All of that is fair enough, but not the reason I try to shove it out of my mind. I try not to think about it because as much as I tell myself to be angry with her, I can’t. Every time I tell myself to find a way to get a hold of her and tell her not to come in tomorrow, I don’t. Each attempt I make to convince myself she’s a potential thorn in my life that I really don’t need right now, I fail.
The proposition of her coming into Crank to help is idiotic and driving me mad. Will she come? Will she not? Will she be even more impossible to shake off or finally bare some flaw I can’t overlook? All afternoon, it’s been a series of questions, of “what-ifs,” of the dumbest fucking scenarios that I have no business toying with.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, tipping the rest of the beer back. It slides down my throat with ease, the cool liquid pooling in my gut and joining the churn.
“Fuck what? Actually, let me guess. Peck gave me a head start,” Machlan snickers. “Seems as if you’re gonna have a helper in the shop.”
“Not my idea,” I point out. “It was Peck’s.”
“He said you weren’t exactly against it. And I can’t see what there is to be against if he painted the picture accurately.”
Ignoring his leading, I keep things factual. “She owes me a lot of money,” I explain. “And it just seemed . . .”
“ . . . like a good idea. You don’t have to admit that out loud because I might tell somebody, I get it. Lips are sealed.”
I motion for another beer and wait until he places it in front of me. “It’s a terrible idea. There’s nothing good that can come out of this,” I say more to myself than to him.
“Well, based on Peck’s description, I can think of lots of good things to come out of that,” he grins.
“You know what I fucking mean.” I stare at him, hoping he drops his angle.
Blowing out a breath, he nods. “I do. I get it. You get her in there helping out and then you like her and God forbid you like someone. That would totally ruin your reputation as the loner.”
Glaring at him, I swipe my phone off the counter and jam it in the pocket of my jeans. “I’d hate for people to confuse the two of us.”
“I was going to suggest letting Peck take a shot at that, but I can see that wouldn’t go over well,” he jokes. When I don’t budge, his lips frown. “Fine. Moving on . . . Let me toss an idea by you.”
“Shoot.”
“The two lots behind the bar are for sale. I was thinking about trying to buy them.”
“For what?” I ask, half in the conversation, half wondering what Sienna is doing.
“I have lots of ideas. We could build a room for meetings and wedding receptions and that shit. We could build a couple of apartments and rent them out.”
Machlan’s talking too fast, his eyes darting around too much to be telling the truth.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re really thinking?” I ask.
“That is what I’m thinking.”
“Sure.” Standing up, I snag a twenty from my pocket and toss it on the bar. “Go get into wedding receptions. Seems right up your alley.”
I wait for him to give in, but he doesn’t. “Have it your way. See ya tomorrow,” I call out.
Stepping out into the late summer heat, I stop and breathe in the warm, humid air. It reminds me of nights at the lake with a girl in my arms and barbecues and homemade ice cream. All things that annoy me to pieces.
FLIPPING DOWN THE VISOR, I silently curse the yellow light illuminating my face. Taking a calming breath, I remind myself I don’t need to look my best. I’m just going in to work off a debt. That’s it.
“Why did I agree to this?” I whine. “You know why you agreed to it. It’s the right thing to do.” Snorting as I run a hand over the top of my head to smooth out a bump in my ponytail, I laugh. “Yeah, it has nothing to do with how sexy he is. Don’t lie to yourself.”
Stomach sloshing as I pick apart my appearance, I set aside the excitement building in my gut and focus on the reflection in the poorly lit mirror. My skin is decent, except for the pimple that decided to spring up during the night. My makeup is light and casual to go with my strategically ripped jeans and short-sleeved red and black plaid shirt with a lacy white cami underneath that took way too long this morning to choose.
“Stop,” I chastise myself, working a strand of hair from the center of one of my large hoop earrings. “You’re here to do the right thing. Walker doesn’t even like you anyway.”