Tools of Engagement Read online

  Damn, she never failed to make him think. He liked it. In the past, women were just another part of his life he didn’t have to consider too hard. They were either coming home with him, or they weren’t. What was there to stress about?

  With Bethany, he could almost see her filing away every piece of information he dropped, so he wanted to say the right thing. The honest thing. Not simply whatever she wanted to hear. She was too smart for that, anyway.

  “I dust my cowboy hat off every night and I, uh . . .” Unbelievable. He could feel the tips of his goddamn ears turning red. “I store it in my closet in a hatbox.”

  “You do?” Her eyes turned distant, like she was trying to picture him completing the nightly ritual. “What does the box look like? Is there tissue paper?”

  “Hell, no, there isn’t any tissue paper.” He laughed, scratching the side of his chin. “There might be some shredded newspaper.”

  Her gasp turned into a giggle. “That’s not even remotely different.”

  Oh, hey. She’d never made that sound before. It was adorable and feminine and he’d let her watch him dust the hat off if she made that noise again. “Yes, it is. It’s entirely different,” he managed finally. “And Jesus, look at you. Turned on by the idea of proper hat storage.”

  He watched her struggle through subduing her amusement and realized there was a smile stretching its way across his face. Hot damn. They were flirting without it devolving into a name-calling competition, and the relief of that, knowing they could manage that feat, was enormous.

  “Listen,” she said. “I do the same thing with my Louboutins.”

  His smile dropped. “Jesus Christ. Now you’ve gone and compared my manly hat to a lady shoe.”

  She buried her face in the crook of her elbow, her shoulders shaking with mirth. In that moment, he could picture himself tickling her, maybe taking a playful bite out of her neck. Boyfriend-girlfriend behavior.

  It brought Wes up short. He definitely didn’t want permanent. Settling down and walking one straight path for the rest of his life didn’t appeal to him. He always needed to be ready to move on, so he wouldn’t be caught floundering when the moment arrived. Quick, painless, easy. That’s how he lived.

  A man who grew too comfortable and left himself no escape hatches eventually ended up stranded. A couple of times growing up, he’d let himself get comfortable with a foster family, only to find out they’d never gotten comfortable with him. They’d been angling to steer clear of him the whole time.

  No one had ever needed him.

  No one, except for his half sister. She’d relied on him to get her out of trouble so many times it had become draining, disappointing, but he couldn’t help answering the call. A small part of him wanted to be depended on. Even by someone who didn’t appreciate it or, hell, even thank him most of the time.

  Bethany certainly didn’t need him. Sure she’d had a couple of weak moments, but if he wasn’t around, she’d simply get encouragement from her local support group. He’d merely been handy. Within reaching distance.

  No, he definitely didn’t have any notions of staying in Port Jefferson. Still, every time Bethany glanced over and their eyes locked, his stomach wrapped itself around his fucking spleen. Yeah, it was safe to say his preoccupation with her went far beyond the average, casual hookup. The word “hookup” wasn’t even worthy of being mentioned in the same breath as Bethany—and that became more and more true every time she made Wes privy to her thoughts.

  I never get a sense of accomplishment anymore. Maybe if I push and do something harder . . . I’ll feel it again.

  Wes always knew there were several leagues below Bethany’s surface, but she kept surprising him with another one. His sense of self-preservation told him to stop trying to locate her ocean floor, but this morning upon arriving at the house, he’d found himself vowing to aid her in finding that feeling. Accomplishment. He wanted to help give that satisfaction to her so goddamn bad.

  Probably sensing his stare, Bethany looked up from her task of prying off a skirting board with the crowbar. “Um, hey,” she said. “How’s it going over there?”

  “It’s going. How about you?”

  “The mess is killing me.”

  “Figured it might be.” He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek to subdue a smile. “It may not look like progress, but it is.”

  “Progress needs a scented candle and a dustpan.” Bethany paused, looking like she had something else to say, but a grunt turned both of their heads to find Carl wiping sweat off his forehead with a rag and passing it to Ollie.

