It's Definitely Not You - Abby Brooks Page 0,22
at the base of the stairs. “Look. It’s been a very long day. If I’m being rude, I’m sorry.”
“If you’re being rude?” I gave her my most charming grin. “You’ve taken unpleasantness to an entirely new level.”
“Fine,” she said with a smile that looked heavy. “How about, I’m being rude and I’m sorry. And there are a few more things in my trunk, if you’re still willing to help.”
She stared for a few lingering seconds, her smile lightening, then turned away. I braced for the thud of suitcase wheels thumping up the new steps, but she carefully lifted each bag to the porch like they didn’t weigh at least fifty pounds each.
A closer inspection of her trunk made it obvious Penny Dreadful was moving in. “Great,” I muttered. “Guess that’s what I get for saying I’d have to quit the job if she lived here.”
I hefted her things into my arms and followed her inside, trying to grumble the whole way.
Surprisingly enough, I wasn’t nearly as put out by her moving in as I pretended to be.
Chapter Eleven
Kennedy
Thump. Thump! THUMP! Frickity-bang-bong-THUMP!
As if the fear of a ceiling collapsing on me wasn’t enough to question staying at Nan’s, the incessant hammering, wood clattering to the ground, and scream of Joe’s saw had my nerves teetering over the edge. I actually missed Jake, Paul-whatever, and the quiet guy…
The thought of black things skittering through sopping wet carpet ended that statement before I could finish it. Joe was bad, but staying at my apartment was worse.
With medical journals and blogs open on multiple tabs of my browser, I’d started Saturday morning in search of knowledge. How did I show empathy for my patients and still get out of exam rooms without the buzz of Emmanuel’s timer announcing defeat? The jury was decidedly out, but I’d find the answer without the help of Nose Boop Ramsey, thank you very much.
Thwunk!
I flinched.
Bonk!
I scowled.
Brrrrraaappp!
I clapped my laptop closed, shoved my phone in my pocket, and stalked down a set of stairs that shrieked under my weight, putting the now silent squeaker outside to shame.
It’ll be a miracle when Joe finally starts working on the interior of the house…
I squashed that thought like one of Barnhart’s bugs.
Joe belonged to the dark side, rendering him incapable of miracles by default.
With my hands on my hips and my rage cranked to righteous, I stormed into the backyard and pulled up short to find Joe with his shirt off. His lean body glistened in the sun, sweat forging sensuous trails down his abdomen. He hefted a massive piece of lumber onto a table with a circle-shaped saw and a frisson of pleasure zinged through my body.
Hello, lumbersexual lust.
Shirtless Joe definitely made the day a little brighter.
I’d have to concede a point to Nan.
He glanced up and caught me staring and his smirk tore through my admiration. “Can I help you?”
Dialing my indignation back up where it belonged, I shifted my weight to my heels. “Can you be any louder?”
“I’m sorry.” Joe placed a hand over his heart. “I forgot to bring my padded hammer. I could try ramming the nails into the wood with the palm of my hand, if that would make things better for you.”
Obviously, I was being ridiculous, but what did he expect? It was like the man made a point of getting under my skin.
An apology tried to slip out, but I clamped my mouth shut. After his reaction to the hammer-meet-finger disaster, where I genuinely felt bad and wanted to help, I wouldn’t make the mistake of being decent again.
I shifted my attention to his project. “I thought Nan said she couldn’t afford bookshelves.”
With the sigh to end all sighs, Joe stared at his feet for a long time. “She was also disappointed to nix them as they’re exactly what her study needs.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that she can’t afford them.”
Why did I need to explain something so basic?
Oh wait.
Because I was chatting with the devil himself.
Joe’s tongue went into his lip. His hands into his pockets. If ever there was a posture that screamed “I’m on the defensive and don’t want to talk about this!” his scowling face would be linked beside the Wikipedia entry. “It doesn’t matter. It’s fine.”
“It does matter and it’s not fine.”
He met my gaze, pleading me to drop the topic. “It’s really nothing to worry about.”
“Spending my grandmother’s money without her permission is definitely something to worry about.”
“Why?” And just like that, the fire lit in his eyes