Page 50 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
“I’ve never done it and I’m sure as hell not going to start now,” he says. “But I also don’t know that I can just…pretend this doesn’t exist between you and me. And the thought of not being around you, not being your friend, not seeing you?” He shakes his head. “I can’t do that either.”
I choke. “Neither can I.” I turn away before he sees the tears fall, and I blink them away. “So what do we do, James?” I whisper the question.
He’s silent. “I don’t fucking know.”
“Me either.” I move for the side door. “I—I have to go.”
I’m out the door and heading for my truck. I get the door open, and climb in. Then he’s there, hauling me back out, manhandling me as if I weigh nothing. Pinning me up against the frame of my truck. Kissing the ever-loving shit out of me.
Kissing me breathless in that way he has—making me feel dizzy, making me feel wild and primal and needed in a way I’ve never felt before.
And then he backs up, and I can see him shaking with the intensity of it—as I am. “Don’t give up on me just yet, Nova. I’ll figure this out.”
“How?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He backs up a step, as if he’s a powder keg and I’m an open flame. “Just…give me some time.”
“I think I can do that,” I whisper.
Chapter 9
Two days, three days…a week. Two weeks—no James. Not a word. The word from the rest of the crew is that he is working insane hours, working out like a fiend, keeping to himself outside of work…and taking mysterious, unexplained, hour-long lunch breaks twice a week.
I’m at home after work one Friday evening, and there’s a knock at my door—my heart flips in my chest, and I answer the door with shaky hands and trembling knees. But it’s Jesse and Franco, dirty and dusty, wearing tool belts, covered in drywall dust and mud, both wearing their hats backward and Oakleys upside down on the brims.
I frown in confusion. “Um, hi guys. What’s up? Come on in.”
They both hesitate, glancing down at their nearly identical filthy tan Timberland boots. “We’re dirty, so we’ll hang out on the porch,” Jesse says.
I shrug. “I can sweep. It’s not a big deal.”
They enter, but remain near the door. Jesse fiddles with the hammer in his tool belt, and Franco has a leather business folder like James’s in his hands.
“We’re here to show you the drawings for the remodel,” Franco says, lifting the folder. “And, if you’re cool with them, we can actually get started demoing.”
I blink. “Oh. Um. I guess I didn’t know that was still happening.”
Franco shrugs. “James is super slow at getting drawings done. He’s crazy meticulous, which is why it takes so long. Usually for big jobs, he outsources it, but if it’s a job he has a personal connection to, he does it himself.” He juts his chin at my kitchen table. “Take a seat and I’ll run through it with you.”
“I can’t read that shit for shit,” Jesse says with a rueful chuckle. “Which is why he’s explaining it. I’m just the muscle.”
Franco rolls his eyes. “You know, you’re nowhere near as stupid as you make out. I mean, you are stupid, but not that stupid.”
“Shut up, twink.”
“Guys. Focus.” I lead the way to the table, and while they take a seat, I bring a six-pack of beer out of my fridge and pass one to each of them, and then open my own. “So. James explained his vision. Is that a drawing of what he said, or something different?”
Franco shrugs. “Dunno, I don’t know what he told you.” He opens the folder and withdraws a carefully folded piece of thin, gridded tracing paper; on the paper is a top-down blueprint of my current floor plan. “He got the blueprints for your house as a starting place, so this is your place now.”
I nod, tracing the outline of the kitchen with my fingertip. “Yeah, I see.”
Franco withdraws a second piece of tracing paper and overlays it on top of the piece with the original layout. This second layer shows what James is proposing.
“So, the idea is to remove walls here, here, and here,” Franco says, touching the lines indicating walls—between the kitchen and living room, between my bedroom and the bathroom next door, and the entire back wall of the house between the living room and kitchen. “Open up the kitchen, switch things around so your stovetop is in this island, which we’d build from scratch to suit. New countertop—marble, slate, concrete, butcher block, you and Jess can make that call. If you want a butcher-block counter, though, I can hook you up with something super cool. I’ve got some giant pieces of black walnut that would look pretty great.”
