Chapter 12
Pike
“Jordan?”
I dart my gaze left and right as I pass each aisle, having lost her nearly ten minutes ago. Where the hell did she go?
The guys and I finished at the site early today, and with a little daylight left, I’d come home from work to find Jordan working in the garden. She wanted to check out some chicken wire or something for the tomato plants, and I thought I’d add a stone border around the tree in the backyard, so we hopped in the truck and headed to Home Depot.
After putting in the order for the stone, though, I lost her.
I finally spot her at the end of an aisle digging in a shallow box sitting on a shelf. Standing back upright, she pulls out a sheet of tiles and holds it up in front of her, studying it. Carrying the two new yard tools I’d picked out, I walk for her, steeling myself.
She looks beautiful today, and shit keeps happening to my body every time I look at her. Like there are live wires underneath my damn skin. Black T-shirt, white shorts, hair down and free, minimal make-up—she’s no frills, and it works. Farmer’s daughter and exactly my type once upon a time.
I shake my head, clearing it.
“What’s that?” I ask, approaching.
She glances at me, still holding up the square sheet of tiles. “It’s backsplash.”
I reach out my free hand, running my thumb over the tan stone strips glued to the paper. “Backsplash?”
“You’re in construction,” she snips, giving me a chastising look. “Don’t you ever watch HGTV? Backsplash is everything in home décor.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” I assure her, dropping my hand. “I just…I don’t know. Seems like a frill.”
She rolls her eyes, her gaze resting on the stones again. “It’s the little things that add personality to a house,” she tells me. “An artsy chandelier, the right rug, and backsplash.” She turns the sheet around, facing me and showing me. “This is you. It would look great with what you’ve done in the kitchen.”
“Me, huh?” I let out a chuckle, meeting her eyes. “And what am I?”
Her smile falls and a look of surprise crosses her eyes.
I blink. “I didn’t mean it…like that,” I tell her.
It’s not what I said but how I said it. Way too insinuating.
She seems to brush it off, though, turning the sheet around and staring down at it again with appreciation. “It reminds me of a cave,” she finally says. “You’re like a cave. You don’t give up all your secrets at once. Who knows how deep you go, right?”
My eyebrows shoot up. What?
How deep do I go? Did she just…
Her eyes suddenly go round, and she jerks her gaze to me, looking mortified. “I mean,” she rushes out, “like…on the…on the inside. Your personality.” A blush rises to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like…ugh.” Her shoulders sink, and she stuffs the sheet back into the box, giving up. “I’m going to drool over bathroom fixtures now. Bye.”
And she walks away from me quickly, disappearing down an aisle.
My mouth quirks into a smile, and I break into a quiet laugh, staring after her.
“So, what do you think?” A young man in an orange apron steps up out of the corner of my eye.
I don’t look at him, though, still staring at the aisle she just disappeared down. “We’ll start off with three boxes of this.” I gesture to the tiles on the shelf. “See how it looks…”
He moves over and starts unloading the boxes. “Wise choice. Happy wife, happy life, right?”
Happy wife, happy…
I watch him pull out a box and carry it away, the pulse in my neck suddenly throbbing.
He thinks she’s my wife?
A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, and I’m not exactly sure which emotion is filling my chest right now, but it feels good and there’s a lot of it.
Later that evening, I slouch back into the couch with my arm tucked behind my head and a beer in my hand, watching TV I’ve been in a lucid daze for a while now as one show has turned into five.
I set down my beer and pick up the remote, finally turning off HGTV and blinking, I think, for the first time in three hours. “She’s right,” I mumble. “They’re fucking obsessed with backsplash.”
In a moment of curiosity, I had clicked on the channel after we got home from Home Depot, and it’s like I blacked out after that, only momentarily zoning back in to make a sandwich and try to talk to Cole.
He’s out again now, though, grabbing a quick shower and another quick exit after he came home from work and realized Jordan wasn’t here. I thought we could go grab a late dinner or something, but apparently, his plans couldn’t be broken again.
Or he’s afraid to be alone with me. It’s not like I want to fight, either. Even just watching a show together would be fine. I mean, we had managed not to kill each other in the past. He used to like me.
And where does he get all this money to party? He has to be spending everything he’s making.
Not that I’m in a rush to have him save money and leave, but I guess I can now judge myself as harshly as I’d judged Jordan. The more you do for someone, the less they do for themselves. I’m as much to blame as she is. Cole won’t grow up until he’s forced to.
