"What do you mean by 'badass'?"
"He only wears black. Has a shitload of tattoos."
"So he's just pretending to be a badass?"
"Yeah. I mean, I guess I don't really know the definition of badass. He doesn't get in trouble with the law or anything. He just likes being the tough guy. I think he's does the badass thing to scare off anyone who might try to date Jen."
"Who's Jen?"
"His best friend. He's in love with her, but he refuses to date her because he thinks it'll ruin their friendship. But he can't stand seeing her date other guys so he tries to scare them away. Bryce is big like me. Add in the tattoos, and he can be a little intimidating, especially to the guys Jen dates, which are usually college guys who are a lot smaller than Bryce."
"What about your other brother?"
"Austin is 20 and a fitness fanatic and health food nut. He's always trying to get us to change our diet. Drink protein shakes. All shit my other brothers and I would never do. Austin's also the sensitive one. He plays the guitar. Writes songs. Plays in a band. He gets a lot of girls that way. Girls seem to like guys who play the guitar."
"It's not just the guitar. It's being in a band. Girls like guys who are in a band."
"And by 'girls' are you including yourself in that?"
She smiles. "I might've dated a few guys who were in bands."
"So is that your type? Guys in bands?" I take a swig of my beer.
"I don't have a type. Do you?"
"I tend to like girls who are good at math, know how to make spaghetti sauce, and sing along to country songs when no one's watching."
She laughs. "Well, that's definitely not me."
"You sure about that?"
She crosses her arms. "I have never once sang along to a country song. I don't even know the words."
"You were singing in my living room just yesterday."
"I was not," she says adamantly. "You must've been hearing things."
"I'll record you next time." I finish my beer.
"You're such a liar. I was not singing." She goes to pull her feet back but I hold onto them.
"I owe you a foot rub."
"That's okay. Maybe some other time."
"You were on your feet all day. You sure you don't want one?" I run my thumb up the center of her foot.
She closes her eyes. "Oh, God, that feels good."
"So that's a yes?"
"Yes." She reclines back in the chair, dropping her head back and keeping her eyes closed as I continue to rub. "Seriously, where did you learn how to do this?"
"I went to massage school for like a week, and we spent that week learning how to do foot massages."
"Why'd you drop out?"
"We had volunteers come in to practice on. I ended up with this old guy who had the most disgusting feet I've ever seen. I thought I'd be massaging beautiful women all day, like they show in the instructional videos. But the reality is, you get whoever walks in the door, like the old guy with the bad feet. I quit the next day."
"Was that before or after you worked as an EMT?"
"Same time. I knew I wasn't going to keep working as an EMT so I was trying to find something different."
"Why'd you try all these other careers? Why didn't you just work for your dad?"
"Because that was his thing, not mine. Everyone always said I was so much like him, but I didn't want to be. I wanted to be different than him."
"What changed your mind?"
"My mom passing away. After she died and I took over the business while my dad took some time off, I realized that construction was in my blood. I couldn't fight it. Turns out people were right. I'm just like my dad, and when I was running his business, I figured out that being like your old man isn't such a bad thing. He's a good, hard-working man who built a successful business from nothing. As a kid, I didn't appreciate that, but when I stepped in for him for those few months, it hit me that he really knows what he's doing and I'd be damn proud to walk in his footsteps. So I did."
"But you took the summer off. So is he mad?"
"Yeah, but not because I took the summer off. He's mad because I'm working on this house."
"Why would that make him mad?"
"Because he's still angry at my birth mom for leaving us. He thinks I'm doing this to somehow reconnect with her."
"Are you?"
"No. I don't even have a clue where she lives."
"Have you tried looking for her?"
"I've looked her up online but I'm assuming she's married now and has a different last name."
"Do you want to find her someday?"
"Not really. But I admit this house is a way to connect with that side of my family."
"But when it's done, you're selling it, so you won't have that connection anymore."
