Page 14 of Never Kiss the Bad Boy

It’s not new information, exactly, but it confirms what I already suspected. Dani’s the kind of person who inspires feelings of fondness and loyalty. And the driver isn’t joking or exaggerating all that much. “Well, shit.” I frown, scratching at my bottom lip with my thumb as I consider his words.

“Yup,” the driver adds with a direct little nod that’s half commiseration, half threat. “Dani can usually serve two trucks at a time, one in the street and one at the curb, but with you parked where you are, she’s down to one at a time. Doubles her trips and her wait times, and we’ve got places to be.”

“Wish I could park somewhere else, but not sure where I’d go.” I gesture behind us, toward the lineup of my trucks. Wayne started carpooling the guys in, but still there’s my truck, Wayne’s, our trailer, and our equipment. “I already tried to negotiate, but my client’s clear. No parking in her yard, and well, you know how that goes.” I roll my eyes because if there’s one thing guys like us know, it’s that whatever the customer wants, the customer gets. Usually. Within reason.

“Your funeral,” he answers, sounding like he’d pay good money to see that. “Now get away from my truck before she decides to fire us like she did that other crew.” He waves his hand, shooing me away, and I take the hint, making my way to the back yard to check in on my own crew.

“Got the specs,” I tell Wayne, holding up the tube with the blueprints inside.

“Took ya long enough. You get lost next door?” Wayne teases.

I wish. But instead, we re-check the measurements, including going into the hole itself to check slope and depth. It doesn’t need to be perfect. That’s what concrete’s for. But I do want it relatively close in order to save time and cost.

Meanwhile, Zeus stands by the digger with bated breath, hoping he hasn’t gotten himself in too much trouble. I’m actually not upset with him. All operators screw up every once in a while, and he barely knocked the guide stake down, which was a quick fix. No harm, no foul. But Zeus takes pride in being the best, and any deviation from that is a ding to his ego. Not giving a shit about the guide stake, the dig, or anything else, Frogger’s attention is locked on his phone, but as soon as Wayne or I say the word, he’ll hop back to work.

“We’re good,” I declare.

“Thank God,” Zeus hisses with a fist pump. “Knew it.”

Frogger slips his phone into his pocket and loudly asks, “Now what?”

I cut my eyes over to him, annoyed. He knows what’s next because it’s the same damn thing we do every time—set up the water and power lines for the mechanicals. But he wants me to say it. I shake my head at his juvenile stupidity and the power of inside jokes on a jobsite. “Pump.”

He responds better when I add a little oomph to it, but I’m not taking that chance with Dani likely in her back yard where she can hear, or Kathy probably staring out the windows to watch us. But Frogger’s more than willing to make up for my professionalism.

“That’s right, boss man,” Frogger answers loudly as he starts singing, complete with hip thrusts, “Pump up the jam, pump it up, ah, shh, pump it, pump it real good.”

I’ve told him countless times that he’s mixing up two old songs that aren’t even in the same damn genres, but he doesn’t care, or at least he doesn’t care enough to not do it the next time. For Frogger, it’s all about the hip thrusting and getting to say ‘pump’ as much as humanly possible.

With a shared chuckle at his antics, we get back to it and all four of us are heads-down for the rest of the afternoon. I hear trucks out front and guys calling out their names for their orders but manage to stay focused because dealing with electricity isn’t the kind of thing you want to do distracted. Especially since that electricity’s going to be used around water.

It’s after five when we call it a day. Sitting back on my haunches in the dirt, I realize I can hear music and laughter coming from Dani’s place. It’s not loud enough to be obnoxious. It’s actually sort of pleasant and celebratory, though Kathy would probably disagree. But I can definitely hear the beat of drums and whine of horns. And the laughter is a welcome surprise, especially from Dani’s.

“What’s that?” I ask, and Wayne shrugs.

“Music started about an hour ago,” he says casually. “Friday festivities, maybe?”

“Good for her,” I comment as I look over at the house. I can’t see anything from here—no flash photography in the kitchen window and no one on the back porch. I guess Dani already cleaned the grill from today’s cook-stravaganza, or maybe she’s giving herself an evening off and will take care of it tomorrow. “Alright, let’s get gone.”

I don’t have to tell my guys twice. Zeus and Frogger were already one foot here and one foot gone for their own Friday night fun. Frogger especially, who probably has a dinner date, club plans, and a backup hook-up in case either of those don’t result in a dick draining.

“See ya, boss man,” Zeus shouts as he heads for Wayne’s truck. He and Frogger are fucking with each other, poking and punching like wayward siblings as they make their way out front, where they’ll wait for Wayne. He’s still got another half hour of their goofiness to deal with as he takes them back to their respective homes. It’s a system that saves the guys some gas, but also saves on parking spaces, although Wayne insists that he’s just going to make the guys ride bicycles because of their idiocy. Better him than me, I think with a grin.

“I’m gonna update Kathy before heading out, so I’ll see ya Monday,” I tell Wayne with a wave.

“Better you than me on this one. Out, demon. I rebuke thee,” he tosses back, making an X with his fingers and hissing at the house. Guess we each have our shit to deal with.

I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t help it, biting my fist as I hold back the guffaw. Kathy is a demon of the Snobby, Entitled variety, but her money transfers into my account the same as anyone else’s, so we’ll finish this job like every other.

The bad news is that we’re only at phase one, so I need to try and remain professional around her for as long as I can.

At Kathy’s back door, I knock and step back to wait. And then wait some more, because there’s no answer. Just when I think she’s not coming and am thanking my lucky stars, she strolls up to the door from the room to the right, which is her ‘parlor’, as she calls it. Given the house isn’t that large, she couldn’t have been more than twenty feet from where I’m standing, so the waiting game was a power play on her part. Unless she was naked in there, which is not something I want to imagine.

“Hi, Mrs. Wilson, wanted to give you an update for week one.” I keep my tone matter-of-fact, not tinted by any bad blood from our conversation earlier this week despite my personal feelings about the situation and her motives. “We’ve got the hole dug and confirmed, and the electrical and water for the pump and filter area are set up.” I pause, giving her the tiniest moment to ask any questions. When none are immediately forthcoming, I continue, “Monday, we’ll start the framing and have concrete come after that, barring any issues.”

There shouldn’t be any issues. At least on my end. I’m a pro, having done this hundreds of times at this point. Even that speech is one I’ve delivered to countless clients—recap and set expectations. All nothing more than little check marks on my mental list.

“What issues?” she snaps, looking past me like there’ll be a neon arrow pointing at some imaginary problem in her back yard.

---