Nailed It Page 7

  Savannah used to insist her clients and students only ever saw her ultra-professional side, but she’d gone and fallen in love, so she didn’t have any control anymore. Obviously she was also super attached, and she wasn’t even a little closed off emotionally.

  It worked on her. She wasn’t broken beyond repair by her past, even though I knew it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

  Despite my best attempts to smother it, it also brought on the slightest sense of longing, but I told myself that was for physical intimacy and nothing more.

  Before I went and started thinking otherwise, I threw myself into work and didn’t slow down until every one of Savannah’s attendees had left.

  I set a lemon martini in front of her—she’d loosened her grip on the need to be all professional, all the time, but she never drank until her job was done for the night. I’d seen enough people turn into idiots thanks to alcohol to respect that.

  “Quick. What’s a word for ‘Alaskan native?’” Savannah twisted the Atlanta Journal-Constitution toward me, the crossword puzzle filled out in a mix of blue ink and what I instantly knew was Savannah’s purple. “There were tons of sports clues in today’s paper, so of course my part looks all pathetic, and I thought at least I could get this one, but it’s not Eskimo, and it starts with an A if I’m not wrong about twenty-three down, so I got nothing.”

  Linc loved crossword puzzles, and they’d started to do them together, and did I mention they were disgustingly cute?

  I’d been obsessed with Alaska for a brief period when I was younger, before I realized that I didn’t handle cold well—I’d even wanted a penguin for a pet, and for some crazy reason, my mom kept saying no. “Aleut. A-L-E-U-T.”

  “I’ve never heard that word in my life.” She counted the spaces and, when it fit, wrote it in. “I love you.”

  “Thanks, but I bat for the other team.”

  Savannah laughed, took a sip of her martini, then licked sugar off her lips and focused all her attention on me. “How’s”—she pressed her lips together like she might laugh again, but this time at me instead of with me—“the renovating going? Choose any good paint colors lately?”

  “I’m going to take that drink away.”

  She curled it closer. “No, I need it. I’m just still trying to put the girl who can’t decide which color to paint the living room in her condo with the girl who’s overhauling an entire house. Sorry I haven’t been by to help, by the way, but this week was madness. I did, uh, send someone in my place, though.” She twisted the stem of her glass between her fingers and winced. “How’s it going with my brother anyway?”

  “Let me give my guy who disposes of bodies a few more days and then I’ll let you know.”

  “Very funny. I tried to call Jackson and ask him, but he’s been conveniently hard to reach. Probably due to the fact that I sent him over there in the first place.”

  I leaned a hip against the bar. “Honestly, I was kind of pissed when you sent him over, but we brokered our deal, and as much as I hate to admit it, I couldn’t do this big of a project without him. But don’t tell him I said that.”

  “Come on. It wouldn’t kill you to say something nice to each other once in a while, would it?”

  “I’m not willing to take that chance.”

  “Well, I’m just surprised that you’ll even admit it to me. I know you guys have a…rocky relationship.”

  I shot her a look.

  “Okay. Closer to a toxic one.”

  I frowned for a second before gaining control and smothering the errant thought about that going too far. I’d almost defended our relationship, and now I wondered if the word “toxic” was a little too close to true.

  Savannah bit her lip. “I did worry a little…”

  “That I might maim him? I still haven’t ruled it out, to be honest.”

  She shot me the same look I’d given her. “No. I know he’s… He’s trying to like girls who are better for him, ones who are on the sweeter side of the spectrum. Not so much drama, you know.” I could tell she was beginning to stress out about what she was saying and how I’d take it, but she’d spit it out because we’d known each other well enough for long enough that we didn’t pull punches when it came to something we thought the other needed to hear. “He’s looking for long term.”

  I fought the urge to claw at my tightening throat. “Oh. Well, good for him. I’m sure it’ll take a very sweet person to resist killing him.”

  Savannah studied me, her brown eyes narrowing.

