“What’s in the box?” Ski asked after she flounced off.
Ryan lifted a corner, and a smile spread across his face. “Cherry pie.”
“A for effort, but F for originality,” Ski said as they headed for the exit.
“Amen, brother.” Ryan laughed as he swung the door open.
“Gonna call her?” She was a little too rabid-dog for Ski’s taste, but he hoped Ryan knew better.
“No.” Ryan handed him the box when they got to his car.
“You don’t want it?”
“Nah, take it home to your hot contractor. Maybe if you share your pie with her, she'll share her…”
“Do not finish that sentence.”
Ryan spun his keys on his finger, silent laughter rolling through his frame. “See you next month, big guy. Can’t wait for classes to start. Well, I can’t wait to get out of the parents’ house, anyway. Call me if you need me to talk some sense into your woman. She'll come around.”
Ski laughed. His relationships with most of the guys in the house were so easy. They joked. They poked. They fought. But when the day was over and the dust settled, they always had each other’s backs.
~»ΨΡ«~
Chapter Nine
Sam
THE SETTING sun painted the sky orange as Samantha set up the ladder to attach the last strips of beadboard to the underside of the porch roof. She’d finally finished replacing all the broken wood on the porch this morning. It was a mess, but luckily no major structural damage was done.
The inspector had come by earlier, and given them a straight-up pass on everything. Bob the electrician had a few words for the inspector, none of them very nice. Like it mattered. The whole fiasco was over. She was back on track.
She climbed up, four lengths of beadboard in hand and the nail gun hanging from her tool belt. An easy install. Well, it would be if her father would stop yapping at her.
“That was a rookie mistake, Samantha.” Did her father have to lurk under her while she worked?
A green sedan drove into the parking lot. Ski. Great. Not the man she wanted to see right now. She still owed him one huge apology for overreacting the other day, and she had no desire to do that bit of groveling. Especially in front of her father.
Not that she’d have time to beg Ski for forgiveness with her father pointing out all her faults. If he didn’t run out of mistakes soon, he’d be doing it in front of Ski. This was shaping up to be a great day. Or not.
“How many times have I told you to double check your work? Dammit— you’re twenty-one years old. How are you going to take over when I retire?” He tipped his baseball hat up in the front, and then settled it back down before doing it again. And again.
Frustration snaked around her throat with every word, and she shoved the strip of beadboard into place. Bam! She slapped the nailer against it hard enough to send a twinge up to her shoulder. You’d think she’d kicked a puppy or something horrific. Bam! So she’d made a mistake. Bam! She should have done a better job. She should have double-checked everything. She should have supervised the appliance delivery. So many “should haves”. It was a minor setback. And it was over. Why couldn’t he just let it die? She fitted the next strip, wishing she had more to cut— the saw would drown her father out more effectively than the nailer. No matter what she did, it was never enough. Sometimes it was hard being such a colossal disappointment. “I’m managing all three sites. What more do you want?”
“I want it done right.” He sighed and flipped through Sam’s tablet. “So how are you going to get this project done?”
“I'm going to finish the beadboard today, and maybe I’ll install the wall lights tonight. I'll have the sliding glass door and outdoor painting done by Monday.”
“The tiling’s done in the kitchen?”
“Tile’s done. Air conditioning is fixed. The indoor painting is done. I should be able to close out this site by the middle of next week.” She wanted to feel pride as she listed off every completed task. But she knew it wouldn’t be enough. It never was.
“Behind schedule, but there’s never any shame in working overtime to get the work done.”
Overtime? She’d been working nonstop to get the work done all week. Overtime. Under-time. All-the-time. How much time could one person devote to work? Well, she was finding out this week. Samantha turned and locked eyes on Ski. There should be a law that no guy should look that tasty all the time. He looked good enough to mount and nail.
Mount and nail. Oh yeah, she had issues.
“Ski, young man. How are the brothers of Psi Rho?”
Ski walked over to Samantha's father and shook his hand. “Can't complain, Mister Smith.”
