Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
“He did what?” JoJo was beaming and totally psyched, regardless of the fact that a giant-ass hurricane was heading straight for us.
“Yeah, I know. Sweet, right?” I jumped off her counter at the shop and straightened out my clothes.
“It’s extremely sweet. It may even beat Ryan’s sweet moments. I’m impressed.”
I laughed. “Don’t get too excited. We’re just friends.” I could barely get the words out and was so thankful my phone started to ring so I could put a pause on our conversation.
When I glanced down at my screen, I pinched the bridge of my nose while closing my eyes momentarily.
“Who is it?” JoJo asked, standing up on her tiptoes to look over my shoulder. “Your dad? How many times has he called today?”
I glimpsed at the time; it was only ten in the morning, and my father had called me twice and texted me three times.
“Twice. ”
“Are you going to answer?” she asked, voice quiet.
“Nope.”
JoJo didn’t say a word, and I was thankful for it. She knew when I didn’t want to talk about something. That was the great thing about still being best friends with a girl you met ten years ago.
I knew exactly why he was calling even if he didn’t disclose it in the text messages he sent. He called me two days ago, too—the day of Alex’s anniversary. I didn’t answer then, and I wasn’t answering now.
My finger hovered over my text inbox, and I let myself read the messages once again.
Dad : Just calling to make sure you’re okay.
Dad : Call me when you get a chance.
Dad : I love you, Cammie, even if you choose to ignore me.
I took a deep breath and felt a little guilty, but not enough to text him back. I clicked my phone shut and slid it into my back pocket. I lifted my head and watched JoJo prance around her store, setting all of her merchandise on the highest shelves possible.
The hurricane was coming tomorrow, and I had to get home soon to start preparing. I’d been through hurricanes before, so I knew the protocol: board up my windows, get things off the floor, gather candles and flashlights, store up extra food, etc.
I wondered if Luke was doing the same to his house.
Would he even be at his house? I wanted to invite him over to my place; I really did.
I wanted to ride the storm out with him (or on him…
whatever), but I knew it was a terrible idea.
If I got another taste of that man, I’d be a dead girl walkin’—even more so than I was now .
“Are you sure you want to stay here? You can come to Ryan’s parents’ with us. You know they love you just as much as they love me.” JoJo smiled her warm, bright smile at me, but I wanted to stay home for more than one reason.
“I’m sure. You go and spend time with your future in-laws. I’ll be fine.”
She slumped her shoulders. “Fine. But call Ryan if you need any help with getting the house ready. We’re not leaving until tonight.”
“Okay, I will.” I started to walk out of her store only to hear her call my name.
“Love you! Call me when you can so I know you’re okay. And…” She grinned. “Even though we’re pretending that you aren’t going to end up with Luke tonight, use protection!” She laughed hard at herself, and I scowled, hiding my own laughter. It was truly amazing how well I could lie to myself.
You know, I was pretty damn independent.
I mean, let’s face it, I was twenty-five and I lived alone without a man.
Even when I had dated Grant, he wasn’t much of a handyman, or dependable in any other sense.
But nailing these fucking boards up on my windows was hella hard.
I’d hit my thumb three times—in a row, might I add—and even though it was the middle of autumn, I was sweating like a whore in church!
My arm casually wiped my forehead, soaking it with my salty moisture, and down went my hammer...onto the grass below my ladder. Shit !
Yep, that’s right. There I was, standing on my ladder, nailing boards onto the last three windows of my house, too stubborn to go over and ask Luke for help. I saw him in his kitchen window, but I played it off well. I only tripped once while climbing the rails.
“Need this?”
I whipped my head up from resting it against my ladder and yelled in surprise. I eyed Luke in his flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up on his forearms. Jesus, he looked freaking amazing with his tousled hair and wicked grin.
“Why do you insist on sneaking around? You’re like the big bad wolf who spies on the little piglets, ready to pounce at any given second.
It’s creepy. Stop.” I rolled my eyes as his smile grew even larger.
His teeth were so bright in between his lips, and they were so straight. Perfection, I tell ya.
He chuckled. “What is it with you and name-calling? First, I’m a pig, and now I’m the big bad wolf?” His laugh echoed through the air, and then I heard a few snickers from behind him.
I held onto the ladder and peeked around Luke’s body, only to see a few of his friends that I recognized from the ball. I think their names were Dumbo 1 and Dumbo 2.
