Martinis & Moonlight (A Country Road Novel - Book 3) Page 8

  “Dad had a good haul fishing last weekend; I think they’re planning a fry. Hell if I know. Once my mom finds out you’re coming, she may decide to recreate Thanksgiving.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. But tell me, however will you impress dear old church lady to be your one and only?” I tease. Mrs. Montgomery means well, but if her setup attempts are any indication, it’s going to be a long day for Landon and a fantastic day for me.

  “Kiss my ass. I’ll see ya later. Oh, and the cable bill came in. Maybe lay off the porn? I think you get enough ass you shouldn’t be buying that shit.”

  The door closes before I can offer a smart-ass response. I haven’t bought any porn. Lately. I reach for the stack of mail and pull out the cable bill. Fucker, there’s no porn. He’s so full of shit. I grab my phone and shoot off a text of a few choice emoticons, to which he sends back a laughing face. Jerk.

  After another half a cup of coffee, I finally feel awake enough to get my day going. Today I’m working at Mr. Kaplan’s house on the far side of town. He’s been teasing us with small projects over the last year. The Kaplans live in an old Victorian-style home that needs a lot of updating. I’m hoping to talk to Mr. Kaplan about the updates I think will work for their house and really bring added value to the home.

  From the note on the counter it looks like that conversation will have to wait; the Kaplans have taken an impromptu trip to visit their daughter and grandchildren. That’s excellent news for me. I told Jameson I didn’t need a crew this week since I’m working in a smaller space and he agreed as long as I didn’t fall behind schedule. The upside to no crew and no homeowners? Nobody to complain about my music.

  City ordinances require I wait until eight before I can make too much noise, so I use the hour I have to clean up some debris and pull out my tools and set up. The minute my alarm signals the go ahead for power tools, I start my music and get to work. I’m able to completely lose myself in the task and the music. Hours tick by and before I know it, it’s lunch time. Since I don’t want to leave the house unattended, I just call and order a pizza.

  After a few slices of pizza and a lot of water, I head outside to run the saw. The afternoon sun is blazing and I find myself wishing the Kaplans had a pool and a cooler full of cold beer. Working in the summer blows. Not being able to stand it anymore, I strip off my shirt and walk over to the hose, letting it run for a few minutes to cool the water. Bending over, I let the cool water run over my head. After turning off the spout, I stand and run my hands over my hair and appreciate the few seconds that I’ve cooled when I hear a voice behind me. I can’t make out what’s said but I’m pretty sure it is something along the lines of “Adonis” and a dragged-out “fuck.”

  I turn my head to find Minnesota Walker standing there in all her glory. Wearing another one of those tight-as-a-second-skin skirts and a sleeveless top, her gaze is focused on my abs and I figure why not give her a show and twist my waist. A small move that I know shifts my shorts and shows her just how much physical labor I do each day.

  “Minnesota,” I say, my voice deeper than usual. I gaze across her body. The temperature is pushing one hundred degrees and I can see her skin pinkening from the sun and the swells of her breasts glistening from a sheen of sweat.

  “Huh, what?”

  “Can I help you with something?” I begin walking back to where my phone is blasting music and press pause.

  “Cake?”

  “Nah, I’m good, thanks. I could go for an ice cream cone though. You have one of those with you?” I tease. I know she’s talking about my music, but I can’t help but poke fun at her a little. She hesitates a minute before making a weird face, an attempt to show her annoyance with me. And just like that, the flustered Minnie is replaced by the all-business Minnie.

  “The music you were playing. I figured you were like Jameson and a country fan.”

  “I like all music, but I’m a fan of nineties alternative. How about you?” I contemplate putting my shirt on but opt to leave it off. She’s on my turf and she can deal with it.

  “I like it all, too. Personally, I was more into nineties pop but I’ll listen to most anything.”

  “Pop? Like Britney and shit?”

  Minnie rolls her eyes in response and extends her arm toward me. I notice the papers in her hand for the first time and grab them from her. I sort through them for a minute and notice they’re invoices.

