Chapter 2
Damon
“Is it lined up with the stud?”
“Hell, yeah, baby,” Rudy leered. “All the ladies say so.”
I rolled my eyes. “Holding sheetrock here. How about you get on with nailing it in place?”
“You want me to nail you?” he said. “I don’t know if I’m into that.”
“Jesus fucking Chri—”
My foreman Lyle Jennings came into view, and I clamped my jaw shut. Rudy pounded a couple of nails into the panel like a diligent little worker instead of an annoying motormouth.
Once the panel was affixed to the studs, I dropped my arms and shook them out. “Next time, you can hold the sheetrock.”
“With these short arms?” he said, shaking his head. “No can do.”
“All right, guys,” Lyle said. “It’s lunch.”
Thank fuck. We’d gotten started at the buttcrack of dawn, also known as six a.m., and it was hot as balls out today.
I yanked off my work gloves, swiped my sweaty hands on my jeans, then tugged off my work vest.
Across the room, Ted had the same idea, only he stripped off his T-shirt too. Damn. He was more built than me.
While I watched, he upended a bottle of water over his head with an exaggerated groan of relief. My stomach gave an odd twist at the sight.
I must be hungry.
“Ow-ow-ow!” Rudy cat-called. “Go outside if you’re gonna get naked. Damn man, we’re not into that.”
“Speak for yourself,” Carl called back. “Lyle probably digs it.”
“Lyle only digs his boyfriend,” Lyle said dryly. “And if Truman asks, you assholes better all say exactly that.”
The guys laughed. Things had been awkward when Lyle and Truman first became a couple, but Truman’s dad—and the owner of Scott Construction Company—had told us in no uncertain terms that we could pack our shit and get out if we wanted to act like homophobes.
The guys got on board, most of them because they needed the paycheck.
But I’d always been a live and let live kind of guy, anyway.
I fell into step with Lyle as he headed outside. A lot of guys brought their lunch to the worksite, but I wanted an air-conditioned reprieve. Luckily, the subdivision development wasn’t far from downtown.
“I’m gonna grab a bite at The Stag Pub,” I said. “You in?”
“Yeah, sure. Truman made me an egg-salad sandwich, but I can’t bring myself to eat it.”
I laughed. “Why don’t you tell him you don’t want it?”
“He was so cute. He got this egg cooker, and he spent a ridiculous amount of time peeling the eggs and mixing it up.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to disappoint him.”
“That’s…”
“Sappy?”
I smirked. “You said it, not me.”
But I damn sure thought it. I couldn’t imagine losing my shit over a woman that way. I’d had a few girlfriends, some even serious, but no one that made me feel any kind of special way.
Not enough to pretend to like egg salad, anyway.
“We can take my truck,” I said.
Lyle climbed into the passenger seat, and just as I started the engine, my cell phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the phone number, so I let it go to voicemail.
“I hope they have the Philly Cheese today,” Lyle said.
“I don’t care what they have as long as the beer is cold.”
“We have to be back on the worksite in thirty,” Lyle reminded me.
He was my foreman, and I wasn’t about to get drunk over lunch.
“I’ll order a Miller Lite. I barely feel that shit. No worries, boss man. I’ll be safe at work.”
His lips quirked. “You better.”
I swung into a parking space in front of the pub, and we headed inside. Calista was working behind the bar. We’d dated once, but she’d since broken out the U-Haul for her longtime girlfriend, so that ship had sailed.
“Hey, Lyle,” she said, smiling brightly. Her gaze flicked to me, then right on past as if I wasn’t even there.
“You’re breaking my heart, darlin’.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not sure you have one, Damon.”
“Ouch.”
“Can we get a couple of Philly Cheesesteaks?” Lyle asked. “A water for me and a Miller Lite for him.”
Calista snorted. “So two waters. Got it.”
She turned away to fill our pint glasses. My phone rang again.
I lifted it to my ear. “Yeah?”
“Hey, I saw the ad for your truck for sale?”
What now?
“My truck’s not for sale.”
“But the ad said it was a F150, midnight blue? For sale for 10k?”
“Ten-fucking-K? My truck is worth three times that, and like I said, it’s not for sale. You must have the wrong number.”
“Oh, bummer. Okay. Sorry.”
I stuffed the phone in my pocket and grabbed the beer from the bar.
“Scammer?” Lyle asked.
