“No, you don’t need to do that,” I respond, even though I would rather be napping, if it didn’t include nightmares. I probably got maybe two hours of sleep last night, my mind still too focused on a million different things. Like what happened with Mason and how guilty I feel about it. It’s been a few days since the incident at his school but I haven’t gotten over how upset he looked.
“You look really tired,” Nova subtly remarks. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Everything’s great,” I promise her, balling up the empty sandwich bag my lunch was in while stifling a yawn. “I just had some finals last night and didn’t get much sleep.”
“I didn’t know you were taking classes.” She fans her hand in front of her face as the blistering heat scorches down on us. “That’s so cool, but how do you find time when you work and do this?”
“I take classes online.” I open the door to get out. “And thanks for waking me up by the way.”
“No problem,” she replies, tightening the elastic around her side braid as we hike up the dirt driveway toward the house. “So when are finals over for you?”
“I just finished my last one.” I flick flakes of sawdust off the front of my purple tank top then adjust the hem lower to make sure the scars on my abdomen are concealed beneath the fabric. “But I only have a week off before fall semester starts.”
“Well, that sucks.” She contemplates something as we weave around a small crew taking a smoke break and make our way toward the back area of the foundation. “How long until you graduate?”
“Hopefully within the next year. I actually take five classes a semester so I’m pretty close to doing fast track. I was taking six at one point, but between my job and… stuff I just couldn’t keep up.”
“It sounds like you have a lot on your plate.” She takes her phone out and swipes her finger across the screen. Then she raises the phone like she’s going to snap a picture. But then a red dot glows from the upper section of her phone and I realize she’s recording something.
“I do,” I reply, wondering what the hell she’s doing. “Why are you videotaping the yard?”
She sweeps the camera across the land before shutting it off. “I just record things sometimes.”
“Like for fun?”
“Well, fun and for documentaries. It’s a hobby of mine.”
“That’s actually pretty cool. Would I have seen anything that you’ve made?”
“Nah, I’m not popular or anything. It’s mostly for my own personal satisfaction, but I could show you some stuff sometime if you want.”
“That sounds like fun.” I’m being honest too. It does sound fun, but I’m not sure I can picture myself hanging out and having fun with someone as carefree as Nova.
Her eyes suddenly light up. “You know what we should do? Go out and do something fun on your short break from school. Then, afterward, you can come by and we can have like a movie night with Quinton and Tristan.” That was her persuading argument the last time I went out with her, only that time was for a celebration. When I asked her what she was celebrating she simply said, “Life.” I decided I liked her after she said it.
The concept baffles me. The four of us hanging out, having fun, me letting my walls down, allowing them into my life, while what? I make Jax stay home and babysit Mason? While I bail on Mason? The concert caused enough guilt for me to last a lifetime. Plus I hate the idea of leaving the two of them home alone now that Conner has started calling me again.
“Sorry, but I can’t.” Sighing, I gather my tool belt from the ground. “I have to work at the bar tonight and pretty much every night this week.”
“Well, that, like, double sucks.” She plops on a hard hat then starts in the direction of where her boyfriend Quinton is working on the frame of the home. “Maybe this weekend instead?”
I offer her the best smile I can as I loop the belt around my waist. “I’ll have to check my schedule but, yeah, maybe.”
“Sounds good. Yay, I’m so excited!” She skips over to a half built wall, retrieving a hammer from the ground on her way.
I watch her, feeling jealous as she wraps her arms around her boyfriend and places a kiss on his cheek. It’s not because her boyfriend’s hot or anything that I’m graced with the green monster. Well, he is, but my jealousy stems from the fact that Nova is about my age, living her life stress free. I’m jealous/envious and don’t like myself very much because of it.
Tearing my attention off the two of them, I put on a hardhat then return to my designated work area, by old Mister Shorty/Sexist. He greets my arrival with a dirty look then mutters something about women having it so easy, being able to take long breaks, before hammering the crap out of a board. I want to kick him and tell him how wrong he is, but bite my lip because the last thing I need is more stress in my life.
I concentrate on hammering, which I’m getting better at doing. As the sounds of power tools and music overlap my thoughts, I end up zoning out while I work on finishing up the wall. I’m really getting into it when someone taps me on the shoulder. Startled, I drop the hammer and it almost lands on my foot.
“Holy crap.” I press my hand to my heart as I catch my breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Wilson, the foreman, chuckles. “Yeah, I can tell.” He’s quite a few years older than me and taller with facial hair, and he’s wearing a hardhat. “Sorry about that. I said your name a few times but you didn’t seem to hear me.”
“Must be the hardhat,” I lie, bending down to scoop up the hammer from the ground.
