Tig studied me closely for a long time but eventually nodded and said, “Okay, I get you, man.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
It was a muttered-out response because I’d been able to forget for a bit. Sparring with Charlie, listening to the banter over lunch, and simply appreciating an attractive woman had made me forget about Lorna and the mess she’d made of my life . . . the mess I’d made of my life.
And how I’d been hiding from it for almost a year.
Now, though, that was all fresh and in the forefront of my mind.
Cool.
I pushed up from the wall, started to head for my workstation.
Tig snagged my arm. “Garret, I—”
A shake of my head. “I’ve got to go get ready for my client.”
More studying, but shorter this time. After a beat, Tig nodded and let me go. I moved to my space, started getting my shit together, since while the client was a convenient excuse, I still did have things to do so I’d be ready for her.
Notebook out.
Ink reloaded.
Transfer paper at the ready.
At least I could get lost in the work and forget that Lorna had taken a sledgehammer to my life, my family . . .
My heart.
“Okay,” I said, wrapping the final inches of my client’s arm. I’d just put the finishing touches on the outline for her full sleeve. She’d need to heal up for a couple of weeks and then we could finish the color and shading.
“Do you think we’ll be able to finish it before you leave?”
I slid her T-shirt sleeve down gently. “I’m in, if you’re in.”
She grinned. “Well, I’m also in to taking you out to dinner sometime if you’re up for it.” A beat passed and she glanced up at me.
And I got to see another girl’s face fall.
She only faltered for a moment. “When you’re not jabbing me with needles, that is.” Her laugh was tinged with embarrassment.
Shit. Say something.
“Umm.” I dropped my gaze to my tray.
Preferably something charming.
“But no pressure,” she said. “I figured you’re new in town and just might need someone to show you the good spots.”
“I—” The rubber bands came off the gun in a tangle, and I kept my gaze on them. “Thanks for the offer. You’re a beautiful woman, but I don’t actually date clients.”
Oh, thank you, Jesus. At least, that was a reasonable thing to say.
God, I used to be smooth.
Before Lorna, I’d had at least a little game.
Now? Fumbling. Every time.
“Oh, sure,” she said. “That makes sense.” I glanced up and saw she’d handed me her credit card and though her cheeks were a little flushed, her tone evened out and she scheduled her follow-up appointment.
There was that at least.
Sighing, I locked up behind her then spent some time cleaning up my station. But when I moved past the storeroom to put my equipment in the sanitizer, I saw that Charlie was still working. The entire wall had been opened up, several neat squares of sheetrock stacked against the cabinet she’d moved the previous week.
“You just can’t help it, can you?”
Help stopping and looking at her? No, I couldn’t.
I had found plenty of excuses to walk slowly by and watch her work. It was a hell of a view, albeit a dangerous one.
Especially, when she was looking up at me with blue eyes sparkling fire.
“Hmm?” She put her hand up to her ear. “I can’t hear you.”
“Hear what?”
“How you wield all of that charm,” she said. “Panties must be melting all over the place.”
I sighed. “I don’t date clients.”
She lifted a brow.
Fine. She had me there. “I don’t date them anymore.”
“Hmm.” Charlie turned back to work on the pipes.
A spark of annoyance shot through me. “Well, at least my life doesn’t revolve around stroking pipes and busting balls.”
Blue eyes flicked to mine. “Really?”
I shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it.”
“And here I thought you were a semi-reformed asshole.”
“And here you thought wrong,” I said.
“Well, clearly.” A beat as she flicked those pretty blue eyes down and then up, twin spots of pink appearing on her cheeks. “I was wrong about a lot of things.” And with that reproachful statement, she gave me her back again, bending to get a closer look at something in the wall.
Her pants dipped lower, showing me a whole lot of creamy skin, while giving me a glimpse of a lickable set of dimples.
Fuck, but Charlie brought a whole new definition to the term plumber’s butt.
Shaking myself, I forced my feet to move a step back. Her being pissed at me was a good thing. I wasn’t in any position to open myself up to someone again, and even if I was, I wouldn’t pick a woman like Charlie. I’d choose one who . . . was more, or less, rather.
Less interesting and attractive. Less of a puzzle to unravel. Less . . . just less.
Because if I was going to pursue something with a woman, she needed to be someone who was easier to stay unattached from.
And that right there was why I wouldn’t be doing any dating for the foreseeable future.
I was fucked up.
Well, Lorna had pointed that fact out quite clearly. Right before she made a pass at my brother then my best friend . . . all of which had happened in the weeks before our wedding.
And I hadn’t believed them.
Hadn’t had a clue until I’d actually walked back into my apartment and seen the other Charlie—the male one—that had upended my life—
Not going there.
Shaking myself, I asked, “You going to be working much longer?”
Charlie didn’t turn back around. “Delia gave me a key and the security code,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I’ll let myself out when I’m done.”
That didn’t exactly answer my question.
Stifling a sigh and knowing I didn’t have the right to demand further information about her life, that it was better I’d pissed her off enough that I’d eliminated any interest, I hit the stairs to the apartment.
I heard her saw turn on just as I opened the front door.
Ah.
That was my answer to how much longer she would be working.
She was staying long enough to tell me to fuck off.
One point to Charlie.
And yes, I understood exactly how fucking stupid it was that my lips were twitching as I thought that.
Coffee.
I needed coffee.
The saw noise had gone on late into the night, much later than I’d expected considering how early she’d begun that day.
For all I knew, she’d MacGyvered some system to make it go off at regular intervals to punish me. And now it was seven in the morning, way too early for any respectable artist, and I was hearing banging.
Not the kind I wanted either.
Groaning, I rubbed my eyes and shoved the little packet into the Keurig. Yes, it was environmentally unfriendly. Yes, it was a little metro. No, it was too damned early and I was too damned tired to care.
Steaming coffee began flowing into the mug, the smell soaking into my pores, already helping to clear the fog from my mind.