Interesting. Most people called her father Mister Thunder— it was Thunder Construction, after all. Her last name was Thunder, true, but his wasn’t. Her father had named the company after Samantha’s mother, another attempt to woo her back to him. She never came back. Samantha shook off the melancholy before it could take hold.
“Please, call me Bryan.” Her dad stared at the building and sighed. “You know, if I went to college, I would have been in a frat. I always wanted to join the brotherhood. This building’s probably seen a lot of action.” Her father leaned close to Ski and whispered, “I got my share back in the day.”
No. No, no, no. Samantha got busy with the nail gun. She hoped if she focused on the work in her hands, she could lose the vision of her father— and action. She crinkled her nose. Yuck. Two concepts she never, ever wanted to put together. She wanted her father happy. She wanted him to find someone. She assumed the woman he found would give him action. That did not mean she wanted to hear about it.
“Probably. I’m too busy studying to be part of the action.”
From her vantage point, Samantha saw the red crawling up Ski’s neck. Apparently, he didn’t like to be associated with the “action” that happened in the house. Interesting.
Ski cleared his throat. “I am looking forward to seeing this place done. Your daughter’s doing an excellent job.”
“Yeah, I taught my girl well.”
She shook her head. Taught her well. Crazy, her father drove her crazy. One minute she was useless as a manager, and the next, he taught her well. This time, the nailer went pfft instead of bam, and she growled a sigh. Out of nails, and she didn’t have another strip of them in her belt. She would have grabbed more, but she was distracted. Between her father and Ski there were always distractions. She slowly came down the ladder.
“So, I hear you're on vacation.” Ski watched as she loaded the nailer. Not that she was watching him, but she could feel his stare— tormenting her, distracting her.
“Well, I was on vacation. It was interesting. Samantha, why don’t we head out for a family dinner to discuss it? Ski, son, you could join us.”
Son? Oh, brother. Wait no, not her brother. Family dinner with Ski and Dad. No. Just… no. Ski wasn’t family, not her brother, and she had no desire to play house with the man. She had no desire to play house with any man. Just because something was fun to look at now and again didn’t mean she wanted to carry it with her everywhere she went.
Hell, she wasn’t exactly high on Ski’s list right now, anyway. How could she be? She might have been a little harsh the other day. Damn— that reminded her. She still had a round of groveling to perform. That to-do list kept growing and growing, didn’t it?
She faked a smile. “I’m too busy. I don’t have time for dinner right now.”
“You have to eat.” Her father had the audacity to look upset. Two minutes ago he wanted her to work overtime to get back on track. Now, he wanted her to take time away from work to have a family dinner.
“I will. Just not now. I don’t have time for family bonding.” Or any other bondage. Bonding. Yes, bonding.
“Fine. Ski?”
“I have a few things to do around here, but thanks.”
“Darn. I have nothing to eat at home. I was hoping to get you two to join me
and give me an excuse to go someplace good.”
“Wait.” Ski ran to his car and came back a Styrofoam box in his hand. “How about some dessert?”
“What you got there?”
“Cherry pie.” Ski jiggled the box.
Her father grabbed it as if there was no other food on the planet, and not two grocery stores on the way home from the site. Two completely stocked grocery stores to choose from. Of course, they weren’t drive-through, and they wouldn’t make the food for him.
He lifted the lid and snickered. “Are you sure you don’t want this? Someone named Mandy has drawn a very explicit picture on the inside of this box.”
Mandy? Who the hell was Mandy?
Ski peered inside at the lid. Red crawled up his neck and didn’t settle until it hit his ears. “Uhh… that’s not for me.”
“Sure it’s not, son.” Her father slapped him on the back and laughed. “I suppose I should get home and unpack. I was on this horrific singles cruise. My daughter insisted. But I had to come home when I heard about the problems on the site.”
