Something in the Way (Something in the Way #1)(39)

He drilled into a wooden beam. His navy shirt rode up, tan skin slivering over his waistband, bicep muscles bulging from the effort. I covered my stomach, unaccustomed to the violent way it flipped. Manning lowered the drill to inspect his work.

“Hi.”

He jerked his head to me and ripped the bandana off his face. “What are you doing in here?”

Shit. He looked not only unhappy to see me, but kind of pissed. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve barged in like this—I mean, I could’ve just waited for him at the wall until his break. “I—”

“Don’t ever walk onto a construction site without the proper protection.” He tossed the drill onto a worktable, his boots pounding the concrete as he came to me. “It’s dangerous.”

“I—I’m sorry. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Why do you think we’re wearing all this?” He punctuated his question by removing his hardhat and dropping it on my head. It was hot, sweaty, and heavy—and it was Manning’s. With a heavy hand on my shoulder, he pushed me out of the house, walking with me. His warm, rough palm on my bare shoulder gave me that tightening feeling again, only it started lower this time, not in my stomach like before.

“Watch your step.” He grumbled his words. “There are nails, and—just . . . watch where you’re going.”

I inhaled men’s sweat and sawdust. Outside in the dirt again, he pulled the hat off my head and tossed it on the ground. I looked up at him as he removed his goggles. His black hair stuck up everywhere. Despite the heat, he wore a dark, long-sleeved t-shirt with the construction company’s logo printed across the pocket. A cigarette butt peeked out the top, and dust dirtied his collar.

“Is it time for your break?” I asked.

“I already took it,” he said but led me over to the wall.

“How was your weekend?” I asked.

He leaned back against the brick and took out his pack. “You’re not supposed to be over here.”

It definitely wasn’t the greeting I’d been hoping for. “I didn’t know how else to get in contact with you.”

He wiped his face with his shirt, flashing his flat, hard stomach. A tool belt weighed down his pants, and my heart nearly stopped. The dark hair I’d noticed before was actually a trail leading down to his waist band, where there was more of it. He dropped his shirt, but there was still dirt on his face. “Your sister, maybe?”

I swallowed, dumbstruck. “What?”

“She could’ve called me if you’d needed something.”

But you’re my friend, I wanted to say. “You’re mad I came?”

He looked into his pack of cigarettes a while, and then set them on the wall. “Was everything all right at home?” he asked. “After I left?”

“It’s fine.” Sure, Dad had threatened to kick Tiffany out, but he didn’t do it. I didn’t want Manning to feel worse than he probably already did because of that night. “I brought you something.”

He looked over at me. “What is it?”

I pulled the flyer out of my back pocket, unfolded it, and gave it to him.

He used his sleeve to dry his temples. “‘Young Cubs Sleepaway Camp,’” he read.

“It has all the info for being a counselor,” I told him.

He scanned the page. “Except what it pays.”

“Eleven dollars an hour.”

“Eleven?” He sounded surprised. “That’s high.”

“The days are eight hours long, even though you’re kind of working the whole time. Even at night.”

“But you get to do stuff outdoors, right?”

“All that stuff I said, like canoeing and fishing and more. There’s also campfires. You even sleep in the cabins with the kids.” I was rambling, but I couldn’t stop. “The cut off to apply was last week, but she said you should try anyway because she thinks they’re understaffed.”

“She?”

“The receptionist at the Y,” I explained.

He peered at the flyer more closely. “YMCA puts it on? My sister and I used to go to our local Y after school.”

By the way his stance and expression eased, I guessed that was a good thing. The problem was that camp started soon. I didn’t know much about construction, but our new neighbors’ house didn’t look quite finished. “The next two weeks we have training and meetings for the counselors. Then we leave. It doesn’t look like you’ll be done in time.”

He folded up the flyer. “Can I keep this?”

I nodded. “The first meeting’s tomorrow night at six-thirty.”

He picked up his pack and slid out a cigarette.

“You probably can’t smoke there,” I said. “At least not where anyone can see.”

“I’ll manage.”

“So you’ll come?”

He studied me a moment. “You want me to?”

I squinted at the house. A flock of birds formed a “V” above us. Did a cloud want to float aimlessly? Did a sky want to be blue? I didn’t know. I couldn’t control my want for him. It just was. “Yes,” I said.

“How come?”

“I feel safe when you’re around.”