11. Seven
Seven
Beau
T he long stretch of sunbaked road had little to focus on as I drove to Palmer’s address for my first day on site.
Scruffy brush lined the road’s shoulder and ditches. Cattle grazed in the vast open fields beyond, a flat expanse of land backing up to the towering mountains in the distance. Beautiful and quiet.
And I could only think of him.
Arrogant, infuriating, hostile son of a bitch.
Jake never could let anything go between us.
For years, I tried to be his friend. I invited him to my house with the rest of the guys and included him in shit. Most of the time, he didn’t respond. When he did, it was an impolite brush-off.
Windmere was a small town, with nothing around except more small towns and a lot of chest pounding because of it. Why’d it always have to be a competition with him? Why’d he have to hate me for excelling at sports or getting girls? He was no different.
If not friends, we should have at least been able to be teammates. We played the same sports and enrolled in the same activities. I tried to change it up, like joining the wrestling team junior year to do something that wouldn’t have Jake’s dumb ass lumbering around like a cloud of contempt.
But nope. I showed up on the first day to find that Jake had joined the team, too. Standing in his emerald green singlet, which clung to his body like a glove, he pushed his shaggy dark hair off his forehead and laughed with a few guys while ignoring me.
Pride was all that kept me from storming off and quitting.
He didn’t ignore me yesterday. Jake watched me at The Diner with fire in his eyes, his fingers flexing like he was warming up to wrap them around my throat.
Gravel crunched beneath my tires as I pulled into the lot. The future site of a mountain resort straddling the county line between Windmere and Gosford, alive with the whir of heavy equipment. An excavator broke the earth with a clamorous chug. A sensor beeped as a forklift moved a pallet of supplies in the distance.Guys shouted at one another over the noise .
“All right,” I muttered, observing the exposed site and noting the lack of shade or shelter from the already searing sun above. Midday would be agony, and afternoon would be worse. “Here we go.”
Wouldn’t find a Kraft catering table here. I doubted anybody would offer a morning Starbucks run, either.
“You the new guy?” someone grunted at me as I exited the car. He was on the smaller side, half a foot shorter than me and skinny, but damn, did he radiate some mean energy.
“That way.”He nodded toward an Airstream past a cement slab with support columns and rebar jutting out.
“Yep. Thanks,” I murmured, extending my hand to him. “Beau Dalton.”
Another grunt, and the guy was gone.
“Okay, then. Thanks again.”
The high-pitched grinding of a saw split the air, the aroma of fresh-cut wood mingling with dirt and dust.
Thankfully, I didn’t plan to be around long enough to do more than earn a few bucks until shit resolved in L.A. This already sucked.
My socks shifted in my boots, already sweaty. The heavy denim of my jeans dragged me down as moisture beaded my hairline. A real swamp situation going on, and I hadn’t even laid any pipe yet.
Palmer hovered over a desk inside the trailer. A blueprint was spread atop it, and several more were tacked onto the wall.
“Dalton,” he barked in greeting, getting to work by thrusting ear protectors and a safety helmet at me. “You’ll shadow until I’m confident you won’t kill yourself with those fumbling soft hands.”
I opened my palms and examined them. I mean, yeah, I moisturized religiously, but callouses lined the pads, and I was no stranger to lifting, hauling, or moving shit. I jumped out of a burning car on my last gig. One rolled over and crushed me two years before that—that one almost killed me.
Digging a foundation might be unpleasant, but I was more than capable of doing it.
“Hey!” Palmer threw open the trailer door, signaling me to follow. The steps creaked beneath his weight as he stood on the bottom one, cupped his hands, and shouted, “Lauder, you’re with Dalton this week.”
Are you kidding me?
“He’s in the pisser, boss!” someone called.
Perfect. I would brush past Palmer, get in my car, and drive to another universe. Problem solved.
“Uh. Any chance I can—”
The clang of metal on metal cut me off. Palmer shielded his eyes, scanning the lot. “Ah, here we go.”
