My heart thumped. I knew. I tried to pretend I didn’t, but I did. I’d seen it with my own eyes.
“He kissed me. He puts on a good show—for a while there, I didn’t think he liked me at all. But he’s just like every other guy.”
I knew in my heart that wasn’t true, and maybe it made me a bad sister, but I didn’t tell her so. I wanted Tiffany to believe Manning was just another guy, because then she’d treat him like one. She’d get what she wanted from him and move on.
12
Lake
Monday afternoon, I was alone in the house for the first time since Manning had come over for dinner. I didn’t have to look out the window to know the crew was working next door—I could hear them.
I went into Tiffany’s room to borrow a pair of shorts. I wasn’t brave enough to take her skimpiest pair, but everything she owned was shorter, tighter, or lower-cut than anything in my closet. I picked some from Tommy Hilfiger and held them up to my waist in the mirror.
Tiffany’d been right the other night about Dad. The morning after their fight, Mom had made bagels and coffee, Dad read his Wall Street Journal, and Tiffany had waltzed into the kitchen like nothing’d happened. She’d even mentioned going out to look for jobs that day and he’d kissed her on the forehead on his way to work.
I put on the shorts. In a tank top and Converse, I grabbed my Young Cubs flyer before heading out the door. The first time I’d met Manning, I didn’t remember being nervous. Now, though, as I walked to the curb, I had butterflies in my stomach and sweat on my hairline.
There was lots going on, but I couldn’t see Manning. I walked through the dirt, passing under scaffolding into the house. A man in goggles glanced at me as I ducked into the frame of the house, but he didn’t stop me.
I found Manning toward the back, his profile to me, arms raised, a drill in his hands and a screw between his teeth. Goggles, a hardhat, and a red bandana around his mouth hid his face, but I would’ve known him anywhere.
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?”