Chapter 13 Shannon
Shannon
Friday rolled around before I knew it, and now I’m surrounded by boxes. I hadn’t seen Barney for the past couple of days; not until he knocked on my parents’ door at the arse crack of dawn, in his casual clothes. He looked so lost, holding out a cup of coffee.
A peace offering, he called it.
He offered to help me move, playing the part of a removal man. Not wanting to upset him, after all, he’s still a friend, even if it’s long distance and it’s been months since we last saw each other. I think he now understands nothing will happen between us. At least I hope he does.
I had every intention of catching Wesley before he left for work, but his truck was already gone. I wanted to apologise about the run-in we had at the pub and thank him for fixing my fence; he must have done it while I wasn’t around, again trying to avoid me.
I take in the sight of my living room, from my fold-up tatty festival chair, which has seen more action than me over the years and has held more than the can of lemonade, currently perched in the built-in cup holder.
A warm breeze wafts through the open doors and windows, a sure sign it’s only going to get hotter.
Except my shorts are already clinging to my clammy skin.
If Barney wasn’t still hanging around, I’d have whipped my bra off and unpacked in my cami.
I love the warm weather, but let’s be honest, big boobs and extra curves weren’t built for this kind of heat.
Nothing worse than the sticky feeling of an under-boob flood or chafing thighs. Thankfully, baby powder is a lifesaver.
“Do you want me to start moving these boxes?” Barney’s voice catches me off guard.
I don’t want to upset him, but it’s starting to feel like he’s outstayed his welcome.
I just want to unpack at my own pace, whenever I can be bothered.
No point sorting everything until my new furniture arrives, which could be any day now.
Since my phone lines are being fitted later today, I figured I’d wait until I unpacked everything.
Right now, I’d rather be outside suffering from the heat than lugging boxes about.
Later, I could take a walk through the fields, pick a few raspberries along the way.
Sounds like a better plan to me.
My attention shifts back to Barney. “You’ve done enough, thanks for everything.” Hopefully, he’ll take the hint and go visit other people who are more important than me, like his family.
“I really don’t mind.” A faint pink blush covers his cheeks. “Do… do you want me to put your bed up?” Oh God, this has to stop. What I want is for him to bugger off, basically be anywhere but here.
“Honestly, I’m going to sleep on the mattress tonight,” I add quickly.
“My new frame hasn’t arrived yet.” Instead of nodding and leaving, he crouches in front of me, taking my hands in his soft ones, no doubt his daily routine includes smothering them in high end moisturiser.
He watches me like he’s trying to come up with every reason to stay.
“Barney, why don’t you go and see your family?
” His face falls, deflating like a party balloon the morning after.
But he’s starting to cross the line between friends and flirting.
“We can catch up soon though?” I say, hoping he’ll understand.
This is getting unbearable.
“I’ll do anything for you, Shannon, you know that, right?” Fuck’s sake, how obvious can I be. I gently pull my hands away and rest them on his shoulders
“Listen, I need some space. You’ve only been here a few days but,” I say, as I slide my hands from his shoulders, clasping them in my lap, “you should go.”
With a sigh, he pushes to his feet. “You’re probably right.” He bends down, pressing a chaste kiss on my forehead. “I’ll come by soon.” Pulling myself up from the chair, I follow him to the door, just as Wesley’s truck pulls into his driveway.
Barney notices the sudden shift in my posture, his head turning towards Wesley, but Wesley is too busy burning holes in my head.
He glances at Barney before shutting off his engine.
He climbs out, slamming the door of his truck, then stalks off, disappearing into his house.
Barney’s eyes flick between mine and Wesley’s house.
“What’s his problem?” His brows knit together when he notices the tension between me and Wesley.
“He probably had a bad day at work,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. Even though it’s barely past lunchtime and he’s already home, but I’m not going to talk to him about Wesley.
“Well, something must have pissed him off, he’s looking right at us,” Barney says, but I grip his wrist before he says anything else.
Big mistake, he misreads the gesture, and before I can react, he drops his head, cups my face with his too soft hands, and moves in for a kiss.
It happens too fast. His lips are on mine, a sloppy, sticky lemonade kiss.
