this.”
“I’m not trying, Marc, I’m doing. Now tell me where you want me. Or maybe you’d prefer it if I call Dad and get my instructions from him.” She whipped out the cell phone she kept in her belt.
“This isn’t his job,” Marc snapped. “It’s my job.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t step on your boots.” She tucked the phone back with a smile. “Just tell me where to go.”
The guys chuckled and exchanged low murmurs Mandy was sure weren’t complimentary. “Something you want to say?”
A.J held up his palms. “Not me, sister.” He looked at Marc. “I’m getting back to work, boss.” With a wink and whistle, he turned and headed to the northern most corner of the partially framed house.
“Uh, yeah…” Larry scrubbed his stubble as he backed away. “That goes for me.”
Mandy’s eyes widened when he turned and she saw his backside; the denim was so worn it barely held together over grey knit bun-huggers. When he reached back for a deep crack scratch, her face twisted.
She knew better than to verbalize disgust, and when she tore her gaze away from Larry’s barely-covered bottom she found both Marc and Boston watching her.
Marc wore a smirk, but Boston’s expression was dark and unreadable.
Mandy stood erect, one hand poised on her hammer, the other on her drill. “Shall we?”
Marc sighed. “Come on, then.” He took off, and she followed, noting Boston’s gaze was still locked on her. She stopped.
“After you.” Mandy made a sweeping gesture. This guy had a nail stuck in his cheek, it was obvious.
Finally, he uncrossed his arms, and Mandy couldn’t help that her eyes were drawn by the gravitational pull of his ripped abs. Before she let her gaze linger, she cleared her throat and looked him in the eyes.
His not-amused expression told her he didn’t appreciate being sized up. Lifting her chin, she decided to slip on her boxing gloves. She’d learned a lot growing with a brother who loved to remind her how inferior the female sex was. She could fight as long and hard as the next guy.
Marc’s angry voice broke their tight stare down.
“Over here, Mand. Now.”
Mandy avoided stray blocks of wood, fallen nails, and other potentially hazardous debris as she made her way to her brother. She kept glancing over her shoulder, feeling the quiet heat of Boston at her heels.
“Ready, boss.” Playfully, she whipped out her hammer and drill, but the joke only made Marc’s face stony.
“You can start bringing over shears,” he told her.
“We’ll be going up tomorrow.”
Seeing that he was finally going to let her do her part, she dropped the antics and nodded, slipping her tools back into the belt.
“Supplies are—”
“I know.” Why he was explaining the basics, she couldn’t fathom, unless it was to show his team he was good at bossing around. She and Marc had grown up playing in framed houses like monkeys on a jungle gym.
Marc snorted, looked at Boston and jerked his head, and the two of them walked off to another section of the house. Mandy let out a little huff.
She pulled leather work gloves out and slipped them on. No way was she going to ruin a fresh set of acrylic nails she’d just had put on two days ago.
Crossing through the site, she stopped and took in a deep breath. She loved the smell of raw wood, the sound of hammers banging—that magical rhythm that was both passionate and fierce, uncivilized like the melody of a tribal sacrifice deep in the jungle. Ever since she was a little girl that scent had intoxicated her, the act of constructing had enticed her, and she’d decided to set her course for her own construction company someday, just like her father.
“Smell the roses on your own time.” Marc’s cross voice snapped through her bliss. She cocked her head at him. She’d paused for what, about a second?
“Yes, sir,” she said with a salute. A.J and Larry hadn’t stopped to take note of their little squabble,
“I’m not trying, Marc, I’m doing. Now tell me where you want me. Or maybe you’d prefer it if I call Dad and get my instructions from him.” She whipped out the cell phone she kept in her belt.
“This isn’t his job,” Marc snapped. “It’s my job.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t step on your boots.” She tucked the phone back with a smile. “Just tell me where to go.”
The guys chuckled and exchanged low murmurs Mandy was sure weren’t complimentary. “Something you want to say?”
A.J held up his palms. “Not me, sister.” He looked at Marc. “I’m getting back to work, boss.” With a wink and whistle, he turned and headed to the northern most corner of the partially framed house.
“Uh, yeah…” Larry scrubbed his stubble as he backed away. “That goes for me.”
Mandy’s eyes widened when he turned and she saw his backside; the denim was so worn it barely held together over grey knit bun-huggers. When he reached back for a deep crack scratch, her face twisted.
She knew better than to verbalize disgust, and when she tore her gaze away from Larry’s barely-covered bottom she found both Marc and Boston watching her.
Marc wore a smirk, but Boston’s expression was dark and unreadable.
Mandy stood erect, one hand poised on her hammer, the other on her drill. “Shall we?”
Marc sighed. “Come on, then.” He took off, and she followed, noting Boston’s gaze was still locked on her. She stopped.
“After you.” Mandy made a sweeping gesture. This guy had a nail stuck in his cheek, it was obvious.
Finally, he uncrossed his arms, and Mandy couldn’t help that her eyes were drawn by the gravitational pull of his ripped abs. Before she let her gaze linger, she cleared her throat and looked him in the eyes.
His not-amused expression told her he didn’t appreciate being sized up. Lifting her chin, she decided to slip on her boxing gloves. She’d learned a lot growing with a brother who loved to remind her how inferior the female sex was. She could fight as long and hard as the next guy.
Marc’s angry voice broke their tight stare down.
“Over here, Mand. Now.”
Mandy avoided stray blocks of wood, fallen nails, and other potentially hazardous debris as she made her way to her brother. She kept glancing over her shoulder, feeling the quiet heat of Boston at her heels.
“Ready, boss.” Playfully, she whipped out her hammer and drill, but the joke only made Marc’s face stony.
“You can start bringing over shears,” he told her.
“We’ll be going up tomorrow.”
Seeing that he was finally going to let her do her part, she dropped the antics and nodded, slipping her tools back into the belt.
“Supplies are—”
“I know.” Why he was explaining the basics, she couldn’t fathom, unless it was to show his team he was good at bossing around. She and Marc had grown up playing in framed houses like monkeys on a jungle gym.
Marc snorted, looked at Boston and jerked his head, and the two of them walked off to another section of the house. Mandy let out a little huff.
She pulled leather work gloves out and slipped them on. No way was she going to ruin a fresh set of acrylic nails she’d just had put on two days ago.
Crossing through the site, she stopped and took in a deep breath. She loved the smell of raw wood, the sound of hammers banging—that magical rhythm that was both passionate and fierce, uncivilized like the melody of a tribal sacrifice deep in the jungle. Ever since she was a little girl that scent had intoxicated her, the act of constructing had enticed her, and she’d decided to set her course for her own construction company someday, just like her father.
“Smell the roses on your own time.” Marc’s cross voice snapped through her bliss. She cocked her head at him. She’d paused for what, about a second?
“Yes, sir,” she said with a salute. A.J and Larry hadn’t stopped to take note of their little squabble,
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