3. Reid
“This . . . is your truck?”
“It runs,” she snaps, cheeks flaming. “Kind of.”
“Jesus Christ,” I grit. The thing is probably held together by a single bolt. I guess on an island, you wouldn’t need to drive every day, but she should still have decent transportation, should she need to use it.
“Nope. I’m driving.”
Like hell. I wouldn’t trust a professional driver to get behind the wheel of her truck. Let alone her.
“Give me the keys.”
“It’s my truck.”
“It’s a piece of shit,” I fire back.
As annoying as she is, I’m man enough to admit I like that little bite in her voice. I like pushing her, watching her temper flare. I get the feeling it doesn’t happen often and something about that is darkly enjoyable for me. Maybe I’m a masochist. Maybe I just like to make the pretty little blonde girl crack.
Either way, it’s becoming a problem.
“Are you always this big of an asshole?”
“Are you always this big of a brat?”
Her mouth falls open and I almost laugh, holding out my palm for the keys. Her blue eyes flash with annoyance, but finally she tosses them across the truck bed to me and moves for the passenger door.
“Fine, but I’ll have you know, we’re on an island with no roads back to the mainland. Kidnapping me will only get you so far.”
Something about that is oddly amusing to me.
“Little bird, I wouldn’t need to drive to kidnap you.”
“That’s comforting,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest while I attempt to start the truck. It rolls over a few times, but eventually, it sputters to life and she seems to let out a sigh of relief. “And don’t call me that.”
“Why?”
“It’s rude.”
“You didn’t give me a real name,” I point out, starting down the streets toward what I assume is the direction of the hardware store.
“Nova,” she answers, finally. She looks at my face and rolls her eyes.
Little bird, keep it up. I’ll make them roll for a different reason.
“Yes, that’s my name.”
“Your parents hate you? Naming you after the island?”
“They named me after a super nova. You know, the big explosion—”
“When a star dies,” I finish before she can continue to assume I’m illiterate. “Yes, I know.”
Honestly, a girl like Nova is too smart for me. She’s beautiful. Intelligent. Witty and innocent. There’s no fucking way in hell I would ever find myself with a woman like her.
She’s also on my last damned nerve.
“So, what’s your name, then? Mike? It’s something basic, isn’t it?”
“Reid.”
She pauses for a moment, as if my name means I spit on puppies or some other bullshit like that.
“And why are you here, Reid?”
“Because you don’t know how to fix drywall.”
“You know what I mean,” she scoffs, shoving at my arm. I look down to where her hand rests on my skin as fire burns up the area she’s touched.
That’s not normal.
Instantly, her hand drops back to her lap and her cheeks flame. She looks anywhere but at me, shaking her head. “Why are you in Port Nova if you hate it so much?”
“Boat’s getting worked on here. Not much else to do but wait until it’s finished.”
“Well, Al is the best. He’ll have it in perfect shape in no time and then you can go back to your fun, exciting life on the mainland.”
If only. Maybe then I could get away from her damned perfume.
Getting her in a truck, alone, was not a good plan. Even if I didn’t know her name, her honey-vanilla scent has been burned in my brain since the grocery store. From the wild, blonde curls on her head to her eyes—the blue-green hue of the Atlantic after a storm calms—right down to the damned shorts covering the finest ass, I’ve ever seen—I can’t stop thinking about her.
And then, that fucking smile.
“Three weeks.”
“Three?” she asks, as if I’d just told her I had murdered an entire nursing home of the sweetest old people on the planet.
“Ready to get rid of me already?” She pauses for a moment, as if she’s mulling over the idea of tossing me into the surf.
“Fine. You can stay. But only because you’re helping me with this drywall.”
I can’t help but chuckle, shaking my head. We drive down Main Street, past the small businesses that line the sidewalks. I’ve got to say, the town is fairly self-sufficient, but I think the dead winters out here are probably part of that. Boats don’t come out this way as much, and without their supplies, the island would starve to death.
I feel Nova’s gaze on me as I drive. It lingers on my arms, my face. I feel her fucking everywhere and my cock grows hard in my jeans. This woman is dangerous. Innocently so and I’m kicking myself for ever letting that nagging voice in the back of my head convince me to help her.
I just . . . I don’t know. I saw her struggling. I know how to do it. I don’t have anything better to do. Why not help out? It’s what Dad would have done. You know, before he became a drunken bastard.
“Stop staring.”
She sputters for a moment, and I can see her cheeks burn, even out of the corner of my eye. “I’m not staring. I’m looking for the store.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Little liar.
“Funny. We passed it already.”
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed at the expression on that face. It’s then, with some humor, I realize that Nova would be shit at poker.
Pulling the truck around, I come to a stop in front of the only hardware store on the island. It looks like it’s as in bad a shape as the inn, ironically enough, as I follow Nova through the front door, careful not to get too close
“Hi, Nova,” a kid, probably Nova’s age, stammers from behind the counter.
