Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Parking?” Wayne ventures, still sounding unsure.
I’ve been down Riverdale Street three times already—to do the quote, to deliver the bid, and to meet with the permit guy from the city. There should be no problems with parking, not even for our big trucks and trailers. “Let me guess. Somebody hit a mailbox?”
It sucks, but it happens. Surprisingly, Wayne doesn’t hum in agreement. “No, but uh… can you just come see for yourself?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, even though stopping by Riverdale was on my to-do list today. Gotta do the smile-and-shake-hands shit on day one of a new project. But I usually stop by later in the day to see how things are going and reassure any nervous homeowners. “I’m not too far. Gimme twenty.”
Wayne chuckles under his breath. “See you in like thirty, maybe forty-five.”
He hangs up, leaving me confused. What the fuck? Like I said, I’m not far, and I’m not a liar who exaggerates and leaves my guys hanging. Going out to my truck, I climb in and start it up, mentally already telling myself that I’ll make it in fifteen to spite Wayne and whatever’s crawled up his ass.
Twenty minutes later, I know exactly what he was talking about.
I’m trying to turn onto Riverdale Street, but there’s a backlog of big trucks lining the roads all around it. There are trucks parked all along the curbs too and crews of guys hopping out and hustling toward Riverdale.
What the hell is going on? Is there some Snap-on Tools sale or free energy drink samples up ahead?
I slow-roll my way through the traffic until I get close enough to see that all these trucks seem to be stopping at the house next to my latest job.
Fuck!
Kathy Wilson is bad enough, but if she’s got a neighbor running some sort of construction crew midday party, we’re gonna have problems.
I make my way up to the house and pull over to the curb when another truck pulls out. I yank my ballcap on my head and get out, looking up and down the street in confusion. The truck that’s been behind me for the last thirty minutes honks, and I glare at the guy behind the wheel. He gestures to the house behind me like that’s supposed to mean something to me.
“Marco!” the guy in the passenger seat yells loudly.
“Uh, Polo?” I mutter, not sure what that’s about.
Then, from inside the house, a voice shouts, “Honk at me again and your ass won’t be getting lunch for a month, Marco!”
Whoever it is, she sounds pissed enough to carry out that threat. A few seconds later, a woman stomps out the open front door with fire shooting out of her eyes as she finds her target—the guy driving the truck behind me. He holds his hands out innocently, silently apologizing to the woman, and then he points at me.
She turns a narrow-eyed, sharp scowl my way. “Who are you? Is that your truck? Move it.”
Having apparently said her piece, she walks right past me and up to Marco’s passenger window where she passes over a huge stack of Styrofoam boxes and a few items wrapped in aluminum foil. She talks to them for a second, clearly negotiating something. Since I can’t hear her, I look her up and down.
She’s sporting a huge, jet-black bun neatly coiled on top of her head that tells me she has either lots of hair, long hair, or both. Her eyes are dark and surrounded by thick lashes. And her loose T-shirt and yoga pants do nothing to hide her full breasts and nice ass.
As she talks, she’s gesturing back, presumably at me, and I’m guessing Marco is explaining that they were honking at me, not her. She gives him a clipped nod and taps the passenger door. “See you tomorrow.”
Marco’s relief is written all over his face as the gorgeous firecracker whirls, her glare pining me in place. Marco and his crew pull away, their laughter ringing out the window as they go.
“Good luck, man!” one of them yells. They obviously know things I don’t, but I don’t have time to guess what as this woman’s suddenly right in my face, looking very bothered… and very hot, but not in the way that I’d prefer. Oh, her cheeks are flushed, her dark eyes are full of fire, and her lips are curling at the ends, but it’s not a smile. It’s more of a snarl.
I cross my arms over my chest, standing my ground against whatever pretty pit bull act she’s got.
“What are you still doing there?” she demands. “I don’t do orders on the fly, and if you keep blocking my curb, your order won’t be accepted tomorrow or any day after that, either.”
She seems to think that threat should hold significant weight. The only problem? I have no idea what she’s talking about. “What?”