  I didn’t think I had anything to feel guilty for, but with her studying me, I was suddenly forcing myself to be impassive, not even sure what I was trying to hide. “Seriously, if that’s something he wants, more power to him.”

  I thought about her comment about his being hard to reach. We’d been working days, but he should have plenty of time to call at night. I just want to know if he’s dating that chick, for my own idle curiosity.

  It was something I should leave alone. Which was why I wouldn’t. I’d never been any good at doing what I should. “What’s-her-name from your engagement party probably fits the bill perfectly.”

  “Caroline? The Porters are family friends, and Caroline’s sweet and energetic and has a life plan that would put mine to shame…”

  Whoa. Considering Savannah’s hyper-organizational skills and ever-present goals, even the thought of that much structure made my skin itch.

  “I’m just hoping he’ll give it a real chance. I’m afraid that he’s been in so many screwed-up relationships that he’ll decide she’s not enough of a challenge or that stable somehow equals boring. He gets all pissed off when I psychoanalyze him, but I feel like the side of him that wants to fix everything is why he always chooses broken women. He wants to fix them. He claims he’s done with that type, but I don’t think he can help it.”

  Broken women. My heart sunk. He’d already said he wanted to figure me out. Did he see me as a project? Someone he wanted to fix?

  I don’t need fixed. I’m fine the way I am.

  The constant antsy feeling and hollow sensation that’d recently plagued me said differently, but I’d repress that.

  I was good at repressing things.

  “Ivy?” Understanding dawned on her features. “When I said broken women, I’m not talking about you. You and Jackson are—”

  “Never happening,” I said, quick and firm. “I know you think we have a thing, but we don’t. I mean, there’s attraction, sure…” For a second, I accidentally got caught up in thinking about his eyes, his hands, his hard body.

  “Please don’t call my brother sex on a stick. You know how I feel about that expression.”

  I refocused on my best friend. I’d respect her wishes, but the guy embodied everything any straight woman would look for when she wanted someone who’d be fun between the sheets.

  Unfortunately, I knew just how fun, and right now I wished I didn’t.

  I reached up and twisted a strand of hair around my finger. “What I’m saying is that I’m not going to get in the way, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I…” A raw, vulnerable expression flitted across her features. “I hope you’re not mad. I just want the best for both of you, and both of you have the tendency to be a little self-destructive. I don’t want to end up being responsible for something that’d hurt either one of you, and if you’re truly set on avoiding a real relationship…”

  Even after all this time, she still clung on to that glimmer of hope that I might change my mind, and I’d let her if it wouldn’t end up disappointing her even more. “You know I don’t do long term, and when I choose my guys to have fun with, I avoid messy complications like friends of friends and especially family of friends.”

  If only I hadn’t slipped that one little time.

  Okay, seven tiny times.

  Well, seven times that weren’t tiny in any sense of the word. Working with his hands meant he knew exactly how to use them, and endurance was the n
ame of the game.

  My pulse quickened, butterflies stirred, and my heart seemed to be expanding instead of staying in the shriveled ball I preferred for it to be in. Before I could fully enjoy the buzz of those deliciously dirty thoughts, guilt that I’d kept what’d happened from Savannah rose up and turned everything sour.

  Warning. Shut down all emotions. Shut it down, shut it down.

  I cleared my throat and then grabbed a beer and downed half of it. I worked at a bar, so I had no such qualms about drinking on the job. In fact, it was practically a requirement.

  “You’ve got that scary look on your face,” Savannah said. “Somewhere between deadly determination and destruction, which usually means you drag me out dancing, and I’m so, so tired and Linc’s been out of town all week and—”

  “No dancing.”

  Her shoulders sagged with relief for a microsecond before she tensed and scrutinized me. “Now I’m getting the self-destructive vibe.”

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t been myself lately, but I’m getting back to me. And like your brother, I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me.”