I down the rest of my beer and stand up, carrying the empty bottle into the kitchen.
My phone rings in my pocket, and I dig it out.
Dutch.
“Hey,” I answer, tossing the bottle into the garbage.
“Hey. You should come to Grounders right now.”
Huh?
“Like right now,” he adds before I have a chance to say anything.
“Why?”
“Because…” he pauses, and I hear a breathy little laugh. “Jordan is, um…misbehaving, I guess you could say.”
I straighten, my brows pinching together. “Misbehaving?” I repeat. “What does that mean? And why do you think I care. I’m not her dad.”
Music pounds in the background, and I can hear a crowd talking and laughing. One of my guys is getting married in a couple weeks, so the crew took him out tonight. We need at least one person not hungover tomorrow, so I stayed home.
“If you say so, man,” he retorts like he doesn’t believe I don’t care. “But your son may not like what I’m seeing right now. What everyone is getting to see right now.”
“What are you talking about?” I challenge.
“You’re going to have to come to find out. I just hope you don’t get here too late.”
There’s a click, and I think he hung up.
“Dutch,” I bark into the phone. “Dutch!”
I expel a sigh and pull the phone away from my ear, slamming the trash can lid closed.
But I stop, doing a double take at something laying on top. Lifting the lid again, I pull out a pink half sheet, the pin-up girl on the flyer catching my attention. Studying it, I let the lid fall closed and read it.
Amateur Night!
Get Wet! (Your T-shirt, anyway)
May 27 at 9 p.m.
The Hook on Jamison Lane
Grand Prize $300!!
I straighten my spine, taking note of the date and then relax a little. It’s still a couple weeks away, so Dutch wouldn’t mean this. It’s not happening tonight, and it’s not at Grounders.
It’s probably Cole’s flyer, anyway.
But on reflex, I flip it over and see handwriting on the back.
Make that $, girl!!
I quirk an eyebrow.
Is this Jordan’s? It’s from The Hook. Did her sister give this to her? Jesus, what is wrong with that girl? Who would encourage their little sister to enter a wet T-shirt contest, for Christ’s sake?
Again, though, it’s not tonight, and she threw it away, so that’s a good thing.
But now I’m anxious.
I like the kid. I don’t want her to feel like she needs to do shit like this to make money. I’m not rushing either of them out of my house, am I?
I toss the paper and rub my scalp, exasperated. Dutch likes to mess with people, especially me, but she did sleep on a pool table, because she was too proud to ask for help. She doesn’t make the best choices.
I groan, knowing I’m not going to relax now. Sliding my phone into my pocket, I grab my keys and shut off the lights before leaving the house.
Climbing into my truck, I start the engine and blast the radio as high as I can stand to distract from the worry pooling in my gut. He just has to go and start shit, doesn’t he?
He did seem more amused than distressed, though, so he’s probably fucking with me. He just wants me to get out of the house.
It takes less than ten minutes to get to Grounders, and I find a parking space around the corner, not too far. I can hear the music from out here, and I wonder if the local leagues had some baseball games tonight and everyone is still celebrating.
Misbehaving. I shake my head, pulling open the door. The girl doesn’t know the meaning of the word. She’s as good as gold.
Taking a deep breath, I pull open the door and nearly wince at the noise. Hard to believe this was exactly my scene once.
Addicted to Lovescreeches through lousy speakers, and round, high-top tables are packed with customers. The bar is filled, not a single stool vacant, and I look around, seeing that the booths are all filled, as well. A few women stand in line for the bathroom, the pool table is surrounded by bystanders, and the air is smoky and charged. I can already feel eyes on me.
I nod at Calista Mankin as her eyes light up and she waves, and I spot James Lowry out of the corner of my eyes. Both people I’ve probably seen only five times since high school, and I already feel uncomfortable.
My gaze finally falls on Jordan as she stands at the juke box, the pages flipping over in front of her as she scans the playlist through the glass. The crowd is thick, but I see the back of her head. I’d recognize her hair anywhere.
My shoulders relax a little. I knew it was just some asinine plot to get me here. She’s fine.
I move through the people, trying to find Dutch and the guys, but then I see Jordan leave the music machine and make her back to the bar, and that’s when I catch glimpses of her through the throngs of people and see what she’s wearing.