Split(26)

Today was the worst, though. She never even looked my way, acted like I didn’t exist. And that hurt, which is stupid because I hardly know the girl.

Outside of what she looks like naked.

My fingers clamp the pencil tighter.

I also know Shyann has an explosive temperament and as much as that scares me I can’t keep myself from imagining what it would be like to know her better. But I’ve never been friends with a woman before. Never had the opportunity to even know a woman. The females I’ve known in the past were heartless; all of them seemed to want something from me. Something I was never able to give. So they’d take it by force, or try. I shake my head and drag myself back to the page only to find the image of Shyann’s naked body sketched in pencil.

This is exactly why it’s best for Shyann Jennings to ignore me. I’m not like other guys and she’s the type that’s probably attracted to friends who’re confident. Safe. Stable.

Every single thing I’m not.





NINE



SHYANN


“Thank you for your interest but the position has been . . .”

“Fuck.” I slam my phone down on my desk and bite back a string of colorful curses. “Filled.”

It’s been almost two weeks since my stellar f*ckup, and after sending out my résumé and applying for every job I could find, from field reporter to research assistant, at every news outfit in existence, I’ve got nothing.

Trevor said I’d most likely get blackballed after I assaulted my cameraman. “You were emotionally volatile. It’s a class-A no-no in the world of broadcast news,” he’d said, but I didn’t think every broadcast business in the country would’ve gotten wind of it.

One mistake. One assault— Oh, who am I kidding?

I’m stuck in Payson for the foreseeable future. Until I figure out how the hell I’m going to pay off the fifty-thousand-dollar education I can’t use.

I could claw my way out of my skin I’m so mad. I hoped for another chance. I don’t want to come home to the house my mother died in after working a long day as a secretary at the family business to watch NCIS reruns with my dad every night.

In the short time I’ve been here, all I’ve done is fall back into the day-to-day I lived my senior year in high school, but with fewer friends and a much more depressing future. I’d been speeding toward my goals and now I’m stuck in the sludge of discouragement that looks an awful lot like Payson dirt.

I bury my hands in my hair and squeeze. “I need to get out of here.”

“Good.” My dad’s gruff voice is beside me, and I glance up just as he shoves a purchase order in my face. “Get out of here and pick this tile up.”

“Tile?” I snag the yellow paper from his hand. “This is a lot of travertine.”

He shrugs. “Client insists on having the entire house done. I need someone to drive the flatbed down and bring back the pallets. Besides”—he runs a finger along my desktop until it squeaks—“you’re dustin’ holes in my furniture and Windexing the Windex bottle.”

“It was dirty.” Like it’s a crime to keep cleaning supplies clean. Okay, even I can admit that’s a step too far.

“There’s nothing left for you to clean.” He nods to the purchase order. “Need some air, pick up some pallets while you’re doin’ it.”

I stand up and grab my purse, thankful that I’m wearing a comfortable pair of worn jeans and soft NAU T-shirt that’ll be perfect for a road trip to the warmer Phoenix temperatures.

“I’ll go. Where’s the flatbed?” It’s usually being driven from job site to job site and rarely parked idly at the office.

“On its way.” He turns to trod back to his desk. “I’m sending someone with you.”

“What?” I follow on his heels. “Why?”

My quiet time to reflect will now be monopolized by country music and the methodical spat of chewing tobacco.

“Two reasons. One, not safe for a woman to travel alone with that Shadow guy on the loose. Two, might need some extra muscle with those pallets.”

I blow out a long breath, praying for patience. Number two is total bullshit. The pallets are loaded by forklift and tied on with ratchet straps. Knowing my dad, it’s all about number one.

“It’s broad daylight and the Shadow only hits at night. I don’t need a babysitter.”

He lifts a brow. “Never said anything about you being babysat.”

“Then why not let me go alone?”

The rumble of the diesel-fueled flatbed sounds from the open window.

My dad pushes past me and I follow him out and into the sun. My eyes adjust in time to see the driver’s door swing open and two long, denim-covered legs extend from the truck cab followed by a faded red T-shirt and a baseball hat.

Is that . . .?

“Lucas!” My dad waves the guy over and I smooth the front of my shirt, wishing I’d worn something a little nicer.

It’s not because Lucas is ridiculously good-looking, which he is. Or that he’s built like a man should be built, not overly swollen with muscles sculpted in a gym but lean and strong from hard work. Wide shoulders, cut biceps, and narrow hips. It also has nothing to do with the way he acts like I don’t exist, all but throwing up the challenge for me to prove to him that I do. And it certainly isn’t those rough hands that can create delicate works of art as well as swing a hammer. Even if those are the kinds of things that are bound to bring on the butterflies, they’re not it.