Oh, please. Samantha stomped up the ladder. He had called every day, three to four times a day. The singles cruise couldn’t have been that bad— he came home because he was looking for any reason to escape. Stress put his health at risk, and she thought a week away would help. And a cruise where he could meet other single people— maybe he’d meet someone to take his focus off work. Two birds. One stone. And all. At least that was the plan. But no. Her phone rang nonstop. He did not relax. He did not meet a nice woman. He did, however, torment her till her phone limped home each night, the battery spent.
“Ugh. It was a scary place. Desperate people looking for summer flings. Not my scene.” Her father walked toward his truck. “Don't let her work too hard.” Famous last words from a man who worked so hard he made himself sick. His tires spit up rocks as he headed out of the lot, and then silence.
She turned her head to look at Ski, but he was staring at the building. “The windows are closed,” he said slowly.
“Yeah, you have AC.”
Ski smiled. Gorgeous pink lips...
Bam! She hit the trigger on the nail gun, holding it inches from her thumb. Crap. She liked that thumb and she was an inch away from losing it. Focus. She turned to him, and those lips had stopped smiling. Stop looking at his lips!
“So, how's everything going?” Ski shoved his hands into his front pockets.
She could see the muscles of his chest bulging through the tight cotton. Hard, well-defined ridges making way to a taut waist. Or maybe that was just from her memory. The memory of that naked chest, water making tempting rivulets down smooth skin and firm muscles. Sweat beaded and dripped down the side of her neck.
Well, at least she wasn’t looking at his lips. Wasn’t there a question in there somewhere? “Ummm…”
“How’s it going? Did the inspection go all right?”
“Fine. He gave us the go-ahead, so we're back on track.” She hated talking to the top of his head, so she stepped down from the ladder. “I was kind of surprised you weren’t here.”
“Seriously? After last time, I didn’t think I was welcome.” Ski rocked from side to side, his eyes on the floor. “Well, I'll get out of your way.”
Ouch. Out of her way? Sounded vaguely familiar. She never should have gone off on him like that.
Ski turned and headed around the side of the building. She stared after him. Watching him from the front was a delicious view, but the back wasn’t bad either. She couldn’t decide which she liked best. But right now, it didn’t matter which was best. She needed to stop him. She still owed him a grovel. Crappity-crap. “Um, Ski?”
He stopped, a sad excuse for a smile on his face. “Yeah?”
She was pure evil. Poor guy. His eyes looked so sad, his posture so defeated. How could she have hurt this beautiful man? Oh, right— the pure evil thing. “I'm sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you. The job. The inspector. It was all my issue and I was a total bitch. I'm sorry.”
He stood there. Dark brown eyes staring. His silence was a knife to her psyche. The sweat on her neck prickled. Crap. She ran a hand from her head to shoulders, trying to ease the discomfort.
“No worries. I understand. It was tough day and I’m sorry.” A grin curved his lips. A real smile, not that fake crap he’d been selling the past week. “Thanks.” He went around the back of the house and disappeared. Interesting. Words of understanding and a thanks, and then an immediate disappearing act. She shook her head. It was probably for the best. He was way too nice a guy to be looking for the type of no-strings relationship she wanted. Or needed.
She’d made a mistake on the job and she was still paying for it. But it wasn’t going to happen again. She couldn’t let her dad down. He was all she had left. And hell, her mom let him down enough for an entire lifetime.
She didn’t have time for gorgeous Polish-speaking fratties with beautiful, sad eyes. She didn’t have time for anyone long-term. The occasional good time was fine. A night on the town, a movie. No emotions. No attachments. No one to let her down— or leave— or both.
“Yeah.” She sighed and looked around. The rough day looked more like a rough week. Rough year.
Alone. With hours of work staring her in the face. And more than mild curiosity as to why someone named Mandy drew explicit pictures on Ski’s to-go box.
~»ΨΡ«~
Chapter Ten
Sam
SAMANTHA BATTED away another mosquito. The floodlight was a necessary evil, since she couldn’t see a darn thing without it, but all the bugs in the tri-state area were finding their way to its glow. And once they found the glow, they made their way to her sweet-tasting blood. She assumed it was sweet, because they kept trying to suck her dry.