It’s not nice, he knows I’m not interested, yet here we are again, as he tries to keep shoving his tongue down my throat…
Jesus does this man eat anything without onions? I shove him off me, my temper flares.
“Bloody hell, Barney! How many times do I have to tell you I am not interested?” I don’t give him the chance to cut me off. “You should go.” My fingernails dig into my clenched fist; he had no right to kiss me. Again.
He’s as bold as brass when he says, “Any problems…” He jerks his chin towards Wesley’s house. “Call me.” A frown creeps across my face; he clearly couldn’t give a shit about what he’s just done.
“I want to make sure you’re safe.” Right.
Have you seen the size of Wesley compared to you?
Barney couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag, let alone a six-foot-four builder who’s built like a bloody tank, yeah, dream on, pal.
I hold my tongue, not wanting to get into a full-blown testosterone war.
“I will.”
Barney nods and skips down the steps to his hire car.
He jumps in, winds the window down, and can’t just drive away without throwing another cringy line my way.
“Later, baby.” Don’t give him the finger, Shannon, I warn myself before walking inside, closing the door with a sigh, forgetting about Barney and focusing on Wesley.
What the hell is his problem with me? Fair enough, he’s giving me the silent treatment, apart from the odd door banging, but does he have to give me the attitude? We can live next door to each other without coming to blows, surely?
Before I can lose myself in any more thoughts about my broody neighbour, a hefty cherry picker truck rumbles up the lane, pulling up outside with the phone company’s logo displayed across the side in bold letters. Rushing outside just as the man hops out, glancing between me and his clipboard.
“Miss Newton?” He smiles.
“That’s me.” Finally, decent broadband. A phone line that actually works. I’m practically buzzing. “Come in.”
He trails behind me as I point out the rooms, while he scribbles away on his clipboard like he’s taking my order.
“So, one in the kitchen, one in the bedroom, and one in the office. No problem.” He heads towards the front door.
“I’m going to have to go up there.” He points to the thirty-foot wooden pole. Rather him than me.
“To do that, I need to reverse my truck so I can lift the bucket,” he explains, like I have the slightest clue what he’s talking about.
To be honest, he lost me at the bucket. He waves a hand towards the trees lining the lane.
Fair point, they’re in the way. “Will your neighbours object to me parking across the driveway?” Shit.
Knocking on Wesley’s door is the last thing I want to do.
I don’t think seeing me on his doorstep will soften Mr Crabby-Crank.
But I need this done, so I can start working. He’s not the only one who lives here.
“How long will it take?”
He pauses. “An hour at the most.” Tapping his pen against the clipboard before sliding it behind his ear, waiting for me to make a decision.
I should probably let Wesley know but fuck him and his arsehole self, slamming his doors, acting the big I am.
God knows what he’ll say when he finds out about the plane.
“It’s fine, go ahead.” Once he’s gone, I figure I might as well start moving some boxes into the right rooms, ready for unpacking.
I shift the last box into my bedroom so I can make up my bed on the floor for tonight.
Now I’ve started unpacking, the urge to sit on my arse all day and do nothing has vanished.
Pulling out the new bedding, along with fresh new sheets Mum bought me, the bare room is starting to feel like a bedroom.
Now all I need to do is build my bed up when it arrives and order a new wardrobe.
I’m wrestling with a pillow when I hear it, the first hint of drama and raised voices… angry ones.
“How long is it going to take?” My face screws up, recognising the voice.
Tossing the pillow aside, I wriggle across the mattress to peek out the window.
And there he is, Wesley.
Standing outside, shorts hung low on his hips, the fabric hugging his arse in a way that should be a crime. His arms folded across his chest, T-shirt straining across the width of his broad, muscled back.
“Fuck.” I'm too busy shamelessly ogling my neighbour to realise who he’s even talking to, or rather, shouting the odds at.
“How long is a piece of string?” The phone engineer shouts down to him, while half wrapped around the pole in his harness like a koala bear.
He’s asking for trouble.
“I didn’t fucking ask how long a piece of string was,” Wesley’s voice booms back, his irritation sharp enough to tear through the shirt on his back. I like this engineer’s humour, but not when it’s directed at my short-tempered, grouchy neighbour.