Wilson gives me another smile. He seems like a nice guy, at least nice enough to tolerate my spastic behavior. “Yeah, probably.” He points at something over his shoulder, giving a quick glance at Mister Asshole. “I was wondering if you could help out over at the table saw?”
“Seriously?” I ask with wariness as I slide the hammer into my belt. “You want me to work a large cutting tool after what I just did with the hammer?”
He nods with reassurance. “Don’t worry, there’s someone already over there. You’ll just be there to help.”
I wonder if Mister Asshole tattled on me?
“Okay, I can do that.”
“Good. Thanks.” Wilson checks off something on a clipboard then I maneuver around the tools and head to the table saw that’s out back. It’s not until I round the corner that I see who I’ll be helping.
Tristan.
He’s leaning over the table, sweat glistening across his bare chest and back as he runs a board carefully through the blade. Every time he moves, every single one of his lean muscles tightens and ripples. The invisible pull instantly seizes me by the legs and nearly jerks them out from under me.
What is it with this guy?
Better yet, what is it with me whenever I look at this guy?
I haven’t spoken to him since a couple of mornings ago when I helped him with his cut. We’ve crossed paths a lot though but have just given each other polite smiles and waves, although he always looks like he wants to say more. He probably would if I didn’t run off like there was a fire every time I was near him.
But there’s no avoiding him now, so I might as well get it over with.
I slowly approach the table, observing him the entire way. The fact that he looks like he belongs in a construction porn fantasy doesn’t make the situation any easier. I allow myself ten seconds to admire the view before I slip off the hardhat and as casually as I can, stroll up to him. He doesn’t notice or hear me until he shuts off the saw and turns to set the board down.
His eyes immediately widen when he catches sight of me, but he shakes the initial shock off. “Hey, long time no see.” That half-smile surfaces although it’s forced.
“Hey, long time no see, yourself,” I respond with a stiff smile. “So what have you been up to?”
“The same thing as you—building a house.” There’s zero playfulness in his tone and I find myself missing the sound.
“What abo
ut your hand?” I glance down at the cut now covered by a piece of gauze. “How’s it doing?”
He raises his bandaged hand without removing his eyes from me. “The hand’s doing fine.”
“You’ve been taking care of it, right?”
He nods, those damn crystal blue eyes of his boring into mine. “Yeah, I have… What about …” He trails off. “Why are you here, Avery?”
“Uh, to build a house?” It sounds more like a question than an answer.
His lips quirk and his overwhelming stare alleviates a smidgeon. “I know that. But why are you over here with me? Because it seems like you’ve been avoiding me for the last few days.”
I feel terrible, maybe more than I should. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve just been…” I clear my throat before plastering on a smile. “But anyway. No more avoiding because you’re my boss now.”
His face contorts as he slants to the side and chucks the board he’s holding into a pile of wood. “I’m your boss?”
“Yeah, I think I’ve been banished from putting up walls and now you’re stuck with me.” I playfully bump shoulders with him, trying to be cheery Avery and nothing else. It’s difficult when his sweat ends up getting on my skin. I don’t mind as much as I probably should. “Congrats. You’re officially my babysitter.”
He chuckles under his breath then bends over to grab another board, giving me just enough time to enjoy the view of his ass. “That sounds like a fun job if you ask me.”
“I hate to break it to you, but it’s not,” I tell him as he stands upright. “I really, really suck at this whole building thing.” I cup my hand around the side of my face and lower my voice a notch. “I’m going to tell you a secret but you have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”
He plays along, jokingly peering around before inching closer, his gaze noticeably flickering to my lips for a searing instant. “I swear my lips are sealed.”
I catch a hint of his scent—soap, sweat, and cigarettes—and I discreetly breathe in the wonderful unfamiliarity of it before whispering, “I’ve never built anything before.”
His expression remains neutral. “Yeah, I kind of figured as much considering the stories I’ve heard about you.”
My jaw drops as I move away. “Mister Asshole has been talking about me, hasn’t he?”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter.” He positions the board up on the table then roughly drags his fingers through his damp hair, leaving strands sticking up all over the place. “Half the people around here haven’t built anything. In fact, I was that way when I first started.”
I place a hand on my hip and elevate my brows. “Did you search the internet to find out how exactly to hammer in a nail?”
Laughter bubbles from his lips and despite the fact that I have a no guys rule, I note just how great of a laugh he has. “No, but that’s cute.” He winks at me.
“Hey, no mocking me or my incompetence.” I laugh with him, feeling tingly inside from the wink. It’s been so long since the tingles showed up I’d almost forgotten what they feel like.
And how frightening they can be.
I promptly stop laughing and panic instead.
Tristan must sense my anxiety because he randomly changes the subject. “So if you want, I can go have a little chat with Mister Asshole,” he says. “That’s what you call him, right?”