She doesn’t seem to notice the way his eyes linger on her like he’s seconds away from coming in his khakis the moment she comes to stop in front of the counter.
“What brings you in today?”
I step up behind Nova. Too close. Don’t ask me why, but I like it when the kid’s eyes widen as he sees me, towering over her head.
“Hi, Crusty. We just came for some sheetrock,” Nova says proudly, completely unaware of what’s going on over her head. “I don’t know what that is, but we need some.” Nova jumps, like she’s just remembered I’m behind her. “Oh, Reid this is Crusty. Crusty, this is Reid.”
Apprehensively, Crusty reaches out to shake my hand. His palms are sweaty and I’m not sure if it’s from Nova’s presence at this point, or mine.
“Uh, it’s nice to meet you,” he murmurs, looking anywhere but at me.
“Sheetrock,” I remind him.
“Right. This way.”
He leads us to the back and he and Nova dissolve into conversation while I look through the very limited selection of shit this island has to fix any one of its crumbling buildings.
“Have you thought about my offer?” Crusty asks and I strain my ears to listen. Not that I care, but it’s not every day you get to witness a kid get friend zoned.
“Well,” Nova starts, laughing nervously. I can feel her gaze on my back, so I pretend like I’m reading a label. “It’s karaoke night at Tom’s Saturday. We’re all going if you want to join us. You know, hang out as friends.”
Ouch. That’s got to hurt. Though, she did invite him and not me.
Something about that pisses me off.
And that, in turn, pisses me off again.
“Okay, great. What time?”
“Eight.”
Not that I would go, anyway. I barely know this girl, and so far, she’s been a pain in the ass.
“I’ll be there,” Crusty says, just as the door chimes from the front. “You guys just bring that up whenever you’re ready. I’ll be at the front.”
Dickhead.
I can’t help but smirk at Nova. She’s no more into the pussy behind the counter than the sheets of drywall in front of us.
“What?” she snaps, cheeks fire engine red. She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”
“Your boyfriend seems nice. If you’re into grown men with the personality of a preteen schoolgirl.”
She gawks at me, punching my arm with all the strength of a feral newborn kitten. “Crusty’s a nice guy,” she urges, her voice quiet as she looks back to make sure he’s still busy with the customer.
There she goes again with that touching shit.
“And he’s not my boyfriend.”
“With a name like Crusty, I can’t imagine why.”
She rolls her eyes, facing the drywall. “Why do you care? I don’t know you.”
“I don’t.” I shrug, though I can think of some part of me that very much cares. “Just amusing to watch you friendzone him in the nicest way possible. Can’t you just say no?”
“I don’t want to hurt his feelings, Reid,” she snaps. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”
Touché.
Half an hour later, we’re back at the inn, drywall in hand, and Nova and I carry it up to the back bedroom with the hole in the wall. I put her to work, mixing a new batch of drywall until it’s the right consistency while I set out cutting the piece to fit in place.
“How did you come to own this place?” I ask quietly when she fails, for the second time, to mix drywall correctly. I take the bucket from her and set about trying to fix it while she stands back watching.
“I don’t. Not yet. My Gran and Pappap own this place.”
“Pappap? Are we five?”
“What do you call your grandparents, then? Grandmother and Grandfather?”
“I don’t call them anything, actually.”
Shit. The look in Nova’s eyes is why I refrain from telling people about my family. Well, that and the other. That information I’ll take to the grave.
“I’m sorry,” Nova murmurs. “I didn’t mean—”
“Stop.” My voice rings out in the small room as a heavy silence falls over us. Where did this anger come from? I’ve gotten used to the fact that I don’t have any family left. I mean, I’ve had twenty-nine years to figure this shit out. Yet . . . when I look up and see that fucking pity in her eyes, I feel like I’m a kid again.
“Nova,” a woman interrupts, popping through the door. Hazel eyes linger on me for a moment. Under normal circumstances, she would be pretty. Right now, with the literal bane of my existence bending over in those damned shorts, I don’t even see the other woman. “We can’t get the washer started again.”
“I can’t. I’m helping—”
“Go,” I tell her. “I can handle this.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I don’t let her.
“Go.”
She stares at me a beat, then her eyes narrow.
Good. It’s better if she hates me. It’ll make leaving her alone, observing her from afar, easier.
“Fine,” she simmers, marching past me. As she does, she shoves the drywall-covered spatula at me, getting it on my shirt. I suppose I deserve it. It also makes me want to spank her ass for being a brat.
And I have no fucking idea where that desire comes from.
She pauses, just as she reaches the door, blue-green eyes flaring with something deeper. Rejection? As if anyone on this island, save for myself, has ever rejected her. “Thanks for your help.”
She storms out, but before she’s out of earshot, I hear her quiet, “Asshole.”