Page 25 of Jasper
But I’ve been second-guessing myself a lot lately. Especially about trusting an outlaw biker like Jasper. I remember how he grabbed Whitmore by the back of his neck and yanked him off my porch and had him running scared in no time. It’s all great and good that he’s appointed himself as my protector, but what happens when he starts directing all that at me? If he treats others with casual roughness, I’d be stupid to think he won’t get around to eventually treating me that way as well.
And now he’s shown up, out of the blue. I worry he’s going to do a bunch of expensive repairs and then try to take it out of the money he owes me for being his surrogate. I might have been up for a deal like that if I didn’t need the money for my gran.
Irritation churns in my stomach as I realize that I need to start setting some boundaries with this man before he starts running my whole life. So, I put my big girl panties on and step onto the porch, intending to get this the hell over with ASAP.
One of the younger guys catches my notice when he jumps down from the bed of the truck. He’s tall, tatted, and appears to still be growing into that leather prospect’s vest he’s wearing. He starts unstrapping the load with a smile on his face, whistling some happy tune. Another prospect pulls open the tailgate and grabs a stack of what looks like roofing materials. My roof is in really bad shape, so it makes sense they would want to start there. These men are motivated and moving with purpose. They’re also acting like I hired them, only I didn’t. My jaw tightens, I need to tell him I can’t afford this.
Jasper finally gets off his cell phone and swings one leg over the bike and plants his boots on the pavement. He moves towards me with a slow swagger, but I’m looking directly at him this time and notice something that I didn’t before. There’s a slight hitch in his step. It’s a limp, barely there, but I catch it. He’s favoring his left leg. I can’t help but wonder what happened to him.
He’s still confident, walks with his head held high, and has a warm smile on his face. Damn, I can’t help but find him attractive. He’s an outlaw biker, and I’m apparently a woman with a weakness for bad boys. Even with that limp, he’s sexy as hell. He’s all broad shoulders under his black t-shirt, and his leather cut hangs off his muscular form. He’s got enough of a beard to be more than stubble and less than full. It’s trimmed and gives him that square jaw that women swoon over. His shoulder-length dark hair is loose today, and it’s a good look for him. He looks like everything my gran ever warned me about. He’s clean enough to think about falling in bed with, but dirty enough to spark a long list of reasons why I shouldn’t even go there in my mind.
He catches me admiring him and pushes his sunglasses up onto his head with a lopsided smile. I roll my eyes, telling myself not to even think about him as a man, much less a sexy one. I’m his surrogate, nothing more. I need to do the job and get paid so I can take care of my gran. I can’t get sidetracked by his charm and silver tongue.
I’ve got to remember that this man is dragging half a hardware store into my life without even asking. I cross my arms tighter and step out another few paces. The prospects move around us. Toolboxes land on the ground with a resounding thunk. And boots thump against the ground as they march backand forth between the truck and my driveway, unloading their supplies. My driveway is officially a job site now, apparently.
“Morning, Tessa. You’re looking quite fetching today.” His tone is overly bright, suggesting that he might be teasing me.
So, I respond in kind, “You flirt like a ninety-year-old man with a bad comb-over. You know that, right?”
“Ouch. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.” His eyebrows fly up and he adds earnestly, “In case you’re wondering, it wasn’t me.”
“I’m not paying you to do repairs on my house. While I appreciate the thought, I can’t afford it,” I tell him flatly.
“Damn, girl, I never said you were. Why are you so hell-bent on giving me a hard time today?”
I walk down the steps of the porch and keep going until I’m standing right in front of him. “You bought supplies and a work crew to my house without clearing it with me first. You didn’t call ahead, shoot me a text, or even ring the damn doorbell. Are you planning to ride right past that little faux pas?”
At this point, the truck is already halfway unloaded, and my driveway is nearly full of building supplies. One of the prospects pulls a ladder off the side rails, sets it up along the side of my house, and then climbs up onto my roof to have a little look. His crew is bold as brass. They move with confidence, uncaring that their boss and I are having a pointed conversation about this situation. I realize it’s because they’re used to him getting his way in the end.
My eyes roam back over to Jasper, who’s scratching the back of his neck, looking all kinds of perplexed. “Come again?” he asks, as if he can’t believe I’m objecting.
“I want to know what in the hell you think you’re doing. What is all this?”
He answers like this is normal. “I had a little free time. Thought we’d knock out some work on your place.” He doesn’t tell me the place is falling down around me. He doesn’t have to. That’s pretty obvious to anyone with eyes.
I look past him at the truck and the men hauling gear up to the house.
“We?” I ask. “Why wasn’t I included in the we?”
“Yeah, sorry. Me and the prospects. Your roof needs to be replaced. Figured we’d get it done before the weather turns.”
“You didn’t think to run that by me first?”
His expression doesn’t shift. “Didn’t think I needed your permission to keep the rain from getting to you.”
His manner of speech is very matter of fact. He’s not angry, yelling, put out, or even mildly irritated that I’m questioning him in front of his crew. It’s because he’s not wrong about trying to help me keep a roof over my head. Suddenly, all the fight evaporates, and I tell him mildly,
“Just because I’m carrying your child does not mean you can run my life. You know that, right?”
“Ma’am, I can’t hardly keep my own life rollin’ in the right direction, much less yours.”
Before I can respond, the pickup truck grinds into gear and pulls out, leaving the lingering scent of gasoline hanging in its wake and a ton of supplies sitting in my driveway.
The one on the roof peers over the side and tells Jasper, “It’s a fucking mess up here. We’re gonna have to strip it down to the bones, lay new plywood, and work our way up to the shingles.”
Jasper responds pointedly, “Best get started. This job will take us all working ‘til sundown to finish it.”
The prospects get to work without missing a beat. The one on the roof starts yanking shingles off the roof and throwing them down right beside me. Another pulls away a chunk of old flashing that falls apart in his hands.