  She looked like she wanted to argue, but then Linc approached and asked if she was ready to go home. I could tell she was torn, her gaze moving from him—and her thoughts obviously moving to what she wanted him to do to her once they got home—and then to me, and there was far too much worry creasing her forehead.

  “I’m good. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I tipped back the rest of my beer.

  “Okay, and then we’re scheduling a time to catch up without a bar between us.” Savannah pointed a finger at me for emphasis.

  “Deal.” I put on my best I’m-all-good expression and waited until after she left to mix up an Absolute Bitch shot—vodka, Bailey’s, Kahlua, and Tuaca. I tipped it back, rounded the bar, and approached the hottie who’d flirted with me when I dropped off his drink.

  He’ll do for a night.

  I leaned in, displaying my assets to their fullest. “Got plans for after the bar closes?”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “If you play your cards right.”

  He grinned, and I tried to be excited about it.

  Then I ignored my best friend’s voice and that comment she’d made about self-destructive behavior.

  Chapter Nine

  I rolled over in bed and looked at the empty space next to me.

  I’d been so tempted to fill it with a hot guy who’d been clear he didn’t want attachments. I’d even tried to keep conversation to a minimum, but I’d had this stupid flash of Jackson’s face—obviously a brain malfunction I needed to look into—and then I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t even bring myself to kiss him.

  Not because I had an attachment to Jackson or anything. Simply because I’d told my partner-in-home-repair that we needed to get an early start, and how could I do that if I took a guy home with me?

  Sure, it was the flimsiest excuse ever, but I was also a big believer in not doing something if I wasn’t into it.

  The trouble was, I, uh, hadn’t been into it since Jackson and I slept together, even though I’d rather drink glass shards than admit it’d been that long. It was like he’d broken the one part of me that wasn’t broken.

  I’ll get it back. This is just a slump.

  When I rescinded my invitation last night, Douchebag McGee had gripped my arm and called me a tease, and I’d had to formally introduce his nuts to my knee. He wouldn’t be having temporary fun with anyone for a few days.

  The whole scene transported me back to my last year of college, when I’d scored the nickname Ice Cold Bitch from a group of frat brothers. Since I was too soft and naive my first year, it was a title I proudly owned.

  I don’t need anyone else. I’m complete all on my own.

  I repeated that mantra as I showered, dressed, and grabbed breakfast. Even though working on the house left my muscles constantly sore, I couldn’t wait to dive in again.

  By the time I pulled up to the old Victorian, Jackson’s truck was nestled against the curb. The dark gray Dodge Ram had built in toolboxes and basically looked like it could double as a bomb shelter. The combination was hot as hell, and that was coming from someone who barely paid attention to vehicles.

  While his already being here wasn’t going to help my constant sexually frustrated state, it’d be good for productivity on the house.

  Banging—the hammer kind, not the good kind—greeted me first, and Black Widow greeted me second.

  I bent down and scratched her head. “I don’t need anyone else because I have you.”

  Of course, I didn’t really have her, but sometimes you had to cling to what you could. Besides, at the end of this project, she was welcome to come home with me.

  “You want some food?” I asked Black Widow, going the presumptuous route and heading toward the kitchen where the noise had switched from banging to a low hum.

  Jackson stood there with his sander, sawdust coating his arms, and I recalled a post that called woodchips man glitter. Jeez, was the universe set on showing me what I was missing out on? Because I already knew, and if my determination to always be in control wasn’t so firm, I’d jump him right here in the kitchen.

  The counter looks like just the right height…

  Jackson spotted me, shut down the sander, and lifted the clear safety glasses from his face. “Mornin’, drill sergeant,” he said with a smirk.

  I licked my suddenly dry lips and bit back the urge to say that I wanted him to do the drilling today. “Morning, subordinate.”

  He jerked his chin toward the feline at my ankles. “I already fed your cat.”

