by Lacey Black
He didn’t.
I type that word into the password box and click enter.
My home screen immediately appears, and so does my smile. Leave it to Latham to force me to type out that one word multiple times a day. That word I hate, yet secretly love at the same. That single word I will forever associate with the man who could drive a nun to drink and turn to prostitution.
Sweetheart.
* * *
When I leave the store a few hours later, I notice Latham’s truck still parked in front of the hardware store and a few lights on within. He’s been there since he left my business, probably catching up on his own weekend work. I’m sure he has a lot to learn if he’s going to take over the helm of the family company by the end of next month. I know he worked at the hardware store while in high school, but he left so quickly before college for the Army and hasn’t been back since.
I make a rash decision; one I’m probably going to regret in the long run.
I buzz across the street to the diner and order two specials to go, along with two large sweet teas. I don’t know if he still drinks tea, but it’s sort of a staple down in the South, so I’m guessing it’ll be fine. When the food is ready and placed in a white bag, I head back across the street and knock on the door. The first time, he doesn’t hear me, so I knock a little louder the second time.
Latham appears from the back office I know is his dad’s, a concerned and surprised look on his face. When he unlocks the door, he asks, “Is everything all right? Is the laptop giving you troubles?”
“No,” I state, clearing my throat. “I was leaving work and noticed you were still here. It’s dinnertime, so I thought I’d grab you a bit of food.” I hold up the bag, practically thrusting it into his chest.
“You bought me dinner?”
“I bought myself dinner and since you were still here, grabbed a second order. They were having a sale, actually. Buy one, get one free. It was free.”
A smile crests his lips. “Aww, if you wanted to have dinner with me, all you had to do was ask.”
“Shut up,” I grumble, pushing past him and stepping inside his family business.
I can hear him chuckle as he locks the door and follows me into the office. The desk is covered in a few catalogs for product, as well as what looks like a blueprint design for construction. Latham swiftly swipes it away, rolling it up and throwing it on the table behind the desk. He makes quick work at clearing off a spot to set the food down and takes the container holding our two teas from my hand. “Sit,” he directs, motioning the chair beside me.
“No, I can see you’re busy. I’ll just take my food home and eat.”
“Harper, stop being difficult. You might as well enjoy your food while it’s still warm,” he says, setting a cup of tea on the desk in front of my chair.
“I have to go feed Snuggles,” I reply lamely, knowing I fed her before I left for the store earlier today. I only pray Latham doesn’t remember, but of course, he does.
“You fed that mangy mutt before you left. She’ll be fine for another fifteen minutes,” he says as he pulls the two Styrofoam containers from the bag, placing one in front of me and the other in front of him. “What is this? It smells amazing.”
“Chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy,” I answer, my mouth starting to water.
“Seriously?” he moans as if I just said the best thing ever. “I’ve missed Hazel’s chicken-fried steak so fucking much.” Latham pulls open his container, drops down into his chair, and stares down at the food.
I’m already shoveling my first bite into my face. “Are you going to eat it or make love to it?” I ask, not evening caring that my mouth is full.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he whispers, slowly grabbing his fork and cutting off a piece of meat. He dips it in the mashed potatoes and gravy and shoves the entire piece into his mouth. “Holy shit,” he groans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. His full lips move, his jaw flexes, as he slowly chews the food. “Best fucking food ever.”
We’re quiet for several minutes as we both eat our food. I can feel his eyes on me, though I don’t look up to confirm. There’s something so…natural and civil to sit here with him, without throwing eye daggers and hateful words. I’m not sure I like it. At least not enough to draw attention to it.
“So,” he starts, closing up his empty container and reaching for his sweet tea, “what have you been up to the last fourteen years?”
“Fourteen years, has it really been that long?” I ask, almost absently, as I close up my own empty container and toss it into the trash.
“It has,” he confirms, kicking his worn boots up on the top of his dad’s desk.
“He’s going to hate that,” I say, referring to the boots.
“I know he will. He’ll notice the dirty scuff marks as soon as he gets in tomorrow morning,” he says with a chuckle.
I sigh, not really wanting to answer his previous question. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but I guess I just don’t have any major accomplishments I can dote on for the next half hour. In fact, my life has been a big blob of nothing for the most part, and for the girl who was voted most likely to achieve everything in high school, I can’t help but feel a little saddened by my lack of, well, anything. “A little of this and that,” I go with casually.
He stares at me, as if reading my inner, private thoughts. “This and that? Didn’t I hear something about modeling?”
I can feel the warmth in my cheeks. “Checking up on me while you were gone, did you, Satan?”
He shrugs. “Mom mentioned it to me. Where’d ya go?”
I clear my throat and take another drink of tea. “New York and a short stint in Paris.” My mind instantly goes right back to that moment in time. A nineteen-year-old naïve girl, alone in the city, with big hopes and dreams.
“What happened?” His voice is deep and rough, as if he can already tell there’s more to this story he won’t like.
I shrug and paste on a small smile. “It just wasn’t for me.”
