Takedown Teague (Caged #1)(49)

There were four decent-sized, mostly flat pieces of plywood, and the section of two-by-four was a little over two feet long. In my head, I tried to picture what a bookshelf looked like and thought about that Tangelos game my Dad used to play with me when I was a kid. You would get all these different-shaped pieces and have to fit them together into a certain arrangement, and you’d try to do it as fast as possible. Using scrap wood to make serviceable furniture wasn’t too different.

Stacy brought a large toolbox down the stairs, dropped it at my feet, and asked if I wanted lunch. I declined politely before I began to rummage through the box. Hammer, nails, a hack saw, sandpaper—I didn’t think I would need much more than that.

I spent the entire afternoon sawing, hammering, and sanding. I cut the two-by-four into eight small pieces to serve as feet and tops and then shaped the plywood into four similarly sized pieces. They weren’t perfect, but when I started putting it all together, it worked out pretty well. It at least stood up straight without wobbling.

It was definitely useful, but it didn’t look like much.

“I made you a sandwich,” Stacy said as she pushed open the door and dropped a plate down in front of me. “You’ve been down here for hours, and I know you have to be hungry.”

“Dordy’ll be pissed.”

“He’s not in yet, and I doubt he’s going to miss a couple slices of cheese and bread.”

I looked up at her and gave her a smile.

“Thanks,” I said. “I am kind of hungry, now that you mention it. What time is it?”

“Nearly four o’clock,” she replied.

I nodded and looked at my little project a bit more closely. It needed a lot more sanding.

“Are you taking up a new hobby?” Stacy asked, snickering. “Joining a book club?”

“Nah,” I said with a headshake. I was pleased that she at least recognized my creation for what it was supposed to be. “I got a roommate, and she’s got a lot of books. My apartment doesn’t have a bookshelf or anything, so they’re still in a couple boxes. I saw this shit…um…”

I glanced up at the older woman, who had her hands on her hips as she stared down at me.

“Stuff,” I said, correcting myself, “in the dumpster. I thought I could make it into a place for her books.”

“Liam Teague!” Stacy exclaimed. She placed her hand over her chest. “Do you have a lady friend?”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

“Roommate, Stacy. That’s it.”

“Hmm…” she murmured as she turned around and headed back up the stairs. “I always wanted a boy who would make me bookcases.”

“You asking me on a date?” I asked, snickering.

“If I was thirty years younger, you wouldn’t be able to fend me off,” she called as she disappeared around the corner.

I laughed and wolfed down the sandwich before I went back to sanding. Stacy came back a few minutes later to collect my plate, and as she did, she handed me a small can.

“Not sure if there will be enough,” she told me as she walked back out, “but it’s a pretty color blue, and we don’t need the extra paint for anything.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. I stared at the little can of paint in my hand before tilting it from side to side to try to determine how much was left. It was a quart can and maybe half full. I thought that would be enough to cover the bookshelf pretty nicely, but I’d definitely have to get it sanded down better first, which meant I wouldn’t be able to get it done today. Tria was going to be home from school within an hour, and she told me she was going to try some new vegetarian recipe she found in a book she got at the college library.

Tria did not cook just pancakes. She could make almost anything and had been trying out various vegetable-centered dishes to cook for me though I told her she didn’t have to. She continued to state that it was her part of the living arrangements, so she was going to learn to cook what I would eat.

I cleaned up the mess I had made and set the little bookshelf up in the corner farthest from the shower. I wasn’t sure if humidity would do anything to it or not, but it seemed like a good idea. I made it back to the apartment with about ten minutes to spare before the Hoffman College transportation van rolled up in front of the building.

“I have to run to the grocery,” Tria announced as soon as she got in the door. “I found this new cookbook at the library, and it’s perfect.”

She yanked the giant-ass, full-sized cookbook out of Black Hole Briefcase and flopped it down on the kitchen table. She flipped through the pages of the vegetarian cookbook and came to a recipe for Swedish Bean Balls.

“Bean balls?” I asked skeptically.

“Look at what’s in it. I think it might be good.”

I looked over the list of ingredients—kidney beans, rice, onions, breadcrumbs—and nothing sounded bad at all. The book said to put it all over mashed potatoes with some vegetarian gravy. I wasn’t really sure what it would all taste like, but I said I would at least give it a try. Tria wrote down a list of things to buy, bitched about me giving her the cash for it, but eventually relented and took the money.

I glanced over the recipe again and was glad I didn’t have to fight for a couple of days because it was going to be some heavy stuff. Yolanda would probably want to kill me if she saw me eating a big pile of mashed potatoes and gravy.