story, one I’m not sure I have the ability to write, which means I haven’t been writing at all. Something my agent and publisher haven’t been happy about at all.
Still, it’s been nice having a break from technology. Even with access to my author pages and email with my phone, I haven’t felt the need to check things every few minutes. I answer emails when I get them, most coming from my agent and publisher, but besides that, I’ve been laying low and enjoying this much needed break.
I’ve also managed to avoid seeing my parents by telling them the sale went through on my new house and that I’m working on getting things ready for the movers who will be here soon. They haven’t been happy with me or my avoidance, but I’ve placated both of them with promises of having dinner here after things are set up.
I take another sip from my Diet Coke to wash away the tightness in my throat then lean to the side and carefully place my still half-full can on the floor. I feel it vibrate against my fingers, and an image of Tide, who is currently downstairs replacing the ceiling in the living room, fills my mind.
I can picture his dark-blue tee tight against his muscular chest, abs, and arms as he hammers in the drywall for the ceiling. The visual in my mind is crystal-clear, since for the last two evenings I’ve witnessed him ripping out carpet and removing the wet ceiling. We haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since he’s been around, but I have watched him work without him knowing I’m doing so. I’ve been trying to keep out of his way, and if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been avoiding him.
When I hear a loud crash and a few not so nice curse words spoken loudly, I push up off my bed and move quickly downstairs. I hit the living room and stop to look around. There is a piece of broken drywall leaning against the wall, and Tide is hefting a new sheet up over his head and moving toward the ladder in the middle of the room.
“Are you okay?”
At my question, he turns to look at me. “It’s all good,” he huffs, walking forward to the ladder and taking the metal steps up with practiced ease. I hustle across the room and go up the other side of it. Once I’m on the sixth step, I lift my arms above my head, placing my hands on the drywall while helping to hold it in place as he pulls out the nail gun from the tool belt around his hips. “Babe, what the fuck? Get down.”
“No.” I don’t look at him. I go up another step to take some of the pressure off my arms that are starting to shake.
“Get down.”
“Just do your thing,” I hiss, struggling to keep my arms up. God, I need to work out.
“Jesus fuck,” he growls before the sound of the nail gun goes off, the loud noise making me jump each and every time. Only once I know it’s safe to do so, I lower my arms and start down the steps with the gun still sounding. When quiet fills the room, I look up, and my eyes collide with Tide’s. He’s pissed. Even not really knowing him, I can see the anger in his eyes and the set of his jaw. “What the fuck were you thinking?” The tone of his question vibrates though the room and me.
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “I was helping.”
“I see you think that, babe, but what would you have done if the ladder gave out from our combined weight?”
Crap, I didn’t think about that happening.
“Right... now, what do you think would’ve happened if one of the nails ricocheted and hit you?”
Damn, I didn’t think about that either. “Is something like that even possible?”
“Ask my friend Tiny, who recently had to have a nail removed from his shoulder.”
Ouch.
“I was just trying to help,” I say softy.
“You can help me out by not trying to help me out.”
I feel my nose scrunch up. He’s been working by himself, and obviously, even with his strength and experience, it’s not easy installing drywall on a ceiling alone. “Why aren’t there guys here helping you?” I question as he gets off the ladder.
“I don’t need help with this stuff,” he responds, moving the ladder across the room before going to where the sheetrock