His eyes pierce mine, dark and demanding, but I don’t give in. I never talk about that time in my life, and I’m not about to share it with someone like Latham. “I’ll let that slide for now, but eventually, we’ll come back to it.”
I don’t like the way he says that, as if he knows for a fact we’ll be talking about more personal details in our lives soon. Nope, not going to happen, Latham Douglas. “Anyway, so how about you? What was it like in the Army?”
“It was hard, at first, but I enjoyed it. I miss the camaraderie and the discipline of it all, but to be honest, I’m happy to be home.”
“I bet your parents are happy too.”
“My mom cried for an hour after she opened the door and found me standing on her doorstep with my bags in hand,” he says fondly, which makes me smile. I can just picture Kitty grabbing onto her boy and refusing to let go. Even if her son is an ass, she only ever saw the good in him. I’m sure it’s there, buried deep down.
We sit there, neither one of us really saying anything more. It’s weird, ya know? I haven’t threatened to decapitate him, and he hasn’t tried to give me a noogie or wet-willy. Maybe two people really can grow up and actually get along?
“So, how’s the nightly headgear going? I see your teeth finally pulled together so you’re not so buck-toothed.”
Maybe not.
I sign loudly and way too dramatically. “I haven’t worn head gear in about two decades, Satan. How’s the tube sock fetish? Did your mom ever get the crusty ones under your bed clean?”
He just smirks. “Thinking about my Johnson, are ya?”
“Only about cutting it off.”
“Sounds kinky. I didn’t realize you were into that sort of shit.”
“You’re impossible,” I say with an eye roll.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asks. Now that gets my attention.
“Are you asking me ou
t?”
“Hell no. I’m trying to figure out if some pencil-pushing nutbag is gonna beat down my door for talkin’ to his girl.”
“You’re so dramatic. I’m my own person. No one tells me who I can or cannot talk to,” I tell him decisively.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Sweetheart. I just want to be prepared is all. I hate when I’m caught off guard and take a punch to the face.” He gives me a hard look.
“That wasn’t my fault,” I defend.
“No? I believe it was your ex’s fist that landed hard on my chin.”
“It didn’t even faze you. You threw two more right after.”
Latham smirks. “I do recall. And, had fun doing it.”
I can feel the moment we start to teeter too close to memories I’d rather forget. Standing up, I make sure my mess is cleaned up. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to,” he says, making no move.
“I need to let Snuggles out.”
With that being said, he finally stands up and walks around to my side of the desk. “Ahh, yes, the ugliest mutt this side of the Mississippi.”
“You’re mean. I hope she bites your balls next time she sees you.”
“As much as I enjoy a mouth on my balls, I think I’d rather it not be hers.” Something in the way he says that makes my face start to heat and my body start to sing.
“Anyway,” I start, drawing out that word a little too dramatically, “I need to go.”
“Yes, to take care of the dog.”
“And because I don’t want to be here when the poison starts to work,” I say all sweet-like. Leaning in, I whisper in his ear, “I just hate messes.” And because I apparently have no self-control, I inhale a nose full of his woodsy, sexy scent.
The look on his face is priceless. He stands up straight, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Poison?”
I pat his belly and give him a wicked smile. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.” Then, I turn on my heel and strut out of the office and to the front entrance, well aware his eyes are following me the entire time. I throw the double lock and pull open the door. “Oh, and Latham?” He meets my eyes, a guarded look on his face. “You might want to make sure you have a puke bucket handy.”
With the final word, I flit victoriously out of the hardware store and to my awaiting car. My triumph is short-lived, however, when I slip inside, turn the key, and nothing happens. I try again. And again and again. Still, my car doesn’t turn over. I smack my steering wheel, now angry and with a throbbing hand, and glance back up. Latham is standing there, a wide smile on his face, as he holds something up.
I realize immediately what it is.
He gives me a little wave, throws a bunch of sparkplugs in the air, shoves them into his pocket, and strolls back into the store.
Satan.
He wins again.
Chapter Four
Latham
First thing Monday morning, I dial my realtor. Pete Benson and I were in school together, both playing on the football and basketball teams. We hadn’t really kept in touch, but the minute I returned to town and my ideas for the empty space next door started taking shape, I reached out to my old friend for help.
“Hello?” he asks, his voice groggy from sleep.
“Did I wake you?”
“It’s six in the morning. Fuck yes, you woke me.”
“I’ve been up since four. We have a situation.”
“There’s only one kind of situation I want to deal with at six in the morning, Lath, and your ugly ass isn’t it.”
“There’s another bidder for the property.”
Silence. “What? How do you know that?” He’s wide-awake now.
“I overheard a conversation I probably shouldn’t have.”
“We’ll come back to that part, but are you sure?”
“Definitely,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck. “Can you confirm it?”
“Yeah, I’ll make some calls. Probably not until closer to eight, but I’ll get on it right away.”
“Thanks, man.”
“You prepared for a bidding war for this?” He’s not asking anything I haven’t wondered myself.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
Pete clears his throat. “Okay, then I’ll call Mrs. Morton’s realtor and see what I can find out. I’ll call ya.”
