Page 40 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
He nods, tossing a couple macadamias in his mouth. “Yeah, so what happened was, James got an emergency call from his cousin over in Indiana. Apparently their basement flooded and they had to gut the entire basement. James’s cousin called a local contractor to do the gut and remodel, and the guy fucked something up. I’m not sure how, but he compromised the integrity of the subfloor between the basement and the main level. I think he most likely took out a post that was load bearing. The whole living room floor started to cave in, so Aaron called James to come fix it, and in a hurry. James grabbed me and Ryder and we hopped in his truck and hauled ass over to Aaron’s house, some five and a half hours away in Evansville. We left directly from the Waverley site within ten minutes of the call. I had my phone in my pocket, but nothing else. Well, halfway to Aaron’s house, my phone dies. Not a big deal, right? James has a car charger. Only, it breaks. Kaput. So James’s phone dies too. Neither of us know your number by heart, and Ryder doesn’t have it. And then we get to Aaron’s house and get right to work. We literally worked around the clock, because that floor was about to go down like Humpty Dumpty.” He pauses for a sip of wine and to wolf down some cheese and meat.
“So. To make matters worse, James and I left both our phones in his truck, with the windows open. Aaron doesn’t live in the best neighborhood, and when we came out to grab something from his truck, both of our phones were gone. We worked around the clock for damn near seventy-two hours, barely stopping to sleep and eat. The second we got back, we both went to figure out our phone situation, and instead of calling you, like I said, I figured I’d stop by. I’ve been back from Indiana for less than a day.” He shrugs, eyeing me warily. “And that is why I didn’t call for you almost a week.”
I ruminate on his story. “Sounds plausible enough,” I say, keeping my voice neutral and my expression blank.
He frowns. “Why would I make it up? That’s what happened. I wouldn’t just vanish like that. I have a vested interest in keeping in touch with you.”
I can’t keep the smirk off my face. “I believe you—I’m just messing with you.”
“Ha ha frickin’ ha,” he says, sarcastically. “Got me.”
“So, what’s your vested interest?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Um…I like you? I want to see you? Hang out with you? Maybe even get you to go on a date with me?”
I nod. “I see.” I meet his gaze. “A date, huh?”
He nods. “A date. We could have dinner and go mini-golfing or something.”
I give him a baffled look. “Mini-golfing? What are we, sixteen?”
He looks sheepish. “I dunno, I don’t really do dates a whole lot.”
This sparks a load of questions and a hot bolt of suspicion. “Meaning?”
He shrugs, but he’s not looking at me. Instead he’s focused on the plate, where he’s a little too carefully rolling a piece of cheese into a slice of salami. “Meaning dates, like with flowers and manners and meticulously orchestrated events—that kinda stuff doesn’t factor into the way I do things.”
“So, in plain English, you don’t date.” I frown at him over the rim of my wineglass. “What do you do, then?”
He rolls a peanut across the plate with a forefinger, still not looking at me. “Um. Go to bars, usually. Find a good lookin’ gal, chat her up, and…you know. Have some fun.”
“So you hook up, and that’s it.”
He meets my gaze steadily. “Yeah, basically. It’s always worked out for me. I’m busy with Dad Bod Contracting and the occasional gig with my band, and don’t really have time for dating and all the BS that comes with it. Never saw the point, you know?”
“But you want to go on a date with me?
He nods. “I didn’t meet you in a bar, and you’re not that kind of girl.” He takes a long gulp of wine. “Look, Imogen—it’s obvious that the fact that I don’t date has thrown you for a loop, and I get it. But I’ve always made sure expectations are set out firmly in the beginning, so there’s no confusion later.”
“I see.”
“I keep things clear, you know?” He tosses a few more peanuts into his mouth. “I don’t do heartbreak.”
Oooh, ouch. That one stings.
I’m one big messy ball of heartbreak. I’m currently heartbroken, and on top of that, I’m lonely and desperate for attention and validation, which makes me ripe for even more heartbreak.
And Jesse is exactly the type of guy who would, unintentionally, break my heart even further.
I don’t know what to say; or rather, what I should say. What comes out is a probing personal question I had no intention of asking, but there it is, tumbling out of my traitorous mouth. “So you’ve never had a girlfriend?”