Even from a distance and with his back to me as he spoke to a foreman, I recognized Jake. Just a bit taller than me, though leaner. Narrower hips dipping to long legs, well- muscled. Somewhat impressive, given how many guys ignored their glutes and legs and focused only on their arms and back.
Big mistake. The glutes and core were the powerhouses of a well-formed body when building overall strength.
Not that I was assessing his physical prowess or anything. I didn’t care if the guy had limp noodles for arms or no legs at all. It made no difference in my life.
Jake slapped his companion’s shoulder, turning and slowly jogging toward the trailer with his eyes on the ground, bypassing potholes and unfortunately not breaking his ankle.
He lifted his gaze as he approached. “Yeah, boss?”
He registered my presence beside Palmer, stopping in place.
I didn’t have to be within ten feet of him to know what he said.
“Fuck.”
“Safety first,” Jake grumbled, walking me through a brief orientation as I trotted on his heels and tried to keep up. “Don’t do dumb shit.”
“Noted,” I huffed, catching up to walk in step. He sped up.
“Sure you can handle that, Dalton? Seems you’re all about doing dumb shit.”
“Hey.” I tugged on his arm, stopping him.
Jake grunted, pulling away and glancing at the curious faces of the crew nearby. “Not an authorized break. Want to piss off fifty guys real quick? Cause not carrying your weight is how you do it, new or not.”
“Fine,” I agreed, gesturing for him to continue. “Walk and talk.”
Jake muttered under his breath but continued. “To reiterate, don’t do dumb shit. You seem to enjoy putting yourself in danger.”
Understandable that Jake might not be the Beau Dalton fan club president, but we were adults—in theory.
“Look, I’m not trying to steal her—”
I needed safety glasses for the death glare he shot me.
“ Steal her? Like she’s a Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“That wasn’t me!” I cried, bouncing off the balls of my feet to catch up with him as he stormed off. “Swear, that was Ethan Hembry, man!”
“Don’t give a shit. Keep the card, but talk about Fallon like a possession again, and I will gleefully mix you into the concrete pillars.”
Jake tipped his chin in greeting as we passed a couple of guys chugging water from reused milk jugs. I should have considered bringing a water bottle or something today.
I didn’t recognize the grizzled faces, but I smiled and nodded. Most didn’t acknowledge me .
“That wasn’t my intention. I’m sorry. Of course, Fallon isn’t something to steal. I only meant I was sincere about wanting to be her friend. Maybe yours, too, dipshit, if you’d calm down with the rabid frothing.”
Did I want his girl? Yeah, I couldn’t pretend otherwise. I liked Fallon— really liked Fallon—but...
“I enjoy messing with you. Pretty satisfying. I meant nothing by it. It was just for fun.”
Messing with Jake scratched a vague itch I couldn’t quite figure out. He pissed me off, and he’d always held my attention because of it. But I would never do anything that would hurt Fallon to get to him.
I caught the clench of his jaw. “For fun,” he muttered. “So I’ve heard.”
He pointed to a porta-potty beside a few lawn chairs by the parking lot. “Staff lounge. Take your break where you want, but when you’re anywhere near the site, you wear your safety gear. You’ll shadow me, I guess. Do what I do. Ask what needs to be asked. You like messing with me? Well, don’t. I need this job. Don’t fuck it up for me.”
Though his words were hard and his eyes even harder as they scanned the tree line skirting woods, something vulnerable lived in that demand.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I mumbled.
“Hey, soft hands,” Danny called over. “Watch the nails, you fucking fool.”
In his early fifties, Danny’s chafed and leathery hands proved he’d earned his place as the site foreman. Sun-chapped, they rested over his protruding belly like he pounded beers to have a permanent shelf.
“Good one,” I murmured, holding tight to the smile on my face.