I nod, settling down. “Yeah, that would be the very fitting nickname I gave him. I almost went with Mr. Short Guy Douche Bag because he seems to suffer from the short guy complex.” I stretch my arm into the air, grinning. “I think he might be a little jealous because I can reach higher than him.”
Tristan snorts a laugh. “Or maybe it’s because he secretly thinks you’re hot and he’s one of those guys that is still mean to the girls he likes.”
“Ew.” I swat his shoulder, making him laugh even harder. “He’s like in his thirties and short and hairy and gross. He even took his shirt off the other day and he had hair all over his back like this long.” I lift my hand and hold my finger and thumb about an inch apart. “I seriously think he might be part werewolf.”
Tristan starts laughing again and I’ll admit I am too. A tiny part of me feels bad that our entertainment comes from mocking Mister Asshole, but not enough to stop the fun.
“Maybe if you brought a razor, you could shave it off for him,” Tristan suggests through his chuckling. “He could have a fetish for that and maybe that’s why he was showing off his back to you, hoping you’d bite the bait.”
I make gagging sounds through my laughter. “Oh my God, stop! I’m going to throw up if you don’t!” Tears sting at my eyes, happy tears. I suddenly realize it’s been a while since I laughed this hard.
“So you’re not into the back hair shaving thing.” He rubs his scruffy jawline thoughtfully. “I’ll have to make a mental note of that.”
“Why?” I ask, wiping my tears away with my fingers. “You don’t have a hairy back.”
“Maybe it’s because I shave it.”
I roll my eyes. “You do not. I can tell.”
His lips quirk. “How so?”
“Because I’ve looked and there’s no stubble.”
“Are you saying you’ve been checking me out?” He’s all grins and cockiness now.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” I say with a defeated sigh, unable to eliminate the smile from my face.
Suddenly someone clears their throat from behind me. Tristan’s attention darts over my shoulder and I whirl around then shuffle backwards. Mister Asshole is standing close to me with a power drill in his hand and a stone cold expression on his round face.
“This is a work place, girlie,” he says, staring icily at me. “Not a place to flirt. Make yourself useful for once instead of distracting everyone or get in your car and go home where you belong.”
“Bite me,” I retort, flustered like I was the other day when he yelled at me. “And it’s Avery, not girlie.”
“Who cares?” he replies. “You’re all the same.”
I want to ask him who he’s referring to, but I’m fairly certain his talking about the female population, being very sexist right now. My tongue burns with a thousand rude remarks to throw back in his face, but Tristan steps up to the side of me, his fingers brushing against the small of my back, causing me to jump. Then I swear to God my knees almost give out.
“Shouldn’t you be working?” he asks intimidatingly.
Mister Asshole’s eyes cut to Tristan. “That’s what I’m doing.” He lifts the power drill in his hand as if that proves a point.
“Clearly,” Tristan responds dryly. “You know it’s illegal to harass coworkers, right? Male or female.”
He lowers the power drill, a scowl forming on his weathered face. “I wasn’t harassing her because she’s a female.”
“That’s not what it looks like to me,” Tristan says. “Didn’t your mother every teach you not to pick on girls?” His fingers stiffen on my back, forcing me to move closer to him. I’m surprised how willingly my body gives in, how much it craves contact from another. “Now apologize to Avery and go away.”
“No way,” Mister Asshole argues. When Tristan stands up straight, towering over him, he adds. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re a fucking kid for crying out loud.”
Tristan doesn’t utter another word, just crosses his arms and stares him down. His height, stance, and bulging muscles are very threatening and Mister Asshole appears tense.
“Whatever,” Mister Asshole mutters. “Stupid punk kids are a pain in my ass.” Then he stomps back toward the foundation without giving me an apology.
I’ve realized two things the moment the silence sets in: 1) The last time someone helped me, was when Tristan stepped in-between Conner and me in the alleyway. The last time that happened before that was… never. And 2) Even if I’ve always prided myself on being able to take care of my own problems, I think I might actually like the occasional interference from another because right now I
feel… lighter.
Turning toward Tristan, I rack my mind for what to say to him. Thank you? You rock? Touch me again?
He beats me to the punch, speaking first. “I wonder how much of our conversation he heard before he cleared his throat. My bet is the whole thing and he shows up tomorrow with a shaved back.”
An uncontrollable grin spreads across my face. “Well, then I guess one good thing came out of that, didn’t it?”
“Just one thing?” he wonders. “Man, I thought I’d get brownie points for putting him in his place.” He waits for me to say something and when I don’t, he pouts. Actually, freaking pouts, the sexiest, most delicious, adorable pout ever. “I know I didn’t get an apology out of him, but I could have easily if violence were allowed on the job.”
Wreck Me (Nova #4) Page 9