"I'm not selling it. But don't tell anyone that, especially my brothers. They'd tell my dad and he'd be down here lecturing me to let go of the past."
"Sometimes it's hard to let go," she says softly.
"Yeah, I know," I mumble, thinking about Becky.
"What did you say?" Callie asks.
"Nothing." I smile and press down on that special spot on her foot.
"Oh, God." She closes her eyes, her head falling back. "Stop it, Nash."
"Why? You seem to be enjoying it."
"Too much, which is why you need to stop. We said we'd take things slow."
"It's just a foot rub, Callie. Doesn't get any slower than that."
I continue, and after a few minutes, I massage her other foot. Then we talk some more. At ten-thirty, I walk her home.
It was another great evening with my neighbor, who is quickly becoming a friend, and maybe by the end of summer, will be more than that.
Chapter Fifteen
Callie
"What the hell?" I say to myself the next morning as I hear loud noises outside my window. I get out of bed and shove the drape aside and my mouth drops open.
It's like three male fitness models have descended on my lawn and taken up residence. Tall. Muscular. Tan. Shirtless. Holy shit. Am I dreaming this? I look back at my bed. I'm not in it, so I must be awake. My room is bright from the sun and I go over to check the clock. It says it's eight-fifteen.
I return to the window and gaze out at the scene on my lawn. I spot Nash walking over from his house, carrying a bag of something over his shoulder. Hot man number four. He, too, is shirtless and I'm reminded of how his chest felt when I ran my hands over it the other night as he kissed me. How his body felt when it pressed up against mine. How it felt when his mouth—
"Callie!" I hear my name and it jars me from my thoughts. I look out and see Nash waving at me from my lawn. Shit, he can see me. He knows I was staring at him from the window.
I quickly back away from it but hear his voice again.
"Callie, get out here and meet my brothers."
Is he kidding? I can't go out there! I'm not even dressed. My hair's a mess. I have no makeup on. And he expects me to go out like this and meet his super-hot brothers? There's no way that's happening. I'll just ignore him. He has work to do. He'll forget about me if I hide in here.
"Callie?" I hear his voice but it sounds clearer, no longer muffled by the window. "Callie, are you in your room?" It's louder now. What the hell? Is he in my house?
I open my door and am met with the sight of his tan, muscular chest.
"Hey. Come outside and meet my brothers."
"How'd you get in here?"
"I walked in the front door. I assumed you unlocked it just now to let me in after I waved at you."
"No. I must've forgot to lock it last night."
"You were in here all night alone with the door unlocked?" He sounds angry.
"This isn't Chicago. It's a safe town and nobody even comes out this way."
He holds my shoulders, his eyes fixed on mine. "You always lock your doors. Even during the day. Got it?"
I nod. "Yeah."
I just met this guy and he
's already looking out for me, caring about me, worrying about me. I wonder if he's like that with everyone. He seems like he would be.
"Did you just wake up?" Nash removes his hands from my shoulders and stands up straight. Man, he's tall. I have to tilt my head back just to look at his face. Otherwise, I'm staring at his chest, which isn't a bad view.
"I woke up when I heard your brothers. What are they doing out there?" I cross my arms over my chest when I notice Nash's eyes going to my breasts. He's already seen them so I don't know why I care, but I still feel the need to cover them.
"They're chipping away the loose concrete," he says. "You'll be hearing that sound for a few hours, then after lunch we'll start sanding down the rough edges. That's even louder so you might want to go somewhere if you don't want to hear it."
"That's okay. I don't mind. Besides, I have to mow the grass today so I won't hear anything over the lawn mower."
"Why don't you wait until Monday and I'll do it for you?"
"Do what?"
"Mow the lawn. You shouldn't be doing that when your knee's still not a hundred percent."
"My knee is fine. You need to get outside. I don't want your brothers thinking we're doing something in here."
"And what exactly would we be doing?" He leans against the door frame, smiling.
