Jay Crownover - Built

There was nothing wrong with Nathan. He was kind. He had a good job. He looked good in a suit and liked all the same things I did … well, all the things I had been convincing myself I liked up until my father died and my life turned upside down. And I truly believed that Nathan loved me even though I wasn’t very emotionally responsive and worked way too much. He cared about me a lot even though we both knew I was never going to rock his world in the bedroom and that he was never going to be my top priority. It had taken the passing of my father and the discovery of my brother for me to realize that no matter how much effort Nathan put in and how accepting of my frosty personality he claimed to be, ours was ultimately a relationship I didn’t choose for myself. It was a relationship I chose in order to make my father happy and to keep him off of my back. I picked Nathan because it was what was expected of me.

I knew Nathan deserved better than someone who was only putting forth the bare minimum in order to keep the relationship alive, so despite his protests and his assurances that I was all he wanted, no matter what that looked like, I ended the engagement and packed up and moved to Colorado in search of a new life and a new family. I got both in spades and also a startling wake-up call when a filthy, unapologetic, and ruggedly handsome Zeb Fuller had sat down across from me at a tiny bar table while I was talking to Rowdy.

The way Zeb affected me was one of the main reasons I wasn’t going to back out of the semidate I had arranged with Quaid Jackson tomorrow. Quaid was the kind of guy who seemed to like reserved blondes who were more comfortable in front of a judge than they were between the sheets, and it didn’t hurt a thing that he was also disgustingly handsome and over-the-top suave. The term “lady-killer” had been invented for guys like Quaid, and the way I felt around him, pleasant, warm, but generally unaffected was a reaction I was familiar with. Quaid didn’t make me panic or want to strip naked and throw myself at him. Quaid was safe.

He was a criminal defense attorney who had a legendary reputation in Denver. We had gotten to know each other when my firm handled his very messy and very public divorce not too long ago, so I was really hoping all he had in mind was a friendly get-together because there was no way the man could be ready to jump into anything serious after the kind of train wreck he’d just endured. I was hoping time and attention with the handsome blond attorney would force my hormones to get their shit together and stop screaming Zeb’s name. After tonight, I wasn’t so sure it would work, but for the love of God, I needed to get some sleep and I was desperate.

I straightened out the bed, put the pillows back where they belonged, and hit the lights. I stared up at the ceiling and prayed that the rest of the night would be Zeb free. Of course, as soon as my eyelids got heavy and sleep began to beckon, I began to wonder what it was like to kiss a mouth that was hidden in a beard, and this, of course, led to thoughts about what that facial hair would feel like as it rubbed against other parts of my body. My eyes popped open wide, so I groaned and gave up. It was either a cold shower or battery-operated-boyfriend time. Neither sounded as pleasurable as the thoughts that were keeping me up in the first place, but a girl had to do what she had to do, and sadly I had been taking care of my own needs far too much lately.

Stupid, illogical crush. This was torture and the only solace I had was that in the past, I had always been too cold, too distant from my emotions to ever feel anything like this. It was my first crush in my entire life and it felt like it might kill me.

I turned my head when one of the guys from my crew called my name, and immediately regretted the lapse in concentration. Behind the filtered mask I had on to protect my lungs from all the deadly things that came out of the walls in these old houses, I dropped a litany of filthy words as the hammer I was in the middle of swinging came down and smashed mercilessly onto my thumb. It happened in my line of work, but lately stupid, preventable accidents were becoming more and more frequent because my head was up my ass and rooted firmly on my last job—or rather the stunning blonde that had hired me to do it.

One of my younger crew guys, Julio, gulped when he noticed the murderous look on my face and the way I was shaking out my hand. He held up his own hands in a gesture of surrender before I even said a word. My temper had been on a shorter fuse than usual lately and the guys that made up my crew had obviously taken notice. It made me feel like a dick, but there was nothing I could do about it. My head was all wrapped up in Sayer Cole and her endless legs and chilly demeanor, and nothing I seemed to do could pull it away from her.

“What?” I pulled the safety mask off my face and forced myself to ask the question in a level tone instead of barking it out like I wanted to. I flicked my throbbing digit with my index finger and swore as it burned like it was on fire. I nailed the sucker good. It was going to be a lovely shade of black and blue when I took my work gloves off and I would be lucky if the fingernail didn’t fall off.

“There’s a lady out front looking for you.” Julio’s heavily accented words took me a second to process. I lifted my eyebrow and put my hammer in the slot that was made for it on the leather tool belt that hung low on my waist.

“Looking for me for what? Is she with the city? Or one of the neighbors?”

Permit people were always dropping by to make sure everything was in order when I started tearing apart historic homes in order to return them to their original glory. I was also pretty good at turning them into something completely new and fantastic, but I still had to have the right licenses and permits in place in order to do so.

Julio scratched the back of his neck and flushed a little. “I didn’t ask. She’s real cute, though.” The kid was young, not even out of his teens yet, but he was a hell of a hard worker and really good with his hands, so even if he wasn’t always the brightest member of the team, I knew he had plenty of time to learn and grow. He just needed a shot and someone not to give up on him.

I shoved my hands through my hair and snorted when a cloud of centuries-old plaster dust floated up from the motion. I was covered in all kinds of construction debris … I always was.

“Inspectors can be both female and attractive, Julio.”

The kid shuffled his feet and looked down at the bare flooring we had spent all day yesterday putting into the vernacular 1870s cottage-style home that was my latest renovation project.

“I know. She just asked if Zebulon Fuller was on-site and I told her you were. She started for the front door without a hard hat or a mask or anything, so I told her the house wasn’t safe. I don’t think she’s a pro or anything. She seems a little …” He twirled his finger next to his temple indicating he thought the woman might be a little bit off.

I sighed. If she wasn’t a pro she was probably an angry neighbor wanting to complain about the construction noise or the mess. It happened all the time, but over the years I had gotten pretty good at keeping the peace as my business grew and expanded, taking my reputation and name along with it.

“All right, I’ll handle it. Can you finish stripping the wall and pulling the plaster off so we can get drywall up tomorrow? Wear a mask. That old paint is no good and dangerous.”

I dealt with lead paint removal so much in these old homes that I’d had to get certified in order to be a lead-removal-certified contractor. What I did was never easy and there were always lots of hoops to jump through, but I lived for the sense of accomplishment I got by saving rotten and falling-apart buildings from ending up condemned or bulldozed. I loved to give something no one else wanted or believed in a second chance.