Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“No.” I don’t look at him. I go up another step to take some of the pressure off my arms that are starting to shake.
“Get down.”
“Just do your thing,” I hiss, struggling to keep my arms up. God, I need to work out.
“Jesus fuck,” he growls before the sound of the nail gun goes off, the loud noise making me jump each and every time. Only once I know it’s safe to do so, I lower my arms and start down the steps with the gun still sounding. When quiet fills the room, I look up, and my eyes collide with Tide’s. He’s pissed. Even not really knowing him, I can see the anger in his eyes and the set of his jaw. “What the fuck were you thinking?” The tone of his question vibrates though the room and me.
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “I was helping.”
“I see you think that, babe, but what would you have done if the ladder gave out from our combined weight?”
Crap, I didn’t think about that happening.
“Right... now, what do you think would’ve happened if one of the nails ricocheted and hit you?”
Damn, I didn’t think about that either. “Is something like that even possible?”
“Ask my friend Tiny, who recently had to have a nail removed from his shoulder.”
Ouch.
“I was just trying to help,” I say softy.
“You can help me out by not trying to help me out.”
I feel my nose scrunch up. He’s been working by himself, and obviously, even with his strength and experience, it’s not easy installing drywall on a ceiling alone. “Why aren’t there guys here helping you?” I question as he gets off the ladder.
“I don’t need help with this stuff,” he responds, moving the ladder across the room before going to where the sheetrock is stacked at an angle against the wall. I watch his muscular arms flex as he grabs a sheet and once more lifts it up over his head.
When he reaches the steps of the ladder and goes up, I instinctively move forward without a thought and help him move it into place, going up the opposite side.
“Seriously?”
I don’t apologize again. I just wait, not meeting his gaze. I listen as he lets out an annoyed breath, and I jump when the sound of the nail gun startles me. When the loud banging comes to an end, I let my arms drop and start back down the ladder. When a warm, strong hand wraps around my fingers, I stop with one foot firmly on the ground, the other floating in the air.
“What did I say?”
Oh, Lord. I thought he was pissed before, but I was wrong. I realize how wrong I was when I peek at him through my lashes.
“I’m just trying to help.”
“And again, I don’t need help, and if I did, I’d call one of my guys here and have them help me.”
“Fine.” I toss my arms in the air. “But don’t come crying to me if one of these pieces of drywall crashes into your head and knocks you out.”
“Not gonna happen,” he mutters, stepping down off the ladder and walking across the room to get another piece. Once more, I watch him heft it over his head, and when he gets to the ladder, he looks at me to make sure I haven’t moved.
“I’m not moving.”
“Yeah, I bet it’s killing you,” he grumbles, and I narrow my eyes on his. He’s right; my feet are itching to move and help him, but if he wants to be a chauvinistic alpha male who refuses help, then so be it.
“Carry on, sir.” I sweep my hand out and lift my chin, watching his lips twitch as he goes up the steps. Then I watch in awe, because he doesn’t seem to need any help as he lifts the piece in place and nails it in before taking a screw gun and adding screws along the seam.
“The peanut gallery is silent all of a sudden.” He smiles at me, resting his elbows on the top of the ladder looking far to hot for his own good.
“Being a showoff is not a good quality.”
“So you’d rather me be unconscious on your living room floor with no help in sight because you refused to help me?” He raises a brow.
“Don’t be annoying.” I turn on my heel, listening to him laugh as I go into the kitchen. I open the fridge and get out the stuff to make one of my favorite dishes, a simple stir-fry with rice noodles, chicken, and pad Thai sauce.
With the chicken cooked, the noodles boiled, and the veggies done, I mix them all together and then add in the sauce, using a spatula to turn it over and make sure everything is evenly coated. Once it’s done, I grab a paper plate then look to the living room. I know I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but that doesn’t stop me from walking around the wall and doing it anyway.