Page 32 of Chasing Sparks

Braden is right—Ori is spectacular, the total package. But no matter how many feelings swirl in my gut for that sexy librarian, I know I can’t give her what she needs.

Lucille’s phone call serves a taunting reminder from the universe that love can’t be trusted and that I was played for a fool once.

Love is no longer an option for me. Lucille made sure of that.

Chapter 4

Power Tools Can’t Fix This

Ash

“W

e need to stop for coffee immediately,” Zane grumbles as he climbs into the backseat of my truck.

I throw a smirk at my hungover friend before thrusting a travel mug into his hand. “That’ll teach you to be out until three in the morning on a work night.”

“May I remind you, this was supposed to be a day off? I’m doing your ass a favor, so keep the coffee coming.”

“Fair enough,” I chuckle, pulling onto the highway.

Ori’s recent acquisition, the Dean Estate, sits perched on a ridge about fifteen minutes up the mountain. In her prime, she was the beloved summer home of a real estate tycoon, but years of neglect have dampened her glow.

Here’s hoping the work is mostly cosmetic and that rodents and mold haven’t gotten a foothold. Otherwise, Ori has one hellof a project on her hands, and, per her own admission, the woman doesn’t know the first thing about power tools.

Or hand tools.

Or blueprints.

The list goes on and on.

That’s where I come in, along with my two begrudging assistants.

Gazing into the rearview mirror, I toss Zane a lopsided grin. “Which one was it? The brunette or the redhead?”

“Both.”

I snort at Zane’s deadpan response, knowing full well the man isn’t joking. Like I said, three is his favorite number.

“What about you?” Zane asks. “What was your final tally?”

He’s referring to this stupid game we play, where the person with the most digits at the end of the week wins.

Look, we’re single guys and these women are more than happy to part with their phone numbers, but we never ask for a number. Not only is it unprofessional, but it also strictly violates the rules.

When they offer, though? That’s an entirely different section of the rulebook.

I shrug and crack the window, allowing the cold air to filter into the truck’s interior. “A handful.”

“How many have you called?”

“None.”

A gravelly chuckle rises from Zane’s chest. “You were right, Braden. She’s gotten under Ash’s skin.”

Once again, I bristle. Time to play dumb. “And who might that be?”

Braden and Zane exchange glances before laughing.

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