I ignored his question and snatched the hammer out of his hand.
“So, Doc, what does that make you?”
I exhaled. “What?”
He lowered his voice, moving closer to the ladder. “Well, if I’m the big bad wolf, does that make you one of the little pigs?” I peered down at him, eyebrows raised. “Are you afraid I’m going to eat you, little piggy?”
I gave him a puzzled look. “You are so dumb.” I grabbed a nail and went to hammer it into the plank board.
“You know…I’d love to have another taste of you.”
I hammered the fuck out of that nail, drowning out Luke’s chuckles and the burning desire between my legs.
He’d already had a small taste of me, and him talking like that…
it only made me want him more. I wanted him to taste me again.
For a brief moment, while focusing on the hammering of the nail, I pictured his head between my legs, licking and sucking, tasting every bit of me.
Whew!
“I’m going inside to get a drink,” I said, climbing down the ladder. I left my hammer and other materials on top, planning to come back with a clear head.
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because these idiots have been staring at your ass in those tight jeans while you work that hammer for the past ten minutes. It’s basically every man’s wet dream, Cammie.”
I scrunched my nose and glanced over at the two men, both sporting sly grins right in my direction.
“They’re harmless,” I crooned, turning back to Luke. I sometimes liked egging him on. That was a lie. I always liked it.
“I don’t want them staring at you,” he said matter-of-factly, crossing his forearms over his chest.
“Why?” I inclined my head to the side, holding back a small smile.
“Because, you know why.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and brought myself back to reality. I shook my head and started to walk away when Luke yelled at me, “Go grab some more nails!”
I spun around fast, hearing the leaves crinkle beneath my feet.
“Wha—”
My hands made their way to my hips as I watched Luke climb my old, blue ladder, hammer in hand .
“What are you doing?” I yelled from beside my porch.
“Go get some nails, Cammie.”
“There are nails up there.” I scrunched my eyebrows, nodding my head toward the top of the ladder.
Luke looked down and laughed. “There are three nails. Are you really expecting this board to stand against eighty-mile-an-hour winds with three nails?” He rolled his eyes, and I stood there like a bewildered idiot. “Plus, I need some for my house.”
“Go get your own!”
“I don’t wanna go to the hardware store. Chop chop, we’ve got a storm comin’, darlin’.” There it was, that cute side of him emerging, making dormant butterflies swarm in my stomach.
I turned around quickly and headed inside to clear my head and…to grab some more nails.
When I walked inside my house after throwing the nails at Luke (relax, they were still in a box; I wouldn’t dare harm valuable goods), I stood at my kitchen window—the only window left to board—and my God, the sight of Luke and his sandy-blond hair all jumbled from the wind was breathtaking.
He had taken off his red-and-black flannel shirt and was left standing on the ladder in his gray undershirt, muscles moving swiftly from each pound of the hammer.
I should be ladylike and grab him something to drink. I mean, he was boarding my house up for me even after I’d thrown nails at him.
I dropped my water bottle straight into the sink when I saw him start to peel off his gray shirt.
I gulped. Holy shit, now he was stripping.
I averted my eyes for a moment, reaching into my sink to grab the plastic bottle, and then peeked up again.
He wasn’t looking at me. He was too busy grabbing nails and placing them between his beautiful lips .
I bet when he lived down in South Carolina, his mom probably made him that southern sweet tea.
I could have almost pictured it: Luke working outside, sporting a farmer’s tan, gulping down that sweet, sweet southern tea.
Could you imagine Luke as one of those farmer boys who was always out and about in the South Carolina sun?
Working on the farm, wearing worn Levi’s and nothing more than a cowboy hat?
I bet all the young, pretty girls brought him sweet tea, just to watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down with each drink.
It was too bad that I didn’t have any sweet tea.
Besides, what would he have thought if I had stepped outside and brought him some?
He probably would have assumed it was an invitation to get into my pants, me trying to impress him with my delicious sweet-tea skills.
He would have definitely taken it as an invitation.
But let’s face it. It would have totally been a ploy to get him into my pants, and I would have totally let him.
IF… this were another time in another life.
IF he were a farmer, maybe, but not a military man.
Nope. If I had Luke, I’d want all of him forever, not just for a small amount of time before he got called away to fight for his country.
I wouldn’t have wanted to give him up… and that was exactly what I would have had to do.