"Things we shouldn't be doing." I put my hand on his chest and try to push him out of the way but he doesn't move. He's a solid mass of muscle that I couldn't move even if I put all my weight into it.
"They could just think we're in here talking, which is what we're doing."
"I'm sure you told them about us, which means they'll think we're doing more than talking."
"I didn't tell them anything. I don't tell them that kind of stuff. It's private."
"You told them to stay away from me."
"Yeah? So?"
"That tells them there's something going on between us."
"Would you stop worrying about this and get dressed? I got breakfast and we're all waiting to eat."
"You don't have to wait for me. Just go ahead and eat."
He pushes off the door frame and stands up straight again. "Get dressed. And hurry up. You got three hungry guys out there and another one right here." He walks off. "By the way, I like the pajamas."
I look down and see that I'm wearing my monkey pajamas; bright yellow shorts and a white tank top with monkeys and bananas printed all over it. I wear this every Friday night because it reminds me of Saturday morning cartoons, which I used to love when I was a kid. I'd look forward to it all week, and on Friday nights, I'd always wear pajamas with cartoon characters on them, getting ready for my Saturday cartoon marathon. It became a tradition, and although I no longer watch cartoons, I still wear goofy pajamas on Friday nights.
How embarrassing. Nash saw me in pajamas that look like something a kid would wear. They're not the least bit sexy. That should kill any prospect of us having a physical relationship.
I throw on a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a fitted white t-shirt. There's no time to mess with my hair so I pull it up into a ponytail and put on a red baseball cap. It's not my best look but I'm not trying to impress anyone with my appearance. I'm sure Nash's brothers won't even notice me. Guys that good looking are probably used to hanging around girls that look like models.
When I go outside, Nash says, "Callie, over here."
His brothers, who are all sitting on overturned milk crates while they chip away at the concrete, look over at me as I walk up to Nash.
He leans down to my ear. "Do you have to look so damn hot? My brothers are practically drooling."
"Yeah, right," I say, assuming he's kidding.
"Hi, I'm Jake," one of the guys says as he approaches me. His hair is dark, like Nash's, but it's cut shorter on the sides, longer on top, pushed forward and then spiked up when it reaches his forehead. It looks like he spends a lot of time on his hair. He has light blue eyes and a wide smile with perfect teeth, just like Nash's. I wonder if that's genetic or if they just went to a really good dentist growing up.
"I'm Callie," I say, shaking his hand.
The two other brothers appear behind him. All the guys are shirtless and wearing cargo shorts with tool belts around their waists. It's like an ad for a sexy handyman service.
"That's Bryce and that's Austin," Nash says, pointing to them. "Austin's got strep throat so don't touch him."
"I'm not sick," he insists. "I'm on the last day of medicine. I'm cured. I feel fine."
"Guess all that health food isn't good for you after all," Nash says. "The rest of us never get sick."
"That's not why I got sick," Austin says.
Bryce elbows him. "I told you to be more selective in which groupie you let stick her tongue down your throat."
"Shut-up." Austin elbows him back. "It wasn't her."
"Then who was it?" Jake asks.
"Guys," Nash says. "Talk about it later."
"Thanks for doing this," I tell them. "I'm sure this is the last thing you wanted to do on your weekend."
"We don't mind," Jake says. "Besides, Nash is picking up the tab for the bar tonight."
"You're going out?" I ask Nash.
"Yeah. And you're coming with." He puts his arm around my waist.
"I can't go. I have stuff to do."
"You have to go," Jake says. "We want to get to know the girl Nash has been talking about all week."
"You were talking about me?" I ask him.
"He didn't tell us much," Jake says. "That's why we need you to go out with us tonight. I found a bar over on Skylar Avenue that looks decent. You ever been there?"
"No, but I've heard it's the place everyone goes."
I only know that because I overhead Katie talking about going there that day she made Lou stay late to make her brownies.