  “My sciatica is on the fritz,” Ollie complained, leaning his side against the wall. “Hurts like hell.”

  “My leg is still swelled up from yesterday,” Carl said.

  “All you did yesterday was wipe out the craft service table,” Wes pointed out.

  Carl snorted. “I wasn’t passing up those little rolled-up cold cuts. My wife made us go vegan. Cut out my sugar and coffee, too. If you thought she was miserable before, you should see her now.”

  “Why can’t they just let us be retired?” Ollie intoned, staring off into space. “It’s like they were waiting for us to finally relax to start unleashing hell.”

  “Mine did run me a bath yesterday,” Carl said. “Helped my leg some.”

  Ollie elbowed him, looking like a cat with a canary. “I got a massage.”

  Their sighs faded into groans, both men rubbing at their respective injuries. “Damn, that hurts,” Carl moaned.

  “I think I pinched a nerve,” Ollie said.

  “Are you sure you guys are up for this job?” Bethany asked.

  “What?” Carl called. “We’re having a great time.”

  Ollie snorted. “Best two days I’ve had in years.”

  She shook her head at Wes, but there was a smile playing around her mouth. One that made the pad of his thumb itch to smooth over her lower lip. Maybe he should ask her out. Nothing that would spook her. Just a last-minute-drink-between-coworkers kind of thing. Lord knew he went drinking with Stephen, Travis, and Dominic down at Grumpy Tom’s often enough. This wouldn’t be any different.

  At least that’s how he’d present it.

  Wes cleared his throat hard. “Listen, Bethany—”

  His phone rang noisily in his pocket. With a mental curse, he slipped off his working glove and took it out. Faded Calf Tattoo was calling him. She was his babysitter for that afternoon, which meant she would pick up Laura from school, bring her home, and watch her for the two hours that remained of Wes’s workday.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, hello, Wes.” Her voice wobbled with worry. “I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I can’t watch Laura today. My sister is having an emergency operation and I’m already on my way to New Jersey to be with her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it’s not serious.”

  “Oh, she’s lived through three dirtbag husbands, so I doubt a gall bladder is going to take her down now. But she’ll need some coddling.”

  Wes chuckled. Dang it, he was really starting to grow fond of these babysitters. “Let me know if I can do anything for you.”

  “Will do. Sorry again.”

  “Don’t be. See you soon.”

  He hung up and checked the clock on his phone. Too late to call for a replacement, and even if it wasn’t, he didn’t like being a bother, especially when these women were already doing enough. Too much to be sent running to the school at the last minute on their day off. It would have to be him.

  “That didn’t sound good,” Bethany said, having come closer during his conversation. “What’s wrong?”

  It took him a second to collect his thoughts, thanks to the cute smudge of dirt on her nose. “I’m sorry, but I have to knock off early to pick up Laura from school. Marjorie had a family emergency.”

  “Oh. Sure.” She tried to hide her panic, but didn’t quite succeed. “Sure, of course. You have to go.”

  “I’ll make u
p for lost time tomorrow.”

  Her shoulders relaxed by approximately one degree. “We will.”

  “Right.”

  “Were you going to ask me something?”

  Yeah. Out for a friendly drink, when he really wanted to kiss her senseless. Right here and now, their audience of two be damned. She was looking at him differently today, her eyes more curious than disdainful. After that day she’d stormed the jobsite and he’d unexpectedly seen below her surface, he’d started wishing she’d change her attitude toward him. Now that she had, right on the heels of him acknowledging the temptation to try and be more to her, something inside him screamed to lighten the moment. Whether it was out of fear of the unfamiliar or simply not knowing how to be around someone he needed—how could he when he’d never experienced it before?—Wes gave her a slow once-over and spoke for her ears alone.

  “Why don’t you give me some motivation and tell me you’re going to wear those extra-thin pink pants again tomorrow, darlin’?”

  She cracked a disbelieving laugh. “Wear the same pants two days in a row?”

