’d had feelings for him for a long time. I told him that I really thought we should see if there was more to it than a friendship, but that I understood if he didn’t feel that way, too. He stood up, took my hand, dragged me out to his car, and we made out in the parking lot for like an hour. Then, he took me back to his old place, kicked his roommates out, and we screwed each other’s brains out for the rest of the night.”
“That was it. You just said that.”
“Yup, I was tired of fighting with myself, and things were getting more and more awkward between us. It was time for one of us to pull the trigger, and I knew he wouldn’t.”
“So, before you said that, things were awkward?” Hopefulness permeated her body. Things that morning with Brock certainly felt awkward. Maybe that was a good sign.
“Definitely. The tension was unbearable. I doubted everything he said and questioned everything I said. It was ridiculous. Oh … Hope, hang on. No! No!”
“Julie …?”
“Alexander Kevin Right! We do NOT put crayons in the toilet!”
Hope’s hand flew over her mouth, and she tried not to laugh as Julie returned to the phone. “I gotta go, Hope, but just talk to him. It will get worse every single day until you do.”
“I will. Thanks, Jules. Good luck with the toilet thing.”
“Two year olds. I do not recommend them,” Julie sighed as she ended the call.
The bell on the front door announced Brock’s arrival. Hope rushed out from the storeroom, but it wasn’t Brock entering the shop. “Trent? What are you doing here?”
Trent gave Hope his most disgusting salesman’s smirk, the one that always made her skin crawl. “I missed you, Hope. Haven’t seen you around the last few weeks.”
“What do you mean you haven’t seen me around? When I told you to stop calling me and that I didn’t want to see you anymore, that’s what I meant.”
“I figured you’d be over that by now. My family’s having a picnic and regatta out at the sailing club in Oxford. I told them you’d be there.”
Before Hope could tell Trent yet again to leave and not come back, Brock entered the store, balancing pizza boxes and two six-packs of Coke in his massive arms. His eyes narrowed in on Trent.
Possessive fury shot through Brock rocketing up from his gut and racking readily in his bulging biceps. Who was this asswipe? Was this her second choice if he refused to go along with her plan? Bile flooded his mouth. Not on his watch was this skinny, tie-wearing, mama’s boy introducing Hope to the finer points of making love. Technically, Brock allowed, he didn’t know that the guy was a mama’s boy, but he had that look about him. Before he could contemplate further, Hope was on him, helping him set down their food and then hugging him. Hugging him like she’d been afraid before he’d arrived. The way she tucked herself against him spoke volumes. She needed him, and he would always be there. He wrapped her up in his arms and dropped a tender kiss on top of her head. He’d played this part a few times before when she got hit on by douchebags at the beach. God, it was so easy to pretend that she was his. Maybe he didn’t just have to play the part anymore. What if, for a little while, he could lay claim to Hope?
“Hey, sweetheart, you okay? This idiot bothering you? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name, or more importantly, why you’re here with my girl?”
“Your girl? We were just dating a few weeks ago,” the douchebag snarled.
“We were not. We went out three times. I told you I never wanted to see you again.” Hope turned to face the guy, but kept her arms around Brock’s waist. When she finished her brief diatribe she turned back and buried her face against him again.
“Get the hell out and don’t come back.” Brock kept his voice low and menacing. He let his biceps flex beneath the ragged t-shirt he was wearing.
Hope wanted Trent to go; that much was painfully obvious. Brock reveled in the way she continued to cling to him.
“I’ve got you, sweetie,” he whispered softly in her hair as he strengthened his hold. He felt her smile form against his chest.
With a huff of disdain, Trent shook his head. “Whatever, Hope. The regatta is next weekend. If you decide you might actually like a real life with a guy that wears a tie and not a tool belt, let me know.” The jangle of the bell on the door announced his departure. Hope stepped back away from him, much to his chagrin.
“Who was that?” he huffed.
“His name is Trent Robinson. His family owns a sailing company or something. I don’t know. He came by the store every day until I agreed to meet him for dinner, and then he was completely boring. He’s a jerk. Don’t worry about it.” Hope’s frame was slumped as if the gravity of the world was just too much for her right then.
“Has he come by again since you told him you didn’t want to see him?”
“No, it was so weird he just showed up tonight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.” She tried to shake off the unplanned intrusion and remember her decision to talk to Brock about the two of them.
“You sure you’re okay?” Brock edged closer again.
“I don’t know, honestly.” She glanced around the shop as if some remedy to the tension that had obviously formed in her body might be found in a book. Her gaze landed on the pizzas he’d set on the counter. “Let’s just eat. I’m starving.”
Let her take it at her own pace, Camden. No rushing her on any part of this, he ordered himself as he headed to the front door and locked them in. There would be no more interruptions from Trent—or anyone else for that matter.
As they settled into the pizza, he tried to think of an opener slightly less obvious than, ‘Hey, if you want me, darlin’, I’m all in.’ He called himself a moron for the hundredth time that day. “So, I got all of the stuff ordered. We’ll start on the roof as soon as the supplies arrive on Monday.”
She awarded him one of her dazzling grins, but the distant look in her eyes said her mind was a million miles away from their current locale. If she gnawed her bottom lip any harder she was going to draw blood, and she’d only managed two bites of her pizza.
“Okay, if you don’t start talking I’m going to torture you with really bad roofer jokes until you break.”
Her giggle cracked through some of the icy tension. She shook her head at him. “You will not.”
“Hey, sugar, you have any hot shingles in the area looking to get nailed?” He earned a real laugh with that one. Her laughter was a prize that meant more to him than most anything else.
“I have more,” he warned. “Or I could make you listen to me sing. We could do Brick House or maybe Raise the Roof. Oh, oh, let’s do my favorite, Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Okay, okay, I’m talking!”
“Good, because the next joke started with, ‘What did one nail say to the other?’”
“Oh, you’re not going to tell me the, ‘I’d tell you
a joke about my job, but it’s over your head,’ one?” Her sexy little smirk spoke directly to his groin.
“That’s my best material. I save that for the encore.”
“Of course you do.”
“Come on, Hope. You usually tell me everything. What’s on your mind?”
He could see the panic swirling in her eyes. She set down the pizza she’d been trying to eat and forced her gaze to his. “It’s just … sometimes … You know what, never mind. Let’s just pack.”
Dammit! Brock crammed half a piece of pizza in his mouth and downed it with a long swig of Coke. He was starving, but he wasn’t letting her out of this. Standing, he followed her out of the storeroom.
He drew a deep breath and helped her stack and open empty cardboard boxes along the counter. “It’s just sometimes what?”
Shaking her head, Hope drew a deep breath. “Okay, so if we could kind of try to box them up according to their shelf and then label the boxes that will make unpacking them much easier.”
“Fine. I’ll box. You label, but first we talk.” He sidled closer, fixing her between his body and the front counter. “Come on, just tell me what’s got you so rattled.” Shaking off the disaster that could come from him trying to label boxes of books, he studied her intently. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath and heat radiated from her body. Brock couldn’t help but grin as the slight remnant of the freckles on her cheeks made an appearance but he didn’t want her to be embarrassed with him.
“It’s just … it’s just that sometimes … well, all the time, really … I regret a lot of things.”