  “Well, she is eating for two. Or more likely five or six.” I dumped more food in her bowl, and she just looked at it, so she must’ve eaten plenty the first round. “Thanks for having my back, girl,” I muttered.

  When I straightened, Jackson had moved, his hulking presence taking up the entire room. Especially since there was a door in the middle of it now. I resisted the urge to reach out and brush the man glitter off his arms—no wonder he always smelled so woodsy and delicious. “Whatcha doin’?”

  He swiped his hands together. “The back door wasn’t closing right, which makes it hard for the locks to engage, and I want the place to be more secure.”

  Secure. Like how I’d felt in his arms back when I was letting myself feel emotions. Good thing I had that under control now.

  “I’m about done, though,” he said. “Want me to show you the attic?”

  “Is it spider free?”

  “That critter at your feet should be the only black widow that survived.”

  I shuddered. “Gah! You made it too real. Now I’m thinking about spiders.”

  “You named your cat after one, but I’m the problem?”

  “Clearly,” I said, and he chuckled. He put his hand on my back as he guided me out of the room. Awareness shot up my spine, and I might’ve leaned into his touch a little—it was early and I hadn’t had caffeine yet, so I totally had a legit excuse.

  He dropped his hand as we started up the stairs, which undoubtedly left my ass at his face level. I swayed my hips a bit, because why should I be the only one thinking about the other person’s body?

  This is probably more self-destructive than taking home that guy would’ve been. I reminded myself that I’d assured his sister that I wouldn’t get in the way of his picket-fence possibilities with Miss Perfect and did my best to stop the swaying and move more like a robot in need of WD-40. Now I just need to nail down the same emotional range of a robot, and I’ll be back on track.

  Once we reached the attic, I gestured Jackson ahead of me—I planned on using him as a shield against webs and spiders, just in case. The air in the room was still on the dusty, stale side, but the cobwebs had been cleaned out. There was a pile of dirt and more insect carcasses than I wanted to know existed in the corner.

  “You took down the webs and swept?”

  “I didn’t want to li
sten to you screeching and screaming as you tried to make it through the spiderweb maze,” he said.

  “You’ve really got to stop saying stuff like that.” Goose bumps broke out across my skin at the thought of all those sticky spider-butt strings.

  Jackson stepped forward and rubbed his hands over my arms, heat instantly building. “I don’t know. It’s kind of fun knowing you have one weakness.”

  “Oh, I have more than one. But I’m not about to tell them to you so you can exploit them.” I was starting to worry he was one of them. No wonder I’d worked so hard to keep hold of the loathing and verbal attacks.

  He mimicked being knifed in the chest, and I rolled my eyes. So I wouldn’t laugh and get carried away staring at the stubble dusting his jaw, I stepped farther into the attic, studying the boxes and items pushed against the walls.

  Jackson pulled a trash bag that I hadn’t noticed out of his back pocket and bent next to the pile of dirt. “Do you want to see all the dead insects before I throw them away? See just how many I saved you from?”

  “Um, that’s a hard pass. You should totally add that to your dating profile, though.”

  He paused his cleanup efforts and crinkled his forehead. “That I collect spider carcasses? I think that’s the kind of thing that gets you put on the FBI watch list.”

  “Ew, no. I meant you should put that you’re good at killing insects and spiders.”

  “I’ll have to remember that if I ever go the online dating route.”

  “Come on, you know Savannah will make you fill one out eventually. If she hasn’t filled out one for you already.” I glanced back at him, and we shared a laugh. And even though I knew I should leave it alone, just like I should’ve last night, I couldn’t help adding, “Of course, if you’re dating someone seriously now, she’ll have to hold off.”

  I turned away so I could do a better job at acting indifferent, my gaze being pulled to the boxes labeled scrapbooks. Be a robot, be a robot, be a—

  I nearly jumped when I felt Jackson right behind me, his voice next to my ear. “Why, Ivy Clarke, are you asking if I’m a free agent?”