“Thanks. And Pete?” I ask, looking out the back window of the tiny apartment above the hardware store. “I’m not above playing dirty. I want that property.”
“Consider it done.”
We disconnect, and even though a part of me wants to gloat about my soon-to-be victory, a tiny part also feels something I wasn’t expecting.
Guilt.
I push her and her plans aside, choosing to focus on the day before me. We have a truck coming in an hour, plus a new shipment of power tools later in the day. This is the perfect opportunity for me to get a jump on some of the other small jobs I’ve been noticing need tending to, like a little reorganizing of the painting supply area and even a few updates in the kitchen displays. I have a big to-do list, and it wouldn’t hurt to head downstairs and get started before Dad and the rest of the employees come in.
Plus, if I surround myself with tedious, mundane tasks, maybe then I’ll stop picturing the way Harper’s red hair shone beneath the Sunday sun or the way her tank top molded to her perfect tits. The semi-woody in my pants tells me I’m full of shit, but a guy can hope, right?
A guy can definitely hope.
* * *
Mondays are a little busier than I anticipated. The temperatures are climbing fast, ensuring the afternoon will drop off dramatically. Everyone will either be inside, where their air-conditioning is cranking out the cool air, or they’ll be at the beach. My personal vote would be for the beach, but there’s too much shit to do to even consider enjoying a little sun and relaxation.
I’m helping a customer with new locks and a rekey project when the bell above the door chimes. I ignore the newcomer, since Dale is up at the counter to help. I continue rekeying, careful to make sure the grooves all match up. “This is the best brand on the market, so you should have no problems,” I say to the man, handing him his new locks and updated keys. “But if you do, give me a call and I’ll come out and take a look.”
“I’d be happy to give you a call,” I hear over my shoulder in a sweet, sultry voice. The male part of my brain (fine, it’s all male) starts to perk up with interest.
Until I turn around.
And come face-to-face with Felicity Charles, the girl from high school who did everything she could to get in my back seat.
“Hey, Felicity,” I greet casually.
Before I can move, she flings herself into my arms and practically attaches to my chest like a spider monkey. “Oh, Latham, it’s so good to see you! It’s been too long,” she coos, batting her overdone eyelashes and licking her pouty red lips.
“It has,” I confirm, gently peeling the customer off my chest. “So what brings you in today?”
“I need help!” she practically explodes with excitement and exasperation. When I glance over her blonde hair covered shoulder, I see Dale turning away and making a beeline back to the counter as if his ass were on fire.
Lucky bastard.
“What can I do for you?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to give her my attention. I mean, she is a customer, after all.
“I locked myself out of my apartment again.” She twirls her long hair around her fingers. “It’s the second time this month, and that got me thinking, I should, you know, hide a key. Like under my flower pot. On my back patio. This way, it’ll be there when I need it…or whenever anyone else needs it.” Then she winks, and I inwardly groan.
“So, you need a key made and a hide-a-key box?”
“Yes! That!” she bursts, jumping up and down victoriously. Of course, I’m pretty sure the only reason she does is so I notice her ti
ts. I notice, of course, because I am, in fact, a guy. But just because I notice them doesn’t mean I want to play with them.
“Okay, well, let’s get you all set up.”
I quickly turn back around to the key-making station. I was making these back in grade school, so it was no problem to jump back on it and whip out a few keys earlier today, even if I hadn’t had my hands on it in several years. Hell, I could probably make keys in my sleep.
With my attention completely on the task at hand, I startle when I feel Felicity press against my back. “What are you doing?” I ask over my shoulder, her dark eyes smiling brightly.
“I’m sorry,” she giggles. “I’m just so excited you’re home! Your mom and dad have been telling my parents all about your return. Oh, that reminds me. I need to grab that application while I’m here. I know it’s just a formality, but your dad says I should fill it out ASAP.”
Say. What?
“Excuse me?” I ask, turning off the machine and facing her. She hasn’t moved so when I do turn, I’m basically pressing my chest against hers.
“The job, silly. Your dad said you’re hiring. He offered it to me,” she says with a shrug.
“Oh, uhh…that’s…well, Dad hasn’t mentioned that to me yet.”
She waves her hand. “It just happened last night. Your parents came over for dinner and I mentioned that I needed a second job so I could move out. I’m waiting tables over at The Pump, and it’s going well, but they can only give me Friday and Saturday night hours. Your dad mentioned you’re looking for someone and gave me the job.”
Are you kidding me right now? Dad just gave Felicity a job without even asking what my plans were? We had discussed hiring an additional employee, but hadn’t decided anything. At least, I thought we hadn’t. Technically, he’s still the boss, but he’s less than six weeks away from retirement. Whatever mess he just created, he’s leaving for me to deal with.
And dealing with Felicity every day isn’t something I signed up for.
Our parents have been friends since their youth, all going to school together, so I grew up with Felicity. She’s high-maintenance as fuck, clingy, and way too needy for my liking. I think my parents thought we’d get together at some point in life, but I knew that shit wasn’t happening. No matter how much she tried.