Yeah, he had his Jaguar SUV parked along the curb, but he felt more at home, more like himself, sitting on the bucket seat of the truck he’d bought himself as a teen too many years ago to count.
Wolfe preferred solitude.Unlike some of his teammates who shared a place or lived close to one another in posh sections of the city, he didn’t mind that there was no one to greet him as he made his way up the driveway to code in the entry for the garage.No roommate.No dog.No goldfish swimming haphazard circles in a round bowl.Yeah, alone time was fine...especially during this week of the year.
Thisdayof the year.
So why Wolfe seemed to find every excuse under the sun to practically move into the bakery to soak up the sunshine that was the boss baker was beyond him.
Especially on this day when his crankiness rivaled a bear.
He said he’d fix that ludicrous baseboard and he did.He was pleased that the vinyl wall cove base he purchased at Home Depot perfectly matched the flecks of burgundy in the worn linoleum tiles of the flooring.BB didn’t need to know that he spent considerable time in the flooring aisle of the store trying to determine what vinyl would fit best.
The good news for him —not for BB — was he identified about a dozen other projects that he planned to tackle in the coming weeks, especially if it meant spending time fixing shit in the bakery alongside the stunning woman with fire-colored hair and freckles that painted a picture of pure innocence.
His cock stirred at the notion of gliding the pad of his finger across her creamy skin touched with a smattering of sexy freckles dotting her nose and cheeks.He’d then brush his fingertip lower and push his calloused digit between her pillowy lips, replicating what it would be like if his dick was being caressed by her warm and welcoming mouth.
Maybe his daydreams would become a reality after the mystery restaurant she planned to meet him at in a few hours.
“It’s just dinner, asshat,” Wolfe spat out making his way into his garage.He was hoping his hard shaft, pressing against the zipper of his Levi’s, got the message and settled down.But it was hard to set aside the vivid, porn-worthy images of the boss baker.
After storing the materials and hanging the toolbelt he used earlier in the day, Wolfe left the garage that doubled as his workshop and made his way into his house.He made a beeline for the cabinet that held a very old, very expensive bottle of scotch.
He was going to need the liquid courage to make the phone call he’d been dreading all day.At least he had a legitimate reason to call his dad, and not just because he felt obligated due to today’s morbid anniversary.Or because he was a masochist.
That clunking sound from BB’s air conditioning unit, combined with the lame stream of air that couldn’t cool the belly of a grasshopper in Greenland, signaled the system was near its end of life.
His dad, a contractor for more than fifty years had more knowledge in the gold-colored shoestrings of his construction boots than a brigade of builders, so it seemed natural to lean on him for his expertise.
A sarcastic burst of laughter rumbled through his chest at the cheesy notion that the call would be filled with unicorns and rainbows.
Especially today.But Wolfe tried, as he always did, to bridge the gap in an effort to connect with his only living blood relative.
He wished the call would be filled with fun, a time when father and son could just shoot the shit, but not today.Not ever, actually.
Like he said, he was a masochist.
“Might as well get this over with.”
Wolfe took out his cell phone and jabbed the contact number for his dad.
Just when Wolfe felt a sense of relief that the call would slip to voicemail, the phone connected.
“Shelllllo,” the voice slurred.
Wolfe portrayed a never-give-a-fuck persona to the world, but at hearing the garbled speech of the man on the other end of the phone, he was catapulted back to the time when he was a scrawny twelve-year-old whose grief and fear shrouded him in an ironclad hold.
“Hey, Dad.How’s it going?”Wolfe asked, his voice sounding foreign to himself, almost tinny.Certainly not the booming, confident voice of the NHL’s top D-man who made millions each year in endorsements alone.
“Howthefuck do you shinnnk it’s going?”
“Yeah, I know,” Wolfe replied deflated, striking the tip of his steel-toed boot against the wood floor in his kitchen.“I uh, have a question about an air conditioner, do you think you could help me troubleshoot?”
Another long pause.
And then a booming voice poured through the speaker of Wolfe’s phone in furious liquid fire.
“Are you fucking kidding me?You have the balls to call today—todayof all days— and you have the fucking gall to ask me how to fix something?”his father screeched through the phone.“You want to fix something?Learn how to watch your fucking little sister before she drowns.How about figuring out a way to keep your mom from dying from a fucking heart attack.Start with that, you no good excuse for a son.”
Wolfe couldn’t argue with the words gushing from the man’s mouth.Unfortunately, his drunk father took the opportunity to continue his tirade when Wolfe didn’t respond.