"Let's eat," Nash says. "I'm starving." He keeps his hand on my lower back as we walk over to a foldout table he set up on my lawn. There are only four chairs so Austin takes a seat on the big red cooler that's next to the table.
"I can sit there," I tell him. "You can have my chair."
"He's fine," Nash says as he picks up a gallon jug of orange juice and starts filling plastic cups.
"Are you sure?" I ask Austin. "Because I don't mind sitting there."
"I'm good," he says, taking one of the orange juice cups. "I'm not high maintenance like my brothers." He smiles at them.
"Yeah, wanting to sleep on a bed instead of a park bench is high maintenance," Jake says.
"You sleep on park benches?" I ask Austin.
"Just once. I was on the road with the band and we couldn't find a hotel for the night so we slept in the park."
"You better never do it again," Nash says, handing him a sandwich. "You could've been killed."
"In small town Illinois? I don't think so."
"Crime can happen anywhere," Nash says.
So he's not just protective of me. He's also protective of his brothers. I was the same way with Ben. When my mom said some kid at his daycare kept hitting him, I wanted to go beat the kid up. Obviously I'd never do that, but I wanted to.
Nash bought thirteen breakfast sandwiches and a bucket of fried potato rounds. No joke. It's an actual bucket. He must've got it at the burger place just down from the gas station. I heard they started serving breakfast a few weeks ago.
"Go ahead." Jake points to the bucket.
I take a few potato rounds and set them next to my egg sandwich.
"That's it?" Jake asks.
"She doesn't eat much," Nash says, biting into his sandwich.
"Last chance," he says, holding the bucket up to me.
"I'm good."
He takes the bucket back and shakes out a big pile of potato rounds for himself. Then he sets the bucket back on the table. "Have at it, boys."
Nash shakes some out on his napkin, taking even more than Jake did. Then the other guys divvy up what's left. In addition to the pile of potatoes, they each have three san
dwiches and have already eaten two of them while I've just started mine.
"How much did your parents spend on groceries?" I ask as I watch them eat.
"A lot," Bryce says, laughing. "Our mom always had to bring a couple of us along to grocery shop because she'd fill up three carts. And that was just for one week of groceries."
As Bryce talks, my eyes keep going to his tattoos. They start below his ear and snake down his neck and over his chest, then continue down each forearm. They're all black ink, no color, and they just look like designs, not words or pictures or anything else recognizable.
"Did you design your tattoos?" I ask him.
"His girlfriend did," Jake answers, squeezing a ketchup packet over his potato rounds.
"Stop calling her that." Bryce shoves Jake's shoulder, causing the ketchup to squirt onto the table. "She's not my girlfriend. She's dating someone else."
"Yeah, some prick she doesn't even like, who she's only dating because the guy she really wants is too stupid to tell her he's in love with her." Jake grabs another ketchup packet.
"I'm not in love with her," Bryce says, stuffing some potatoes in his mouth.
"Yeah, that's why you inked her designs all over your body," Austin says, getting up to grab the orange juice jug. He sets his cup next to mine on the table and refills it. His arms are huge. I glance at his brothers. They all have huge muscular arms. And six pack abs, although Austin has an eight pack. You can tell he works out all the time because his muscles are more ripped than his brothers'. I'm guessing the rest of them get their muscles from physical labor, not lifting weights at the gym.
"Want some more?" Austin asks, holding the orange juice over my cup.
"No, thanks."
He sets the jug down and sits back on the cooler.
"Have you talked to Jen lately?" Nash asks Bryce.
"No." Bryce runs his hand through his short dark hair. He's got gorgeous blue eyes, like Nash's eyes. They're a brighter blue than Jake's and Austin's. "She's busy. She's taking summer classes, and when she's not doing that she's..." He shakes his head.
"Fucking the professor," Jake says casually.
"Jake, don't be an ass," Nash says.
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