Page 8 of His Last Shot

So What You’re Saying Is … Be Careful

Johnny

“ W elcome to Starbucks. How can I help you?”

“Yes, I would like a grande dark roast, black. And a venti hot white mocha, with blonde espresso oat milk, vanilla sweet cream cold foam, and caramel drizzle.”

One thing is for certain, I need a huge sugary coffee this morning to wake myself up.

By the time I got home from one of the best nights of my life, it was almost four am.

I’m running on an hour and a half of sleep, so I’m hoping this coffee, with the bonus of all the added sugar, will do what it’s supposed to do.

Last night was amazing. I never thought, in a million years, that I would meet someone randomly at a bar and that she would be fifteen years younger than me.

Not that age matters. It doesn’t. But for whatever reason, it does to her, so I need to proceed with caution.

I want her to recognize me as the stand-up guy I am.

Which is why, after her freak out, I made sure she was comfortable.

I wanted to send the message that her withdrawing her consent was fine.

It’s always fine.

A goofy grin spreads across my face while I wait at this drive-through, tapping my fingers to the radio at the thought of running into her.

Granted, Dexter’s is clear across town. It’s not remotely close.

There are plenty of bars and pool halls near me I can frequent.

But for starters, I am not a bar guy. Not anymore, anyway.

Also, when it comes to the game of pool, I am an introvert.

Shooting around in the solace of my garage, alone with my thoughts and my music, is where I thrive.

But now, I have every reason to drive forty-five minutes across town to play. And probably join a God-forsaken pool league. All to win over the tall brunette with the most captivating eyes.

Though I’d only slept for ninety minutes, the haunting memory of those eyes lingered in my dreams.

Last night, being with her felt as effortless and natural as breathing. I could tell she felt it as well.

With steaming coffees in hand, I drive to the job site, her face still vivid in my mind, the aroma of dark roast filling the car.

Concern seizes my heart, mirroring my feelings from last night.

The cold air made me anxious about how it was affecting her joints.

I don’t know enough about RA, but I know that when you have arthritis, cold temps can make them stiff.

So, when I held onto her hands, and the chill reached my fingers, I did the only thing I could think of. I blew on them to warm them up.

That simple gesture was possibly one of the single best moments of my life.

Then we kissed. It was featherlight and brief. Our lips met in a fleeting, barely there brush of our lips, yet somehow, it was the best kiss I've ever experienced. How that is even possible, no clue.

Her bolting right after just reaffirms my suspicions that she has some pretty thick walls built up. But I need to know her story. My gut tells me that there is more to everything. Her uncle, the ex-boyfriend, her RA. All of it.

So, for now, I will respect the boundaries that she has put up, never pressuring her into doing or saying anything that might make her uneasy.

But I will make darn sure she doesn’t forget me.

My truck tires crunch along the gravel as I pull into the makeshift driveway that leads to the apartment complex our construction company is building .

I need to talk to Scott about all of this. He’s my go-to guy for everything. Somehow, after working together every day for over a decade, we haven’t killed each other.

I park right next to him, resting my head against the car seat back. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to shake off the pure exhaustion coursing through my body.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in …

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My head tilts toward the windshield, and I squint one eye shut. There stands Scott. His eyebrow arches. I must have dozed off for just a second because I didn’t hear him get out of his truck. A rush of fresh, cool air sweeps through as I roll down the window.

“Hey,” I greet him, my voice hoarse.

“Hey there yourself, lover boy.” He lets out a chuckle. God, he knows me so well. “I knew you would talk to her. What time did you get in?”

Reaching out the window, I hand him his coffee. He immediately takes a sip. My gargantuan size cup meets my lips, and I gulp. “God, that tastes good.” I raise my fist to my mouth. “Ahem! Four am.”

Scott takes a step back as I open the door and pour out of my truck, rounding to the back to retrieve my tool belt.

While I cinch it around my waist, I glance at the bed, and the whole evening crashes into my memory.

I smirk, then unleash an enormous yawn as I stretch, twisting my arms overhead, my back cracking with each movement.

Scott whistles softly. “You up for this today?”

“Sure. I’m tired, but I’ll deal.” A grin spreads across my face uncontrollably. “Adrenaline coupled with this”—I hold up my coffee—“is the fuel that’s driving me forward right now.”

“Mmm … adrenaline, huh? Is that what we are calling it these days?” he asks through a laugh.

We begin our walk toward the row of duplexes that are being built, designed especially for senior citizens and the disabled. “Shut up,” I mumble while also stifling a smile.

“So tell me about it,” he implores as we step onto the porch of the build .

I fill him in on the details of most of the night. How I helped her clean up, then convinced her to go to Miller’s Bluff to stargaze. How we talked and talked until she ended things.

He chimes in with a grunt every so often as we work.

But there is a truth I keep to myself. Her RA. It’s not my place to divulge that information. That’s Rachel’s business and something I found out purely by accident. It’s her secret, therefore it’s mine.

