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“Do you think construction is what you’ll do forever?” I asked. “Wait, hold that thought.”
I climbed out of bed and hurried to the light switch, blanketing us in darkness again. As soon as I got back, he pulled me right back into the curve of his body.
“Back to your question,” he said in amusement. “Yeah, I think I’ll stick with it. I like designing shit, but I’m not going back to school to be able to do that.”
“You could,” I replied.
“I could,” he agreed. “But I’ve got no interest. I like workin’ with my hands. I like the sense of accomplishment when somethin’ is done right. When the finished product exceeds expectation. I like that no two days are exactly the same.”
“Maybe one day you’ll be the big boss,” I said, smiling into the darkness.
“That’s a possibility,” he agreed. “Start my own company. Hell, I think I’d be a damn good foreman if nothin’ else. Gotta pay my dues first.”
“It’s funny you say that,” I said, his words triggering an unpleasant memory. “One of the women I fired from the cart said I hadn’t paid my dues. She was pissed that I bought the cart because she’d been working there longer than I had. I think she’s a year older than me.”
“She offer to buy it?”
“Nope.”
“She have the money to buy it?”
“Nope.”
“Was it surprisin’ that your old boss was sold it?”
“Nope.”
“Then she was talkin’ out her ass,” he said flatly, making me chuckle. “Sounds like sour grapes to me.”
“I really didn’t feel bad when I fired her,” I replied with a huff. “She talked shit about everyone—customers, coworkers, her family, strangers. She disliked everyone. The other woman I fired wasn’t much better. She was never on time for her shift and I swear to God she called in sick at least once a week. She was a nightmare.”
“That doesn’t sound like a recipe for success when you’re dealin’ with the public all day long.”
“Right?” I asked in exasperation. “I have no idea why Mal kept them on, but I wasn’t about to deal with their shit when I was running the place.”
“It sounds like you’ve got it all handled,” Bishop said confidently, making my stomach twist. He sounded so sure of me.
For just a moment, I considered unloading it all on him. The fact that the cart was like a ghost town now, that I was working so much because I couldn’t afford to pay someone else, that I felt in over my head. Instead, I just nodded. I was too embarrassed and frustrated to tell him how it was really going. I just wanted our night to be simple, uncomplicated and fun, easy. Because when I woke up in the morning, it would all be over. I’d be racing around trying to finish laundry and grocery shopping and a thousand other little errands that I hadn’t been able to get to.
“Tell me about life,” I said. “Anything exciting happen lately?”
“Not really,” he said with a small huff of laughter. “I work on your parents’ place, come home and shower, eat somethin’, laundry, and pass out. Oh, and I swamp out the truck about once a week—you wanna hear about that?”
“Swamp it out?” I asked, grinning.
“Clean it,” he said, brushing my hair away from my neck so he could tuck his face against it. “I don’t pay attention when I’m workin’, so there’s usually coffee cups and fast-food wrappers, that kind of shit. By the end of the week, it’s pretty nasty.”
“I bet it smells fantastic, too,” I joked.
“Oh, yeah. The last few bites of a hamburger give off a nice aroma after a day or two in a hot truck.”
“That’s filthy.”
“It really is.” He laughed silently. “That’s why I make a point to clean it once a week.”
“My car is always a little messy,” I confessed. “My dad always forced me to keep it clean or he would take the keys in high school, but once I was out of the house, I kind of let it go. It never stinks or anything, I just never remember to bring everything inside when I get home.”
“Makes sense since you’re always movin’ about a mile a minute,” he replied. He reached down and gently readjusted my leg, running his fingers over the bandage there.
“It doesn’t even hurt,” I told him.
“The word motherfucker has never made me nearly shit my pants before,” he said ruefully, making me smile. “But I knew you were hurt by the way you said it.”
“It stung!”
“I bet it fuckin’ did. When you stood up and I could see the blood runnin’ down your leg I wasn’t sure whether to start yellin’ at you or baby you.”
“You clearly went with the babying.”
“You’re tough as hell, you know that?”
“I just have a high pain tolerance,” I countered. “I’m really a big softy.”
