Page 2 of Handy

No thanks.

I tilt my mug to drain the last of my coffee, then turn and head back inside. There’s a little prickle on the back of my neck before I close the door, like someone is watching me. It’s been happening for the last few weeks and it’s driving me fucking nuts. I reach up with my free hand and rub the spot, glancing over my shoulder without expecting to see anyone. Maybe I have a stalker.

I grunt in amusement at the thought.

If I did have a stalker, they would probably off themselves out of boredom after the first couple of days. Unless they really got off on watching a guy spend eight hours a day hanging drywall before coming home to watch true crime alone in his underwear and scratch his balls.

I grunt again, this time with more angst. Fuck, my life sounds pathetic when I think of it like that. It’s not what I envisioned for myself, that’s for goddamn sure, but at this point I don’t know what I would have to do to change things. I don’t even knowwhatI would change. I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and become Mr. Social. I suppose I could pick up a hobby.

I file that thought away and get ready for work, trading out my pajama pants for a pair of jeans and a Four Bears Construction polo shirt. I run a comb through my hair in a hurry, not bothering to spare a glance in the mirror. I’m sure I’ll see the same thing looking back at me I always do—a forty-eight-year-old dude with a couple of gray hairs starting to take root in his beard and dark circles under his eyes from years of sleeping like shit. Yeah, I’m sure I have a stalker who’s all horned up for all this.

I rumble another approximation of a laugh before pulling on my work boots and heading out.

Traffic is light this morning. Not that traffic ever gets all that heavy in Fall Crosse. It’s one of the things I liked about it when I moved from Milwaukee nearly twenty years ago. The lack of traffic and the fact that nearly everyone in this little town seemed to be gay were probably the biggest selling points. That and the fact that Riley had his heart set on it.

A familiar mixture of love, nostalgia, and sadness pulses in my chest. It’s the same way I always feel when I think about him, which I probably do too often considering how long he’s been gone. Luckily, I don’t have any time to dwell on it this morning. My truck jolts over the dips and potholes of the unpaved access road leading to the worksite. Turning this dirt road into a driveway might end up being the biggest pain in the ass of this project, but that’ll be the last thing on the checklist before we finish. We still have a long way to go before that.

There are several other trucks parked in front of the house, which is in the framing stage, and as soon as I open my door I hear hammering and laughter. I sigh and gather my patience for another damn day of my coworkers trying to pull me into their little friendship circle. Can’t we just work together and lead separate lives otherwise? Just because the rest of them are joined at the hip doesn’t mean I want to be.

“Morning, Griff,” Miller calls cheerfully once I’m inside.

I grunt a greeting and pick up the tool belt I left here last night when we called it a day, along with my hard hat and goggles. I can always pick out my stuff easily since the rest of the guys have their hats covered in stickers with cheeky sayings on them.

“Here we go. Griff is a voice of reason,” Ridge says, clapping me on the shoulder as I fix my belt around my waist.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. Not here five minutes and they’re about to rope me into some nonsense, I can already tell.

“Even if you think we’re fucking with you, Stoney, you have to know Griff wouldn’t lie,” Cole jumps in.

I shouldn’t engage, it only encourages them. If I just keep glaring, maybe they’ll take the hint and stop bothering me. Stone smirks and shakes his head like he’s already gearing up to defend himself, and dammit, fine, maybe I’m a little curious.

“Yeah?” I ask gruffly.

“Okay, finish this expression,” West says. “By theblankof your teeth.”

I frown. “Skin.”

Stone throws his hands up in the air and shouts with frustration while the rest of the guys laugh and gloat.

“Skinof your teeth makes no fucking sense. There’s no skin on your teeth.” Stone shudders. “That’s just a gross thought, teeth made out of soft flesh.”

Ev wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Ew. Why do you have to bring in a visual like that?”

“I’m not the one who thinks it’sskin.” Stone scoffs.

“Okay, but tell Griff what you thought it was.” Ollie is chortling, and I’m somehow still being forcibly included in this team-building activity of teasing one of our bosses about his weird-ass habit of constantly fucking up common expressions.

“Sin of your teeth.” Stone shrugs.

I can feel the creases in my forehead deepening with the purest confusion I’ve ever felt in my life.

“What the hell are the sins of your teeth?”

“Biting,” Stone says with a completely serious expression.

“I…” My face contorts as I try to work out the strangely solid logic of that.

“Damn, Sins of your Teeth would be an epic band name though.” Miller laughs.

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