He’s examining the work that was done on the porch railings as soon as I finish. “So you like her?”

“I do. A lot, actually. She’s different. And young.”

His focus abruptly shifts back to me. “How young?”

I take a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth of it coat my throat before I continue. “Thirty.”

“Geez, you scared me for a minute. When you said young, I thought like in her early twenties.” He crouches down, studying the base of the railing. “This edge right here needs to be closer to the house. Make a note to tell Richard.”

I grab my phone from my back pocket, open my notes, and type, then continue. “So you don’t feel like age is a factor.”

“No. Why would it? As long as it isn’t for you guys, why would it matter? You are both legal adults and then some.”

With the toe of my boot, I kick a piece of gravel and watch as it skitters across the ground. “Well, I have a feeling it matters to her. Unfortunately.”

He lets out a soft sigh as we step into the entryway of the duplex. “Well, to be truthful, I feel like age is the least of your issues. It’s her family I worry about. Especially her uncle.”

“You mean Dexter Jr.? The know-it-all we did business with?”

“One and the same.” As I walk into the kitchen, I sit my coffee on the concrete countertop, checking if the right cabinets were delivered while I wait for him to say more. He’s in the adjoining bathroom, fiddling with the toilet, more than likely.

I keep working and waiting, not so patiently, as each clank, bang, and whirl is adding to my anxiety.

For a beat or two, I hesitate, waiting, but he says nothing else. “Okay, you’re killing me. Care to elaborate?” I interject. “I mean, we had our suspicions when we took the job, but is there more?”

He meets me in the kitchen, studying me as I read the purchase order and check it against the boxes. “Just be careful.” He sucks in a long inhale. “I heard he’s someone not to be trusted, and he’s involved in some pretty shady stuff.”

“Who did you hear that from?” I feel like now would probably be a good time to tell him what I saw at the bar last night.

“One of the other subcontractors. He said that Dexter is possibly into heavy illegal gambling with a little bit of tax evasion thrown in. Crazy stuff. It made me nervous, so I went over our contract with a fine-toothed comb. I even had our lawyer give it a once-over. Thankfully, everything is good. But I doubt we should take on any work from him again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” I ask, a tad annoyed. We are partners, after all.

“I was. I am … now.”

“So what you’re saying is … be careful.”

He nods. “Be careful.”

I chew on my bottom lip as I watch him kneel, turning his attention to the subfloor. Then, I blurt it out. “Well, I probably shouldn’t tell you I’m going to join his pool league. Plus, I saw him and some really big dudes escort a man who looked pretty roughed up out of the bar.”

He drops his tape measure and rotates his face up to meet mine. “Are you kidding me right now?”

I take a sip of my coffee. “Nope. Dead serious.”

“Did you not hear me? Illegal gambling. If it’s true, what game do you think his ring is involved in?”

“Probably my favorite game. Pool.”

“There’s no ‘probably.’” He reaches for the tape measure again with a little too much force. He continues without acknowledging me. “Is the guy you saw okay?”

“I have no idea. ”

“Well, count me out of all of it. I don’t want anything to do with that man. Have fun in the league, but don’t invite me to join. I got too much going on.”

I scoff. “I wasn’t going to anyway.”

“Good,” he grumbles.

Look, I know he’s right about Dexter. Rachel’s description of her uncle left me with a deeply unsettling knot in my gut. Add in the lousy first impression I had of the guy, then the dude at the bar, and now what Scott’s heard, I don’t like him.

After our initial meeting and Scott’s warning to stay away from him during the reno, Scott and our lawyers dealt with him during the bar’s remodel. And I trust Scott’s judgement. He wouldn’t repeat these accusations unless he had hard facts that were true and came from a trusted source.

“I’ll be careful,” I reiterate to put his mind at ease. But he knows me. I tend to jump into things, feet first, blindly.

“Scott, there is just something about Rachel.” He faces me, brow furrowed. “I can’t put my finger on it. It’s just … something.”

This brings a smile to his face. “I get it. Laura has the something.”

And for years, I have wanted what my cousin has with his wife. They have been married for over twenty years, and they still look at each other the way they did before they were married.

You know what I mean.

Like a couple who are in that can’t-keep-your-eyes-off-each-other phase. The way you miss her when you aren’t together. How you find yourself reaching out to touch her whenever she’s near, and you believe the moon rises and falls because of her.

That’s Scott and Laura.

I want that.

I deserve that.

I need that.

My plea for his understanding continues. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt for a woman before, so I have to get to know her better. Even if that means driving clear across town to play a game that I can play on my table in my garage. ”

“And in a pool league. Which you hate.”

“Which I hate.” My gut twists in excitement just thinking about seeing her again, and my cheeks are on fire.

Scott’s laugh echoes in the empty space as he points to me. “You’re blushing.”

I’m not sure I have ever blushed in my whole life.

I guess I do now.

Because of Rachel.