  “What are these?”

  “I need you to sign off so I can pay them.”

  “I think you’re mistaken, Minnesota. I mean, if you wanted to come hang out with me on a job site, all you had to do was ask.” My tone is flirtatious and even I can hear the gravelly undertone of my voice. It’s usually the tone I save for the ladies before I pull their panties off, but with Minnie, it seems a little too natural even in the daylight.

  “Whatever. Look, Jameson had to go somewhere,” she says dismissively. “Who even knows where he is and I have an appointment for Arizona this afternoon. He said if I needed something and he wasn’t around to see you. I tried calling to having you come by the office but you didn’t answer.”

  Minnie motions toward where my phone is sitting. I reach over and tap the screen. Sure enough, I have three missed calls. Pulling up the call history, I see that two are from the office and a third a cell phone

  “Is this your cell number?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Yeah, I figured maybe something was wrong with the office phone or something since you weren’t answering.”

  “Nah, I accidently turned off my ringer. Sorry about that. J said for you to have me sign off on these? Really?”

  “Yeah, you are the foreman after all. It’s pretty standard. Would you mind? I only have about an hour before I have to leave and I’d like to get these done.”

  “One sec,” I say while pulling up her cell number from my call log and saving the number to my contacts. I also shoot her a text that says, “In case you have more door issues.” With a happy face emoticon. Which I quickly delete because that’s a fucking chick move.

  Her phone signals a text and she looks at it. The confusion on her face makes me laugh as I grab my water bottle and take a long drink.

  “Got a pen?”

  “Why’d you text me?” Minnie hands me a pen and I skim the invoices as I initial the approved stamp.

  “So you’d have my number, obviously. Here ya go.”

  “I have your number, Owen. That’s how I called you.”

  “Yeah but that was for work shit. This is in case you need me for anything else. I do mean anything.”

  Minnie starts laughing. Not just giggles and a sweet chick laugh. No, she’s snorting and doubled over with tears in her eyes. What the fuck?

  “What’s so funny?” My curiosity is genuine.

  “You. Are you flirting with me?”

  “What if I was? Would that be so bad? You’re new to town, I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “First, if that’s how you meet ‘ladies’ and please, note the air quotes, then that’s your first problem. Second, I don’t date men from work anymore. Thanks for this. And, uh, I guess your number. I’ve gotta go.”

  Before I can offer a response or ask what she means by “anymore,” she’s in her car and pulling out of the driveway. I stand there for a few minutes. No music, no tools, just the sounds of the afternoon. Kids are playing in the distance; I hear the occasional splash of a pool, and a dog is barking next door. Simple neighborhood sounds, and for a minute I wonder if the Kaplans would want to sell this place.

  I push play on my music, and as the beats of the next song start drowning out the neighborhood sounds, I think of Minnie Walker and wonder exactly what her story is. She is obviously hot as hell but I think she’s more than that. Beyond those long tan legs, tight ass, and piercing blue eyes is a story. Who’s the dick she was dating before that made it so I can’t even flirt with her without being shot down? But she’s right, I probably shouldn’t cross th
at line. The last thing Jameson needs is for me to fuck and run off the office manager. But, a guy can dream.

  The last few weeks have been crazy around the office. Jameson has been distracted and disappearing here and there. Some days I don’t even know why he’s here and have told him to go home. I’m obviously comfortable in my position, and with him, because normally I would never talk to my boss, heck not even a co-worker, that way. But, with Jameson it feels like a brother-sister relationship except he signs my check.

  Today is no different. He’s been a mess all day, texting like mad and running his hand through his hair. He seems overly stressed and, honestly, it’s stressing me out. I mentioned his behavior to Ashton and Piper the other night when they were over for cheesecake and a movie. Piper reminded me that just because the girls go to bed early doesn’t mean I must be a hermit. So, over the last few weeks, I’ve hosted the girls and we’ve been rotating movie choices. This week was my choice and I went with a personal favorite, Top Gun. Ashton tried to convince me to watch another Dolly Parton movie, but the minute I whispered, “Volleyball scene” she shut her trap.

