12. Anthony
Chapter 12
Anthony
T HE BOWLING LANES are on the fritz. I call Jim, like always, and he tells me to get Darcy to look at them.
“Jim, you’re my bowling lane guy.”
“Sure as shit couldn’t tell you why,” he shoots back. “I just get back there and poke around until something starts working. I’m telling you, Darcy is the better mechanic.”
“Pretty sure Darcy is the better everything, Jim,” I say, resigned.
Jim chuckles. “You’re not wrong.”
I click off and go upstairs, opening the door and bracing myself for the interaction. The place smells of sawdust and watermelon-cherry, and a song I don’t recognize blasts into the air. Something kind of country, kind of rock and roll. Darcy’s singing along, her back to me, swinging her lush hips. Her overalls are unhooked, held up only by the tool belt she wears, and her pink tank top rides up, revealing a thick strip of skin that I want nothing more than to nip and bite. I bet it’s salty from the work she’s doing.
It’s been a week since she walked in and heard me. And while the promise of punishment has worked to keep her out of my space before 9 a.m., it’s also unlocked every fantasy I could possibly have about her and then some. I’m jerking myself off every fucking day to thoughts of her, and sometimes twice. I need it to stop. Need her to be done with this damn renovation, but of course there have been delays with materials, and she’s taken off more days this past week than ever before. But of course I can’t ask her about them. Not after I sexually harassed her. I mean, she liked it, sure, and she gave it back to me just as good, but still. She’s working for me.
She turns, and the glint of a navel piercing winks at me, and I think I might die. Jesus. A navel piercing in that soft stomach. Begging for me to trace it, to rub my head against her as though I’m marking her.
I am so very fucked.
She raises an eyebrow, then bends to turn the music off.
“Bowling lanes are on the fritz,” I say. “Your dad said you were the one to talk to.”
She preens. “Really? That was nice of him.”
I shrug. “Nice or not, it’s apparently the truth.”
She sets the saw down. “It is, but he’s never one to gush about me.”
“I wouldn’t say he gushed.”
Her expression falls, and instantly I feel like an asshole. “Let me have my fantasy, Anthony.” She stalks past me, her sweet scent trailing in her wake. “Well? You coming?”
I follow her down the stairs and into the hidden area behind the lanes. The fit is tight, of course it is, but Darcy ignores me completely, pulling a flashlight out of her tool belt and shining it around the mechanics. I lean against the far wall, staying out of her way as much as possible, and marvel at her.
She’s focused entirely on the problem, her eyes flitting everywhere she shines the flashlight, and all it does is make me want her that much more. But it’s more than that. Which is a problem.
Darcy makes a noise in the back of her throat, as though she’s identified something, and turns back to me. “You didn’t bring my tools?”
My lips part. “What?”
She gives a long-suffering sigh. “Anthony. If you’re going to follow me around like an apprentice, then you have to act like one. I need my toolbox.”
“I thought you had your tools right there.” I point stupidly at the belt around her waist.
Reaching up to adjust the bandana around her head, she asks, “Do you really think I have what I need right here?”
She’s definitely got what I need, so…maybe? I shake the thought away and mumble, “Be right back,” before going to get the woman’s tools.
A half hour later, I’m handing her whatever she needs as she demands it, watching as though I’m going to learn something and knowing good and well the only thing I’m learning is how luscious she looks with her ass bent into the air as she does something with a wrench. Which reminds me of yoga and the way she gave me such shit.
“I miss you,” I blurt, then immediately regret it.
I blame her butt. I’ve been utterly transfixed by it, and suddenly I’m telling her I miss her.
She turns and straightens, slowly, as if fully aware she’s the one in control right now. With her eyes pinned to mine, she says, “Good.”
A laugh escapes me. “Good?”
Her plush velvet lips quirk up. “Yeah. Good. Because I like talking to you.”
She emphasizes the word talk and I have no idea what to do with that. Is that code for something? Does everyone her age know what that means and I’m just an old fuddy-duddy with no clue of what “kids these days” do?
I am a disaster.
She must see the confusion on my face, because she laughs. Then, with the softest smile I’ve ever seen on her face, she says, “I miss you, too.”
I clear my throat. “As—as friends.”
The smile falters and her eyes dim as she blinks, then nods once. “Right. As friends.”
