Page 71 of Tough Nut to Crack

"You have work to do," I remind him, knowing he never takes a minute to slow down.

His livelihood and the livelihood of those who work for him depend on him keeping the jobs rolling. As much as I'd like to spend a solid day with him with nothing to worry about, we're both adults, and we don't live the types of lives that allow for that without pre-planning.

"I made French toast casserole," I say when he continues to stare down at me wordlessly.

"Not what I want for breakfast, baby."

A thrill of excitement forces goosebumps down my arms, but there isn't a part of me that wouldn't be insanely embarrassed to bypass his crew and go into his house with them making the correct assumptions about what we'd be doing inside.

Instead of giving into that carnal need, I make a sidestep and escape the hold his eyes have on me.

"Breakfast, Mac."

I feel his eyes on me as I walk away, and although I don't look back to toy with him, I might add a little extra sway to my hips, something I know, by the growl that tickles my back, that he didn't miss.

I feel like a million bucks when I step around the trees and make my way toward the picnic table. Every eye from the men eating lands right on me, and I can tell by the heat in my cheeks that they're turning bright red. I drop my eyes to my feet, careful with every step now that I feel like I'm on display.

"Did you guys eat it all?" I ask, trying to break the awkwardness as I approach.

"I had to smack Ronnie's hand twice," Donnie, the twin brother, says without a hint of humor in his tone.

"I appreciate you looking out for me," I tell him with a smile.

The man glares at me, and I don't know how to act with the intensity in his gaze, so I once again drop my eyes until I'm close enough to reach for a paper plate.

I scoop some of the casserole on the plate, knowing I won't be able to eat with all of them staring at me, but I really need something to do with my hands.

I scoop even more than I took onto another plate and place it across from where I plan to sit at the picnic table. Most of the men have opted to stand around in small groups, eating as they chat, but no topic they might've been discussing before I reappeared from behind the trees seems to have been interesting enough to continue now that I'm there. It makes my skin crawl and my mind race to think that maybe they were talking about me. It's not the first time in my life I've felt that way. I seemed to have always been a topic of conversation in school.

I take a seat, position my plastic fork on my plate, and wait, but it seems to take Mac forever to reappear from behind the trees to take a seat across from me. He gives me a small smile before digging into his breakfast, but it doesn't ease that sensation of being watched, and when I chance a glance around, I find every single man watching the two of us like they're expecting us to do tricks or perform for them in some way.

All of them look away, seeming a little chastised when I catch them watching me, but Ronnie gives me a wide casserole-filled grin as if we somehow share a secret when I can't recall ever having a one-on-one conversation with the man.

Mac clears his throat, but when I look at him, he's glaring at Ronnie, and it seems to take forever before the man realizes he's being watched. When he looks at his boss, his smile grows even wider, making me wonder about the type of relationship Mac seems to have with his crew. They seem to respect him, but at the same time, I can tell by the glint in the worker's eyes that he'll have a lot to say once I'm no longer near enough to bear witness to that conversation.

I swallow, another lump threatening to lodge itself in my throat.

Will he give him shit for it being me?

Does the man approve, or will he tell his boss that he deserves better?

Anxiety fills my blood, the decadent scent of cinnamon and sugar coming from the plate in front of me now making my stomach turn.

Ronnie eventually looks away, but then he gives weird looks to both Ethan and his twin as if they're having some silent conversation that all of them understand, leaving me in the dark. It makes me feel like some sortof science experiment, as if I'm some sort of anomaly they can't quite figure out.

I wish I hadn't come. I didn't show up here to put myself on display. I was trying to lead with the confidence my friends gave me this weekend, and since Mac had asked to bring leftovers to his crew more than once, I figured the casserole would be well received. The food was appreciated, but I can't help but feel like I've invaded some sort of space that I'm not welcome.

I put myself in this situation, but somehow, I'm stuck in my head, wondering if I'm some sort of inside joke for these guys.

I look up from my untouched plate at Mac, but he's once again focused on his breakfast.

I feel like a fool when the sting of tears begins to burn the backs of my eyes.

I'm normally stronger than this.

And I realize that there's a very big chance that I'm making something out of nothing, but that still doesn't prevent me from wanting to get up and run away from this entire situation. If I were a little more confrontational, maybe I could stand up and demand to know what their problem is, but even trying to channel that part of me that doesn't want to take shit from anyone, I can't seem to get up the nerve to open my mouth.

I pull in a deep breath and stand.

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