  Wes fought a laugh. “That’s the part you took offense to?”

  “I-I . . . no.” Her face colored. “I’ll wear the pink pants if you wear your flea collar.”

  “First you talk about pegging and now I’m wearing a collar.” He rocked back on his heels. “The plot thickens.”

  “It’ll never be as thick as your skull.” She dismissed him with a sniff, crunching through construction rubble on her way to her post. “Go home.”

  “See you tomorrow, Bethany.”

  “If only I had a choice, Wes,” she sang sweetly.

  His encounters with Bethany used to leave him feeling charged up. If not satisfied, he’d damn well gotten pleasure out of it. While there was a definite spark in his belly after their exchange, it now felt unfinished. Their barbs were supposed to lead somewhere, weren’t they? Yeah. And he wanted to go there. Crazy enough, he wasn’t sure there was just sex. Instead of walking away and leaving her frowning, he wanted to keep going until it became a grudging smile.

  That would satisfy him almost as much as sex.

  Jesus. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Wes felt Bethany’s questioning gaze on his back as he left the house. He got into his truck and drove to the school, arriving in the pick-up line just in time for Laura to begin her journey down the walkway. He hadn’t picked her up many times this year, but based on her complaints that she didn’t have any friends, Wes didn’t expect her to be flanked by two girls her age. They were lost in an animated conversation complete with hand signals and giggles, while his niece appeared to be floating on cloud nine between them.

  He lowered the passenger-side window at the exact moment Laura did her Scooby-Doo impression, making the other girls laugh, and an odd sound puffed out of him.

  Laura spotted him idling at the curb and waved enthusiastically.

  Warmth spread downward from his collarbone. “Hey, kid,” he called. “Hop in.”

  “Wait. Uncle Wes, Uncle Wes, can Megan and Danielle come over?” His niece literally shrieked the question at him from fifteen yards away. “Please? If their mom says it’s all right? Please?”

  No. No way. He’d just figured out how to be passably decent at taking care of Laura. Throwing two more children into the mix could be disastrous. He searched for a distraction. Distractions always worked. “Maybe not today. I was planning on renting Tangled for us—”

  “I love Tangled,” Danielle or Megan squealed. “I want to watch it, too.”

  Rookie move, idiot. “I’m sure their mother has plans—”

  A woman’s face filled his passenger window. “Hi, I’m Judy. Danielle and Megan’s mom. You’re Wes, right? Laura’s uncle?”

  She stuck out her hand for a shake. He held up his grimy one apologetically. “Sorry, I just came from a construction site. Might want to steer clear.”

  Judy’s expression was amused, but mostly distracted. “So, you’re taking the girls today?”

  “Oh.” He scratched at his five o’clock shadow. “I . . . Am I?”

  “I don’t think these sassy ladies are going to take no for an answer!” What started off as a jovial laugh turned dark, Judy’s expression becoming infinitely more intense. She leaned into his truck, knuckles turning white on the frame. “Please, take them. Even if it’s just an hour.”

  Wes forced himself not to jerk back. “Think they can all fit in my truck?”

  “We’ll make them fit.” Her smile returned, brighter than ever. “Girls,” she called over her shoulder. “Good news. Laura’s uncle is taking you for a few hours.”

  “Wait. A few?”

  Ignoring him, Judy pried open the passenger door and ushered the celebrating girls into the cab, throwing one seatbelt around all three of them. “Pick you up after dinner.”

  Dinner?

  She looked across at Wes. “My cell number is on the class contact list, if you need anything—along with yours. You got that email, right?” said Judy, closing the door without waiting for a response. Through the glass, she called, “Bye now!”

  Wes pulled away from the curb in a state of shock and stayed parked at a red light until it turned green and the person behind him laid on the horn. A peek in the rearview told him it was Judy. To his right, the three girls were singing a song about raining tacos at the top of their lungs. What the hell was he supposed to do with them?

  Nothing. He had to bring them home. He did not sign up for this.