It’s an asshole thing to do, and I know it. But I’m losing control here and the only way I know to take it back is to put some distance between us. I could feel myself wanting to kiss her. To do whatever I want to her. And I can’t. She is too young. And I am…well, I’m not old, exactly, but I’m too old for her.
She finishes up quickly, the silence suddenly stilted and awkward, and I lead her back out. She takes her leave without another word, turning to the loft while I go back to my comfort zone behind the bar. It’s the one place I control everything, and good God, do I need some fucking control right now.
I exhale, willing my thoughts to settle, needing to drop into the mindlessness of work.
But of course, this is the exact moment Ox chooses to waltz in, brandishing his phone screen at me as he closes the distance. “Okay, big brother, it’s time.”
“For what?” Then I see it’s Levi on the screen and inwardly groan. This is about?—
“Planning Mom and Dad’s party and Dad’s retirement!” Ox’s smile is so big and bright that it damn near hurts my feelings.
“Anthony,” Levi intones.
“Levi,” I return. We don’t talk much—okay, we don’t talk at all—but I really wish the asshole lived here. Ox would be a hell of a lot more, I don’t know, manageable. But Levi has a life in New Orleans with his wife, so whatever.
“I’m thinking we’ll have it here.” Ox dives right in.
“No.” Levi and I speak simultaneously.
Ox’s face falls. “Why not?”
“We can do better than that,” Levi answers.
“Fuck you,” I growl.
“Fuck you right back,” Levi says. “You don’t want to have it there anyway, so don’t get your panties twisted. Your place isn’t good for this, and you know it. We need a place that we can do up all fancy and shit. You know Mom would love that.”
I fight the urge to slam the phone to the ground. Whether I want to have the party here or not is beside the point. But for Levi to say my place isn’t good enough? Fuck him. Growing up, we would have all killed to come to a place like this.
Whatever. I’m not nearly as close to my parents as my brothers are. Which makes sense, I guess. I was six when they were born; old enough to fend for myself, and that’s exactly what I had to do. Mom had her hands full with the twins, and Dad was either working, grading papers, or doing side jobs to try and make ends meet. And even once the boys got older, they still took all the attention. I was always quiet and watchful, and my brothers were most definitely not. These days, it’s as though they’re only proud of the twins, and I guess I get it—one’s a successful lawyer and the other is the town chief of police. But it’s not like I haven’t done well for myself. I run a successful family entertainment venue off the pier. How is that not enough? They’ve been here all of one time.
I focus my attention back to the conversation that’s continued without me.
“Can we pay someone to do the decorating?” Levi’s asking.
“Where?”
Ox levels an exasperated look at me. “At the rec center, Anthony. Were you paying any attention or were you just being broody, like always?”
I don’t answer. Because clearly, I was “being broody,” even though I disagree with the way he couches it. Also, how is it that the rec center can be made “fancy,” but my place can’t?
Levi snorts. “Good old Anthony. Always consistent, brother. Never change.”
The comment chafes. “We’ll do it here.”
“No,” Levi responds. “I don’t want little gremlins running around when we’re trying to have a nice party for Mom and Dad.”
“I can close the place.”
“I’m with Levi on this one,” Ox says. “The rec center makes more sense. Plus, they have a kitchen, and you don’t. Which is wild, by the way. When are you going to fix that? The amount of money you could make on pizza alone?—”
“Ox, focus,” Levi snaps, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Anthony, can you find me someone to hire to decorate the rec center?”
I have no idea, but before I can say that, Levi bulldozes on.
“Ox, can you reach out to the caterer?”
“Of course.”
“Then we’re done here. Talk to you later.”
The screen goes dark, and Ox looks up at me. “Guess we’ve got a plan.”
Gritting my teeth, I answer. “Guess so.”
“Tell me what’s going on with Darcy.”
Startled, I meet his eyes. For as goofy as my little brother may pretend to be, he is incredibly smart and observant as hell. It’s what makes him such a great police chief. It’s also what got me in trouble more times than I care to admit. “Nothing.”
He tilts his head. “You really expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t really care if you believe it or not. That’s the truth.”
He snorts, sounding exactly like his twin, and slides off the stool. “Okay. Keep telling yourself that. And let me know when you’re ready to talk.”
I watch him walk away, images of Darcy and her tool belt swirling in my head, unable to decide if there’s really anything to talk about or not.