The vampire books she loved were probably based on the humongous mosquitoes flying around the great state of Indiana. Unfortunately, the blood-suckers hanging around her weren’t nearly as good-looking as the ones in the movies. Now, if they were— she wouldn’t mind that they were taking a pint with every bite.
The lights were almost done. She’d planned on stopping a few hours ago, but she wanted it done. She needed it done. This was her time to show her dad what she could do. Before he did something stupid like try to return to work.
She was shocked he hadn’t brought that up when he stopped by this afternoon. He would never admit it, but he wasn’t well enough to work the long, grueling hours he liked to force on himself. Not after the collapse— the fall that changed it all.
She’d never been so scared before. Watching him crumple. Pale skin. Shallow breathing. No strength. Watching him being carried off by the EMTs. Confusion in his stare. Fear in his shaky grasp. Watching him in the hospital. It had nearly killed her. She’d already lost her mom— she couldn’t lose him. He was all she had left.
“T’irsty?” Ski, armed with a bottle of beer and a bottle of water, walked around the front of the building.
She loved that accent. Every dropped H sent tingles down her spine. She set the cordless screwdriver on the bench and wiped the sweat from her forehead. It had been a long night. As much as she wanted a break, she’d made a promise to finish and she couldn’t fail. Not again. However, that bottle of water in Ski’s hand looked so delicious, perspiration dripping off it slowly to the ground. Cool. Inviting.
“Yes.” She grabbed the water and twisted off the cap. The cold liquid slid slowly down her sandpaper throat, and her stomach growled in disappointment.
“Hungry?”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you even eat dinner tonight? I can t’row a few burgers on the grill.”
“Are you sure you can pull yourself away from Mandy?” She hoped that didn’t sound jealous. She wasn’t jealous. She was just an interested third party. No bigs. Not like she’d spent all evening wondering who the large-breasted blond tramp was. Not at all. And yes, she assumed Mandy was a large-breasted blond bimbo
. But really— who gave a guy cherry pie and decorated the box with drawings of— Lord only knew what? Not exactly subtle.
Ski smiled.
Dammit. She knew she’d sounded jealous. She must have. “Never mind.”
“The box was for Ryan. He wasn’t interested in what Mandy had to offer either, so he gave it to me. He thought, um, one of the crew might like the free dessert.”
“Ryan’s a nice guy. I like him. He seems to like you a lot, too.”
“That’s him. We’ve been friends since he started at Ritter’s.” He opened the beer he was holding and took a long drink. And no, she didn’t stare at the way his throat muscles moved. Much. Ski smiled at her and licked his upper lip. “Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about dinner.”
Dinner. A burger with cheese. She could practically taste the golden bun as her mouth watered. Too bad she didn’t have time. “I need to finish first, and it’s like, nine. Way too late to be eating.”
“It’s nine fifteen. And who cares? It’s time for fourth meal.”
Just the thought of food had her stomach yapping up a storm.
“Why don’t you get this done and I’ll fire up the grill.”
She stared at Ski, the thought of food whirring in her mind, and her mouth watered some more, the gnawing in her stomach growing.
“I’m starving. Don’t make me eat alone.” He took another swallow of beer.
Another growl. Louder. More demanding. How embarrassing.
“I’ll take that as yes.”
Oh, why not. “Sure.” She tipped the bottle back and downed the last drop of liquid glory. Amazing how delicious water tasted when you were desperate. She capped the bottle and placed it in Ski’s outstretched hand.
“Got it, boss.” He turned and walked back around the house.
Samantha pushed her bangs out of her eyes and grabbed her tools. She still had one more light fixture, but she’d deal with that in the morning. It could all wait till the morning. Twenty more minutes and she was going to have a nice homemade meal with a gorgeous man. Things were definitely looking up.
Major Renovations (Ritter University #1) Page 5