  Unfortunately, neither Ashton nor Piper were any help with what is going on with Jameson. Piper said she hasn’t seen him much, but when she did, he seemed normal. Ashton refuses to talk about him. I don’t think our relationship has reached the level where I can call her out on her obvious feelings for him, so instead I sit here trying to figure out what the heck is going on. It’s to the point I almost text Owen to find out what is going on. The last thing I need is a boss who checks out, leaving me to deal with clients about projects I don’t understand.

  “Hey, Jameson,” I say for the third time with still no response. I wad up a piece of paper and toss it at his head, missing by a mile but catching his attention just the same.

  “Huh?”

  “I asked if you had the final bids ready for me to prepare for the Morgensterns and Garcias?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been a little distracted lately.”

  “I noticed. Is it Julia? Is she doing okay? The baby?”

  The day of Jameson’s cookout, his sister went into labor and, although I don’t have all the facts, I know it was not without complications. From what I’ve been told, they almost lost her and the baby. I know how helpless you feel when facing something like the loss of a family member. But, to know there’s a possibility of losing an unborn child? I’d rather not go there.

  “Oh, she’s doing great. The little man is growing and healthy as an ox.”

  I can tell he’s distracted so I walk over to his side of the office and take a seat in one of the guest chairs. Jameson’s elbows are on the desk with his head resting in his hands. His fingers run through his hair, tugging at the ends. This is the gesture I read about in my romance novels. It’s the same gesture that we always find the heroine dropping her panties for. Good to know it doesn’t have the same effect in real life.

  I clear my throat when I realize he hasn’t even noticed I’ve moved seats. Jameson lifts his head and looks up at me, an apologetic smile on his face. I raise my eyebrows in question.

  “Something is obviously bothering you, Jameson. You’ve been distracted and it’s like working alone except you’re here. Groaning. Spill.”

  “I can’t.” I raise the brow yet again. He shakes his head and response and continues. “I will tell you that I’m going to be better after this weekend. Well, I’ll either be better or worse. But it won’t be this.” He waves a hand across his face for emphasis.

  I stand before responding and offer him a smile. “I like you both ways, but since I have your attention, mind going over a few things with me before you head home for the weekend?”

  I manage to keep Jameson’s attention for the next hour and he answers a few questions and finalizes the bids I needed. Once he’s left for the weekend with a promise for a much better attitude next week, I realize I have at least another hour left before I can leave and decide to tackle a box of miscellaneous paperwork that’s been taunting me. I only wish I had thought of this before Jameson left because the box is teetering on top of a few others and I’m going to need to either grow four inches or use a step ladder. Since a sudden growth spurt is out of the question, I pull the step ladder from the storage closet and set it up in front of the stack of boxes.

  I rummage through my purse until I locate a hair tie and fasten my hair in a messy bun while kicking off my heels. Once my feet are clear and my toes send me little thank yous, I untuck my top from my waistband. The music I’m playing switches and one of my favorite nineties pop songs fills the room. I begin singing along as I climb the two steps to the top of the ladder only to find that I’m still not tall enough for this box. If I stretch just enough, I can reach the handles of the box and tug it toward myself. I manage to pull the box toward me, but the closer it gets to me, the more the stack of boxes it rests on shifts. With a final tug, the box comes barreling toward me and I lose my balance.

  Just as I’m about to fly off the step ladder sideways, a pair of hands grips my waist and twists me so I’m straight and my feet are closer to the ground. My hands instinctively go to the arms that hold those hands. My heart is racing and my breath is ragged. I’d love to say it’s from seeing my life flash before my eyes. Or, from the fear and embarrassment of a box falling on me. It’s not. It’s because I know this body. I know this scent.

  Owen.

  “Whoa there, Minnesota. Ya okay?”

