Chapter 8
Mac
It wouldn't matter if we weren't having an unusually warm late December day. Insulation makes me itch like crazy at any temperature. It might possibly be the one thing about this type of job that I despise, but it's one of those necessary evils.
Climbing down from the ladder, I take a look around. We're in the process of renovating an old barn and turning it into a nice little party barn for a local couple. Since I'm waiting on concrete to dry on a different job, I have my entire crew here today, making this job go a little faster than we had quoted, and that's always a plus. Getting the job done timely is great, but getting it done before the quoted schedule is amazing. It opens the books for other jobs, and I'm all about making a little more money.
I walk past two of the guys that I've hired for part-time work. Colin is doing a great job, and it isn't that Zac isn't doing a good job, he's just not doing it safely.
"Zac," I snap, my annoyance coming out in my tone. "See Ethan for today's pay."
"What?" the college student asks, his hands still buried deep in the insulation.
"Your fucking mask, man. He's told you half a dozen times."
Zac releases the insulation, the stuff falling forward and hitting him in the face as he tries to lift his mask as if he hadn't forgotten in the first place.
"See Ethan for today's pay," I repeat. "Then get off my jobsite."
The young man glares at me, but he doesn't say a word before turning to his friend. "You coming?"
"I'm wearing my mask, idiot. I got shit to pay for. See ya later," Colin says before refocusing back on the task at hand.
I stand, waiting for Zac to follow my instructions and not willing to walk away if there's going to be a problem. All guys who work on my crew are required to follow safety standards, and wearing a mask and helmet at all times on all jobs isn't something I'm going to look past.
My phone rings as Zac stomps past me, mumbling profanities under his breath. If I hadn't warned him so many times today, the kid might still have a job.
I grin down at my phone when I see Riley's name on the screen. I need a favor, but there's also a hint of ulterior motive with why I called her earlier this morning. She’s dynamite in bed, and I'm thinking we could both blow off a little more steam.
I clear my throat before answering.
"What do you want?" she growls after I say hello.
"I can see why you might be upset," I say, knowing exactly where her attitude is coming from. "I was rude. I apologize."
What I won't say is that I blurted out about asking her if she wanted to walk or wanted to call a cab because my first instinct was to pull her to my chest and stroke her silky blonde hair until we both fell asleep. The impoliteness stems from needing to put some distance between the two of us, both physically and metaphorically.
Lying in bed and being an asshole, and then not saying a word the entire rest of the night when I dropped her off at her vehicle was all part of that. I never imagined that I'd open my contacts with the intention of calling her again.
But here we are.
"Mac," she hisses. "What the fuck do you want?"
To fill that filthy mouth with my cock.
"I need a favor."
"You've got a lot of nerve, buddy."
Ignoring her anger, I continue, "I'd like for you to cook for me."
"Did someone drop a hammer on your head?"
"The McGees need to be wooed, and I don't think a grilled cheese sandwich and canned tomato soup is going to entice them to give me the bid on their downtown remodel."
"Sounds like a you problem," she says, but her tone is different.
I know she needs work as much as I want to win that bid against whatever company the McGees may be considering bringing in from the city.
"I'd pay you, of course."
"I have an amazing Gruyere and cranberry panini that pairs well with my gazpacho recipe," she says, a hint of professionalism in her voice.
"I don't know what that is," I mutter, feeling more than a little out of my element.
"The sandwich would have dried cranberries and a hint of... "
My mind wanders, my thoughts going back to that night a week ago. I can't stop thinking about the noises she made, her whimpers right in my ear when I covered her with my body. I ache to taste her again, to fill her up until she asks me to wait and let her body adjust to my cock. I want her short nails digging into my back, her thighs squeezing me at my sides.
"Is that something you'd be interested in?"
"What?"
Her growl affects my body the same way it would if she had been right in front of me, letting that fiery attitude of hers take control.
I reach down and adjust my cock, catching Ethan's eyes as he watches Zac get into his car and leave.
The college student spins his tires, but the older model Mazda just doesn't have the power needed to cause the scene he's hoping for. I shake my head and turn my back on the guys working so I can focus on Riley.
"You want me to repeat all of that?" she snaps, clearly annoyed with my lack of focus.
Hell, I'm annoyed that she has any effect on me at all.
"I just need you to come and cook a meal for the McGees," I say. "It doesn't have to be fancy."
"I'm not making chicken and dumplings," she says, picking up the conversation from the bar last week. "I'm available tomorrow. I can do a sampling menu and you can decide what you want me to cook for them."
"Tomorrow is great," I say. "But it can't be a sampling. It has to be the full meal."
"I think—"
"I already invited them," I explain. "So you'll just need to come and cook."
Silence fills the line for so long, I have to pull my phone away from my ear and stare down at the damn thing to make sure she hasn't hung up.
"Riley?"
"Let me get this straight. You promised someone in town that I'll cook for them without asking me, and you just assume that I'm free and can do what you want when you want me to do it."
"When you put it that way, it really makes me seem like an asshole," I mutter.
"Oh, there's no doubt that you're an asshole," she clarifies.
"I trust that what you make will be amazing," I say, trying to soften her mood.
I like it when she's feisty, but I can't have her being so angry that she refuses .
"I'm busy tomorrow."
"You just said you were available," I argue.
"I just had someone book through my online scheduling."
"Liar," I lament. "I checked your website. It hasn't been updated since last year."
"Word Press is hard for some people," she hisses.
"That's why you hire that shit out."
"Not everyone has enough work to keep them busy five days a week, Mr. I Get All The Jobs In Town."
"Maybe you'd have more work if you didn't lie about being busy."
Another lengthy silence fills the line, and this time I wait her out.
She may hate me. She may not want to work with me, but I know she needs this job as much as I need her to do it.
"They'll be at my house at six in the evening," I explain. "I figure you can determine what time you need to be there with that information. I look forward to tasting you. Your food I mean. See you tomorrow."
I hang up, feeling like a complete fucking idiot.
It's clear that the woman hates me, but there was no faking what we shared last week. Hate sex can be great sex, right? She doesn't have to like me to come on my cock.
I pray that I'm right and that she won't forgo a business opportunity because I was a dick. It's not like I'll ever explain to her why I did it.
It makes me too vulnerable. Much in the same way I feel thinking about the McGees choosing someone else when it’s always been Hammertime Construction trucks outside of the renovations that have taken place downtown. I feel like a failure already, having to jump through so many hoops for this local family. Our work history should prove itself, but at the same time, I understand how bad the economy is.
The McGees picking someone from the city would be based solely on that bottom line, not on the quality of the work. There isn't anyone who is going to show that old theater the care it needs as my team would. I can't lower my bid, or I'll be working for free and I have bills to pay as much as the next person.
"Ready for lunch, boss?" Ethan asks as he digs around in the middle of his utility van.
The man is always prepared for everything, and I like that about him.
"We're starving," Donnie says, speaking for both him and his twin Ronnie. "What's on the menu? "
I watch as lunch unfolds, Ethan first pulling his fucking microwave from his van and plugging it into one of the extension cords we have running from the house on the property.
Eating leftovers and stuff that can be heated quickly in the microwave is one of the ways we save time and get our jobs done faster. The guys voted on it this way. The more jobs we can get done the more money they make. We celebrate the end of each big job with a meal at the diner, and that seems to be enough for all of us.
"I scored a handful of servings of Ruth's chicken and dumplings last night," Ethan says with a broad smile as the crew begins to voice their love for the guy.
I don't know what Riley's problem is. Ruth could end wars with her chicken and dumplings recipe.