Any sign of upset acted as kindling to the burn of their mockery. Nobody on site wanted me there, Mr. Hollywood, as I’d been derisively called. Teased for fame and fortune, as if I showed up for work at Palmer Construction’s latest large-scale development for shits and giggles.
That math wasn’t mathing, but these agitators didn’t care. I guess I wouldn’t either when I got cashed out this afternoon.
Jim laughed, slapping Danny’s arm as they watched me haul some two-by-fours to the saw. “When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot, Pantene?”
Just as rough for wear, Jim also held an affinity for shit-slinging. I’d spent four days with my head down, taking it and focusing on doing whatever task Jake threw my way.
“Pantene?” I cocked a brow.
“Pantene Pro-V,” Jake filled in, brushing past me and dropping his load, circling back for another. He was at least three ahead of me. “Like the shampoo.”
“Cause your hair is so silky, pretty boy,” Jim explained.
Ah. Yes.
“Creative,” I grunted. “Can’t wait to see what you come up with next week.”
Danny checked his watch and whistled to signal a break.
“Depends, soft hands. What shade of lipstick are you planning to wear?”Jim smirked.
My eyes shuttered closed, and I took a deep breath. Being disliked was an unfamiliar feeling, but being tormented even more so. While the jesting of a couple of middle-aged assholes shouldn’t hit hard, it did.
“Probably your wife’s,” Jake said, depositing the last of his planks and pulling off his glove with his teeth. He wiped his forehead. “Bet he looks better in it than she does.”
Jim’s grin died on his face as laughter exploded around us. Taunts and jeers echoed between the guys as they headed for the lawn chairs.
The first to arrive would be the first to sit. The rest of us schmucks resorted to lounging in the long grass, flicking away bugs. Given I had three hauls left, I might miss my break altogether.
Looking forlornly at the pile waiting for me, I ignored Jim’s middle finger and trudged toward the planks to finish my task.
Jake slipped his glove on, stalking on my heels.
“I know I’m slow—” I started, but he shoved past me, saying nothing. He collected half my pile and returned as I still fumbled with my first load.
“No need to be delicate with the supplies,” he said, eyeing my form and reaching for the few pieces I couldn’t carry. “Just like there’s no need to smile at those guys when they’re being dicks. They’ll respect you more if you tell them to piss off.”
Sweat lined his forehead, and he tugged up the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. A flash of pale skin and dark hair trailing into the waistband of his jeans caught my attention. I glanced away, clearing my throat.
Pulling off my gloves and dusting my hands, I considered that. “ You smile at them even when they’re being dicks.”
Jake dropped his shirt. “I smile at people I don’t like because I’m an asshole, and it’s unnerving.” His smile widened.
“And here, I thought you smiled at me because we’re friends.”
“Huh. Would think you’d be used to being wrong by now.” With a heavy hand on my shoulder, he squeezed like a python. “No worries. You’ll figure it out.”
Leaning close enough that his warm breath fanned against the shell of my ear, he whispered, “I can’t stand you.”
I prayed the shiver pulling up my spine wasn’t noticeable. As quickly as he was in my space, he disappeared.
I hated the ignition of heat in my gut with his proximity, my body a traitorous bastard.
Anyone but him. Literally, anyone.
I’d said it often through high school, but I was out of practice.
I licked my lips, blowing an exhale and catching up.
“Calling it now. Besties by the end of the week.”
Jake flipped me off with both middle fingers.
Grinning, I didn’t let up. I meant it when I said I enjoyed messing with him.
“I’m gonna get you, mark my word. Bros.” I ignored his snort. “Confidants. Mates. Birds of a feather, for sure.”
“Fuck off, Dalton,” he grumbled, power-walking to get lost in the crowd of reflective vests.
“Only if you fuck off with me, buddy!” I hollered, laughing as he halted and visibly stiffened. Rolling his neck, he hurried to the water station.
Jake assumed I messed with him to win over Fallon, but he was wrong. I think… I was trying to win him over.
Maybe I wanted to be his friend, too.