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She catches my eye through the glass wall and a small smile tugs at her lips. But she doesn’t wave or acknowledge me otherwise, which drives me fucking crazy. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. If we were in a different place, say a bar, I’d probably be pulling her into a dark corner and sliding my tongue against her throat. Instead, I grab my toolbox and head toward the gym.
I’ve assembled a small group of kids to help me build the set for Melissa’s dance recital in a few weeks. Meredith thought it was a great idea, giving the kids hands-on learning in a useful trade. She barely questioned why I would willingly volunteer to do this. She’s been so busy lately, she doesn’t have time to question much. That’s to my advantage, because I absolutely can’t have anyone knowing that I’m doing this. The guys would give me major shit for it.
There was already the close call with Hex yesterday. I can’t even begin to imagine what he thought about me being there. Thankfully, he’s kept his opinions to himself so far. I haven’t heard a peep out of him since our run-in. But I can’t hold him off forever. If he sees me here again, he’ll have questions that I don’t particularly want to answer.
Questions like, “Bones, why did you agree to build the set for the dance recital?”
When the answer is: I didn’t agree so much as the whole thing was my idea. I’m a complete jackass for doing it, but I knew it would give me more time with Melissa. For the first time in my life, I actually want to spend time with a girl after we hook up. So when she mentioned her dance recital, I offered to do this, thinking I would spend hours watching her move her body in tempting ways.
What actually happened is that I’m stuck in a whole other room of the youth center with half a dozen prepubescent boys who like to use their gifts to prank one another. They’re much less interested in carpentry or learning how to hold tools correctly, but I haven’t lost hope in them. Yet.
“Marcus,” I say, calling to a young kid holding a hammer backward. “It works better if you turn it around and hit the nail with the flat part.”
He holds the hammer a good distance away, examining it as if it’s a bomb that’s likely to go off at any second. Then, he turns it around to face the right direction and gingerly hits it against a nail. I sigh heavily and go over to help him, sure he’s in real danger of injuring himself. These kids could definitely use a few more life skills classes.
“Okay, guys,” I call out to the others. “I want you to watch how I do this.”
All eyes are focused on me as I position a nail into a piece of wood and start hitting it with the hammer firmly until it’s all the way in. I show them how to hold the nail so they don’t smash their fingers, and have them all try practice hits so they don’t end up leaving the nails completely out of the wood. It’s an exercise that both grows their ability and tests my patience. Eventually, I decide we’re just going to have to put the pieces together with hot glue.
“Good work,” I say as kindly as I can manage after an hour.
We all stand back and assess our creation. It’s . . . not great. A few wooden panels hot-glued together that still need to be varnished and painted. Eventually they’ll make a skyline, but I’m not quite ready to give the boys paint. I can’t imagine how they’ll mess it up, but they’re guaranteed to find a way. I’ve learned that lesson very quickly.
“Same time next week, okay?” I say, grateful to be done with this draining experience. I don’t have to come back here for three more days, though my feelings about that are mixed.
I hear footsteps approaching and turn hopefully toward the door, but it’s just Meredith approaching and beaming at me. Ever since I told her I’d like to volunteer more, she’s been a whole new person. In all my dealings with her thus far, she’s been shrewd and curt, but now that I’m helping her out, she’s much kinder and more pleasant to be around.
“How’s the stage design class going?” she asks brightly.
I groan, which causes her to laugh and look at me knowingly.
“I get it,” she says. “The preteen boys are the worst, especially when they’re in a class together. It’s all dick jokes and blaming each other for farting.”
“Boys are disgusting,” I affirm.
“And they don’t really grow out of it,” she says with a chuckle. Her eyes scan the plywood we’ve been working on. “The set looks . . . like I didn’t have to pay anything for it. That’s always nice.”
I rub the back of my neck and feel my ears warm slightly. There’s a buzz in my body from my head to my toes that I can only describe as embarrassment. It’s ridiculous that I would be embarrassed. After all, I’m doing this for absolutely free, and I have nothing to prove to anyone.
Except I do want this to eventually look good. Sure, it’s the kids’ moment to shine more than mine, but part of me wants Melissa to look at it and think about me the way I’m thinking about her. I shake off the thought and try to focus on anything else. I’m not the kind of guy to catch feelings. Whatever is going on between me and Melissa is purely sex and nothing more.
“Wow,” she says as she enters the gym, joining Meredith and me. My heartbeat immediately speeds up and my palms start to sweat. What the hell is that about? “This is really . . .”
“Free labor,” Meredith repeats with a laugh. “We’re very glad to have your help, James, seriously,” she says.
It’s strange to hear her call me James, but I know she’s only doing it because Melissa is around. Meredith tries very hard to keep our club identities separate from our volunteer identities. But she’s never called me James before, and I suddenly have this ridiculous urge to correct her. Then she’d definitely know something was up between Melissa and me and she’d blab it to Graveyard.
He and the others are already working overtime to get me to join their little “marriage club.” Frankly, I have no interest in being like them. It’s not on my to-do list ever. I would rather build a million shitty dance recital sets with a billion gross preteen boys than settle down with someone and be part of their stupid fraternity.
Meredith’s phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts. She excuses herself and walks out of the gym, leaving Melissa and me by ourselves. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since I took her back to her apartment and ravaged her. I’m itching to do it again now, to pull her in my arms and kiss her senseless. That would be totally inappropriate, of course. Anyone could walk in here and see.
“I really do appreciate your help,” she says at the same time I say, “I’m sorry they aren’t better at nailing.”
She bursts out laughing, leaving me perplexed. Then I realize what I’ve just said and I feel my ears warm again. This is shit ridiculous, this isn’t who I am. I’ve said much worse to women just to make their panties drop. And even though I’ve seen her naked and been inside of her, something about being in this gym making innuendos is too much for me to handle.
“I’m sure you’re a good teacher,” she says with a wink, and I do feel slightly guilty that I’m not a better teacher. That I took the easy route instead of helping them learn.
A silence settles between us and the air feels thick with anticipation. She’s looking up at me with those damn innocent eyes, and it takes everything in me not to have my way to her. I know she has a class in a few minutes, though, and a group of teenage boys is going to come in here any minute and help me with another part of the set. I could make it work, probably, but the second I make my move, Meredith will probably burst back in and bust us.
