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Pigs, Noel. Men are pigs.
“Sit,” he ordered with one of those bossy little jutted chin moves he seemed so fond of. I glanced toward the bench he indicated, and deciding it wasn’t worth the effort of arguing, sat. On command.Like a dog.The man knelt on the concrete, and if I hadn’t been shivering from the cold, and confused as hell by his dedication to saving me, the sight of him there, strong hands moving for my legs, might have been the sexiest moment of my damn life. Jameson’s smoldering gaze locked on mine, holding it, as he popped my sodden tennis shoes off and set them on the step to the house, handing me rolled-up cozy socks.
“Swap.”
Scowling, I peeled my own sopping set off, replacing them with the pair he handed me. My face relaxed, a desperate little moan escaping my chest as my frozen feet were hugged in the warm embrace of what had to be the comfiest socks known to man. One of Jameson’s brows shot up at the sound, my attention snagging on a tiny scar slicing through the end, even as his mouth slanted endearingly.
“Good lord,” I groaned with every ounce of deserved enthusiasm, “are these made of freakingalpaca? They’resodang cozy.”
“Something like that,” he said, chuckling, and for the first time, I noticed something like affection in his eyes, one arm braced under the other as he rested a fist against his lips, watching as I begrudgingly stepped into the boots. Thick rubber rain boots that were an irritatingly perfect fit. My gaze landed on his as surprise melted my shoulders down my back. How in the hell had he guessed my size?
Next, I slipped into the maroon jacket, and then yelped as Jameson abruptly yanked a purple beanie onto my head, then set his hands over the sides like he was making sure it covered my ears. It did. As did his big palms, which softened in sync with his eyes as he studied me like he’d possibly forgotten something. He’d thought ofeverything. Why did that make my chest ache? Hot, calloused skin rubbed across my cheekbone where he cradled my face, wiping away a stray bead of rain as it slipped from my hair, halting my ribs mid-inhale. My gaze fell to his mouth before jerking back to safer territory.
“There,” he said, quiet, yet triumphant, and evidently oblivious to the way he’d just sent my pulse sprinting. “Won’t be as worried about you freezing to death now.”
Nearly choking on a laugh, I wrestled my smirk into obedience. “Youwere worried aboutme?”
“Shut up,” he grouched, tone teasing, amusement glittering in his eyes. I could just peek those dimples as he led me back out to the truck.
When I got home—with a to-go container of Rhodes’ family soup in hand—there was a still-starched pair of eggshell blue curtains hanging from my bathroom window. Behind that wall of steel, was Jameson Rhodes actually hiding a heart of gold?
SIX
JAMESON
It was the last weekend of dry-dock, which was a horribly inaccurate name this year as we hadn’t had a single dry day during season prep, making painting the damn thing impossible. Regardless of the less-than-stellar conditions, we were all feeling the buzz before the busy season. The harbor was gradually packing with expectant vessels. American flags swayed lazily in the wind as the omnipresent drizzle cast its veil over our town—the same gray they had named the place for. Mistyvale.Because that said:Come on over and settle down. It’s cheery here, I promise.
A throat cleared, jerking my attention from the spreadsheet in front of me. I hated spreadsheets. Actually, anything numbers-related bored me to tears. This had been Rhyett’s portion of the annual boat prep. Butnooo, the fucker had to start his own ventures and abandon us to tackle all of it without him.
My internal rant ended abruptly when I found Lizzy standing over my table with the pot of coffee glued to her slender, freckled hand. We’d fallen into an odd, unspoken truce after I’d fished her out of the rain and forced her into hand-me-downs. Maybe I was an asshole. But at least I was an asshole that slept well, knowing his new too-damn-beautiful neighbor wasn’t freezing to the bone out of stubbornness. With six sisters, I knew stubborn pride when I saw it. It just wasn’t usually so damn endearing. What I’dwantedto do was kiss that scowl off her face, but thoughts like that were fucking dangerous, and I’d settled for making sure I prepared her for the cosmic joke of Mistyvale weather.
“You need to smile more,” she said, quirking her head in silent question.
“Why?”
“You have a serious case of resting brood face, and while I’m relieved to see it’s not reserved for just me, it’s scaring off my customers.”
I chuckled, shaking my head as I looked around at her very full house of patrons. Another set of black and gray jackets came in the open front door. Despite the rain, they’d propped the damn thing open to keep the air fresh, or some shit. Seemed perfectly fine to me.
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“Just an observation. But don’t worry, girls like broody.”
Like I gave a damn about what girls thought about my face. I’d certainly never lacked a willing partner on the occasion that I actually wanted one. My rules were simple: I was designed to be a one-hit wonder. Condoms were a man’s best friend. Women were to be treated with respect in public and shown a damn good time behind closed doors. And one of us would always be gone before breakfast.
Juniper and Milo Rhodes set an impossible standard, and until that leggy little blonde had sunk her claws into him, Rhyett had shared a very similar philosophy. Our younger brothers spent too much time on sports teams to inherit our attitude toward women, prone to letting their dicks dictate their life choices. Ridiculous. My give-a-damn would remain firmly, contentedly busted. At least that’s what I told myself whenever the image of Lizzy in that damn window tried to sneak past my defenses this week.Nope. There was no room for a woman in my life, much less a goodie two shoes like my town-infiltrating neighbor. Under absolutely no circumstances would I be jerking off to the memory of Lizzy McShane. Tight, pale, perfect Lizzy McShane.
Goddammit.
A red pickup pulled up across the street, parking along the harbor fence in one of the few open spots and saving me from myself. Kenny, off theTide Turner,hopped out and around, leaning over the tailgate to fetch out supplies. It was comforting, the monotony of this town, some things never changing. I ran my palm over my hair and glanced up at Lizzy as her eyes also pulled from the man with the armful of net. They rounded when they landed on me, and I realized I was smiling to myself, still stuck on what she’d said.
“Well now, don’t look so smug. It’ll take more than playing the mysterious grouch to catch a good one.”
I scoffed. “And what wouldyouknow about a good catch?”
“Of fish? Next to nothing. A good woman?Plenty.”
Why did everything she say have to sound like an insinuation?Too young, too young, too young, I chanted internally.