“Something like that.” I lifted my glass and took a long, refreshing drink. Even watered-down beer tasted fantastic after working in ninety-five-degree heat.
“Damn. Maybe Ted had the right idea. I kind of want to strip off my shirt and pour this fucker over my head.”
Calista laughed. “I’d pay to see that show.”
“Watch out now,” I said with a grin. “You’ll be in trouble with that girl of yours.”
“Please, if I got in trouble for every man who acted like a fool in this pub, she’d have kicked me out a long time ago. I’ll have your food out in a few.”
“Thanks, Callie,” Lyle said. “We’ll just grab a table and stay out of your hair.”
She nodded. “Keep an eye on that one. He’s trouble.”
Lyle chuckled. “Trust me, I already know.”
We made our way to a table a few feet from the bar and took our seats. There was a rowdy group of landscapers a few feet away. I recognized Wes and Beck Monroe, husbands and co-owners of Potter Landscaping.
Wes was originally a Potter, and his dad passed the business on to them, but when he got married he took his stepbrother’s name. I still couldn’t get over that. The guy had married his stepbrother!
“There must be something in the water in this town,” I mumbled, eyes on the brother-husbands.
Lyle followed my gaze. “Guess it’s good you’re drinking Miller Lite then.”
I chuckled. “Yeah. Otherwise, my neighbor would probably convert me.”
Lyle raised an eyebrow.
“Joking,” I said. “Only joking.”
“Good. Because we don’t convert anyone, Damon. If a man is attracted to another man, then that’s just his sexuality at work. There’s no one forcing him to do it.”
“A bad joke,” I amended. “I guess it wasn’t funny. Sorry.”
“It is funny, though, that your neighbor the first person you thought of.”
I scowled. “That doesn’t mean anything. He’s just gay, is all, and I can tell he likes what he sees.”
“Very modest of you.”
I smirked. “He also hates my guts.”
“Well, that’s pretty on brand.”
I winced, but Lyle wasn’t wrong. I had a magical way of pissing off just about everyone I dated—and a few I didn’t. I thought I was confident; they thought I was egotistical. I thought I was funny, and they thought I was a sarcastic fuck.
Maverick fell right into that demographic, too.
I’d pissed him off since the very day I moved in.
I’d been lugging furniture and boxes all day, and by the time I was done, I wanted to decompress.
Didn’t help that I was fresh off a “get the fuck out of my house” break-up with Stella, during which she’d destroyed my favorite T-shirts by stabbing them with scissors and telling me she wished I was in them when she had.
It wasn’t pretty, and I wasn’t suitable company for anyone.
Maverick didn’t know that, of course, and he’d trotted over like a one-man welcome wagon with a plate of goddamned cookies.
They’d been peanut butter blossoms, with a Hershey’s kiss in the center of each.
He’d shown up and started chattering about the duplex we shared, the great neighborhood, his many, many rules about his side of the porch, his side of the drive, and his side of the yard.
Considering Stella had given me a lot of rules about her house and her kids and her boundaries, I wasn’t in the mood.
“I think the cookies come with too many strings,” I’d said. “Thanks, anyway.”
Then I’d closed the door in his stunned face.
I’d tried to apologize later, but the damage had been done. Mav had never seen me as anything but a rude asshole, and I couldn’t say I even blamed him.
But when he’d called in a complaint about my grass being an inch too tall—resulting in the city warning me I could be fined—then lectured me over the weeds along the fencerow, I’d stopped feeling bad about our first meeting gone wrong.
Mav was a certified pain in the ass, and I’d had to fight fire with fire.
Calista delivered our cheesesteaks, and for the next ten minutes, we scarfed our food in relative quiet.
We’d just settled the tab when my phone rang again. Another unknown number.
I answered it. “Who is this?”
“Hey, I was calling about the truck for sale? I’d like to come test drive it.”
“It’s not for sale,” I growled.
“But the ad said—”
I punched the Disconnect with a huff.
“What’s that about?” Lyle asked.
“For some reason, people seem to think my truck is for sale. As if I’d ever give up my baby.”
“Why would they think it was for sale?”
My eyes narrowed. “Yeah, why would they?”
I had a sneaking suspicion I knew why. It started with a Mav being mad I’d parked in the center of the driveway and ended with a bratty neighbor who was going to regret fucking with me.
A plan began to take shape in my mind, and I grinned.
“Why do you look so happy about this?” Lyle asked, sounding confused.
“Because it’s payback time.”