  I don’t say anything, I simply stare into his chest. His very solid chest. My feet touch the ground but I don’t move my head or respond to his query. My shirt is askew and suddenly I feel rough and calloused fingers on my skin. The hands that held a solid grip on my waist have shifted and are now just barely under my blouse and touching my skin. Skin that suddenly feels like it’s on fire and covered in ice simultaneously. An awareness takes over my body and I can feel my heartbeat speed up.

  I attempt to step back, out of this suddenly intense embrace of sorts, when one of those hands moves from my waist to the side of my face. Fingers touch my hair and I shiver. The hand gently moves my head, forcing my gaze to shift from the gray shirt I’ve been focusing on to a pair of beautiful and soulful eyes.

  “Hey, are you okay? You’re shivering. Are you in shock or something? Do you need me to call someone?”

  “Whaa…” So eloquent, Minnie.

  “Here, sit down. Jesus, I need to turn this shit music off. It’s probably what’s put you into this state.”

  Suddenly the room is quiet. Too quiet. I look down and see Owen kneeling before me. The concern on his face is sincere and comforting. I attempt a smile but I’m unsuccessful. So many thoughts run through my head. Not about the fall or near fall, whichever it may have been. No, these are thoughts about how just now, staring at Owen, I felt this overwhelming need to kiss him. To pull his lips to mine. I have no idea where that came from but it needs to go away. This guy is not good for me. He’s a player and a ladies’ man. He offers zero stability, and from the way he flirts, he’s probably got a different girl for every day of the week. No, thank you.

  “My music isn’t shit.” That’s my response. Not thank you or sorry I almost fell on my head and you had to catch me. Nope.

  Owen laughs and his hand rests on my knee. My eyes jump to his hand and back to his face. He doesn’t seem fazed by the fact that his hand is once again on my body. My very aware body. Dammit, why does he smell so good. Is sweat a scent I’ve ever found sexy before? Not in the slightest. What in the hell is going on here?

  “Sorry about that. I was trying to get that box down and I think I may have been a little overly confident in my abilities. Thank you for saving me from falling on my ass.”

  “No worries. Honestly, it was for purely selfish reasons.” Owen stands and puts some distance between us. I watch him walk over to a few papers that are on the floor and pick them up, placing them on my desk.

  I, on the other hand, don’t move. I simply sit here like
a mute and watch him walk around me and pick up the box I was attempting to move. That box felt like it weighed at least a hundred pounds, but he picks it up one-handed and sets it next to my desk.

  “What do you mean, selfish reasons?”

  “Well, Minnesota,” he begins. Owen’s eyes widen slightly and a smirk appears. Ah yes, the smoldering look also referenced in my romance novels. If only it didn’t turn me into one of the fictitious heroines in my books. But, here I am, sucking in a short breath. Any minute, a voice is going to appear and say, “She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding” and I’ll roll my eyes—or attempt to at least—at the ridiculousness but also at the fact that is exactly what I’m doing. Dammit.

  “Yes, Owen,” I say, mimicking his tone slightly. That smirk he was offering turns to a full-fledged smile as he squats down in front of the chair I’m sitting in, his hands resting on either side of me.

  “I’ve become a little fond of looking at that ass and I’d prefer it stay intact.” He lifts his hand and I think he’s going to ruin this by tapping my nose, which, by the way, is completely insulting. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls it back quickly, like my skin is on fire and he can’t get any closer. Standing, he turns without another word and walks toward the door. Still, I don’t move. Before he walks through the door, he turns to me and winks. “Have a good weekend, Minnesota.” And before I’m able to offer a sarcastic retort, he’s gone and the door closes.

  And this is where that narrator fella says, “And Minnesota Walker went home and changed her panties.” Because, seriously, what the hell was that.

  When I arrived home, Mrs. Larson was preparing to leave and my mom was outside with the girls. I guess my dad and Linc went fishing this weekend and Mom was bored. Or lonely. I don’t think she appreciates the glory of being home alone. I’ll admit that the first few weekends the girls were gone were hard on me, but now, I relish the weekends they go to my parents.