Page 9

Chapter eight

Chris

B erg takes one look at me as I arrive at the job site on Monday morning, opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. Instead, he sinks his teeth into a massive submarine sandwich despite it barely being 9 a.m. I stomp through the muddy gravel to his tailgate, my personal dark cloud following, and work on finishing my coffee.

“Why are you eating lunch?” I ask.

“No time for breakfast,” he mumbles, a few breadcrumbs falling into his beard. “Still settling into the back-to-school routine with the girls. ”

I do recall hearing a hell of a lot of ‘let’s go’ and ‘what do you mean you don’t know where your shoes are’ from the driveway. That was around the time I had my head under a pillow trying to forget that I walked away from Anna mid-conversation. Left her at her front door after a heart-stopping, pant-tightening kiss. Dean shows up a few minutes later, truck tires grinding over the gravel.

“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” he asks, having less sense than Berg does when it comes to staying off my nerves.

I spread my arms out wide. “Can’t a guy just get through Monday without being harassed?”

Berg and Dean exchange glances. “No,” they say together.

I’m not about to volunteer the information that I’ve been celibate all summer. Okay, most of spring, too. I’m 100% to blame for my own pain and suffering and I’ll be as grumpy as I want to be. Seeing this thing to the end is important to me.

Isaac emerges from a portable toilet, rubbing sanitizer into his hands.

“Chris.” Isaac’s jaw is tight.

Maybe I’m not the only one who had a bad sleep, but I’m having a hard time being sympathetic for the guy living in his dream house with his dream girl .

“Did you have a good haircut ?” He spits the last word and reaches over to swat the back of my head.

“Hey!” I duck out of his reach, smoothing it back into place even though I have to throw my hard hat on soon. I purposely kept my hair dry when I showered this morning so the scent of the salon would stay with me for another day. I’m dreading washing it down the drain this afternoon.

“What is going on with you?”

He pauses, a piece of sandpaper in his hand. “Me?”

“Yes. You hit me in the head.”

“You’re on Ashlyn’s shit list. And, apparently, that means I’m on it too. It’s a guilty-by-association kind of thing. She’s scary when she glares.”

I raise my eyebrows at the information.

“What did I do to Ashlyn?”

“Hurt her cousin’s feelings, you dumbass.”

Ah, shit. I replay the moments after our kiss. Confusion filled her eyes, me acting like an asshole and leaving before I could make it worse. Damage done anyway. I hope she didn’t cry. I can’t do crying.

I blow out a long breath. “It was your idea to go see her.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, for a haircut. Not to mess with her. She’s a nice girl. ”

The banister is rough under my grip, a prickly feeling forming at Isaac’s assumption I’d only be interested in messing around. I guess it takes more than six months for people to change their opinion of me.

“Smooth things over with her.”

I know I have to. I want to. I’m annoyed with my friend for pointing it out before I had the chance.

“I’ll make sure to ask your permission on who I kiss next time.” I have to relax my hand on the sandpaper, so I don’t mess up the work.

That moment with Anna in my arms, pressed together, is on repeat. A tinkling crash from somewhere on the second floor has Isaac on his feet and running inside in seconds.

“I’m firing that apprentice if he broke another window.”

I lean against the railing with a sigh. Mulling over the fact that I hurt Anna’s feelings, I’m vaguely aware of Dean’s heavy work boots on the steps.

“This is coming along pretty good.”

I smooth my hand over a spindle. “It better. It’s fucking tedious. You here to give me the third degree too?”

Dean holds up his hands, some of his faded tattoos visible beneath the sleeve of his jacket. “Nope, I come in peace.”

“Good. ”

“I might have overheard that though.”

“You and I have different ideas of peace. We’re not talking about me anymore. What’s up with you?”

He brushes his hand over his buzzed head. “Spent the weekend fiddling with the electrical.”

“Still?”

“Yeah, still. You ever looked at a manual for advanced marine electronics?”

He’s talking about the boat he parks next to his other boat. The one he’s been fixing up for years. Dean lives in the snug cabin down in the West Isle harbour and that’s exactly how he likes it. Whenever I feel weird about living in a basement suite at almost thirty, I remember Dean lives on a boat. Although maybe that’s cooler? I settle into the rhythm of sanding. The noise of the job site fades away, and I let myself slip into my new favourite moment. Anna’s hands in my hair, the small of her back beneath my fingertips, my stiff dick pressed against her belly. And when her bright eyes fade into disappointment, I lock that shit down. Imagining making her sad is like a stone in my stomach. The dark cloud stays firmly in place while I work and wrack my brain over how I can make sure I never see that look in her eyes again.