  He wasn’t a dad. He was a drifter, a former orphan, a man without ties, and that’s how he liked it. That’s how it had always been.

  Wes was on the verge of asking Danielle or Megan for their address so he could drop them off, but his niece caught his eye. It was obvious she was reading his mind and knew he was already throwing in the towel. Her eyes pleaded with him silently to reconsider and something unfurled in the center of his chest. Something that had been wrapped up tight for as long as he could remember. He’d kept this box sealed shut for safety’s sake, but his niece climbed inside and made herself at home.

  Before he registered the turns and avenues, Wes found himself on his porch, unlocking the door and making way for three tiny people to bound inside. While the newbies sprinted toward Laura’s bedroom, his niece stopped and put her arms around his waist, squeezing with all her might.

  “I don’t know what happened, but I think I have friends now and they wanted to come over and what are we going to do, Uncle Wes?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “Please! I have friends!”

  She ran after her pals before he could ask what on God’s green earth she wanted from him. “Please, what?” he muttered under his breath, going to the fridge and starting to take out a beer before stopping himself. Without overthinking too much, he pulled out his cell and called Bethany. Because it felt right.

  She answered on the second ring, her tone indicating she was still sore over his request that she wear the pink pants tomorrow. “Yes?”

  “Is the adult supervision allowed to have a beer while hosting a playdate?”

  “How should I know?” There was some background shuffling. “Are you in charge of multiple children right now?”

  “It all happened so fast.”

  A couple seconds ticked by. What the hell had he been thinking calling her? He hadn’t relied on anyone else to solve even his most insignificant problems since he was a child. If this wasn’t dangerous proof that he’d started to ask himself what if, he didn’t know what was. “Why are you calling me?” she asked.

  “To find out if I can have a beer,” he answered, striving like hell to make the call casual, instead of letting himself need her. “Listen, never mind—”

  “My father drank during our playdates,” she blurted. “Pour it into a mug and pop in a breath mint before their parents show up.” A moment passed. “You’re going to do fine. Easily better than I could.”

  There she went
again. Hinting at her own insecurities and making it impossible not to be one hundred percent honest. Wes stared hard at the reflective surface of the refrigerator. “Laura has been kind of down lately, saying she doesn’t have any friends. Which . . . I guess I brushed it off because of course she must have them. She’s cool and funny, right? But I think this is kind of important and I don’t know how to come through for her.” He turned and leaned back against the appliance. “We don’t have a lot of toys. I don’t even know if they’re still young enough to play with toys.”

  “I played with my Barbies until I was nine.”

  “Come over.” The request was out before he could lasso it, but he’d pictured Bethany throwing fancy dinner parties with dolls and he’d just . . . wanted to see her. Wanted her there. “I mean, come over?”

  Silence. Then, “I mean . . . I guess two partially inept grown-ups equal one decent adult.”

  Wes pushed off the fridge. “You’ll come?”

  “It wouldn’t be a big deal,” Bethany said quickly.

  “No, definitely not. Not a big deal.”

  It was a huge deal. He’d asked for help and he was getting it.

  Relying on someone else who seemed to have the power to make him happy, horny, frustrated, introspective, or pissed as hell. He’d kicked the rodeo gate open.

  “I’d be doing it to help out Laura, of course. So she can make a good impression on her new friends.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have snacks?”

  Wes turned on a dime and started to rummage through his cabinets. “Some stale pretzel goldfish . . .”

  “Keep looking.”

  His lips quirked up. “A bag of microwave popcorn.”

  “Bingo. Fire that up and give them juice boxes.”

  He listened to her footsteps on the other end of the phone and pictured her gorgeous ass twitching through the construction zone. Did he really ask her to wear those pink things again tomorrow? When the cameras would be back with all that lighting and zoom ability? “I changed my mind about the pants. Burn them.”

  “I’m still expecting the flea collar.” He heard a door close. “I’ll just swing by my house to get out of these clothes—”