Of course it’s his place.
I glanced at the clouds. “Not much blue today.”
He gave me a huge smile that bordered on mocking. “Oh, it’s up there. You just have to look on thebrightside, honey. Don’t be so negative.” He glanced at Jayce and gave a nod. “Y’all are doin’ a good job.”
“Thanks,” Jayce said curtly.
The judge was wearing casual clothes again, and his fishing gear was in the back seat of the Cadillac. I bit back a sarcastic comment.
“How many more hours you got?” he asked Jayce. “Nearly done, eh boy?”
Rage fought its way onto Jayce’s face, and he pushed it down with visible effort. “Too many hours left.”
The judge glanced at me.
“About a hundred,” I said.
The judge whistled as if heweren’tthe one who handed down that sentence. “That’s a long time to be working outdoors, but it’ll leave you with a more humble outlook on life. By the time you leave Eastland, you’ll be thanking me.”
I doubt it, I thought behind my patronizing smile.
The judge pointed at the fence. “Make sure y’all haul away the old wood. Don’t want to have to file a complaint with Mindy if the job’s not done right. Wouldn’t be very fair. You two have a pleasant day, now.”
He rolled up the window and drove away.
“Prick,” Jayce muttered.
17
Charlotte
I watched the judge’s car disappear down the road with disgust.
“It’s awfully convenient,” I said, “that the judge who gave me over a hundred hours of community service is benefiting from it. What’s next? Painting his bathroom?”
Jayce grabbed a handful of nails and filled the pouch on the tool belt around his waist. “Welcome to Eastland. You’ll get used to that sort of corruption.”
“I already am.” I took a drink of water from the cooler. The clouds blocked the sun, but the humidity was getting worse by the minute. It was like breathing steam. “Did you know the sheriff owns the motel?”
“Mmm hmm. It’s bullshit, right?” Jayce wiped the sweat from his face with a sleeve, then muttered, “Fuck it,” and pulled the shirt over his head. He wiped his face with it, and the back of his neck, before wadding up the shirt and tossing it into the truck.
I couldn’t stop myself from staring.
Jayce didn’t just have a six-pack. He had aneight-pack, which glistened with sweat. As he ran a hand through his sweaty hair, the muscles on the side of his torso bulged. There was almost no fat on him, allowing every muscle and vein to practically jump out like a freaking pop-up book.
He glanced at me.
“Uh, yeah. It’s bullcrap,” I said in response to his question.
“I didn’t say bullcrap,” Jayce pointed out. “I said it’sbullshit.”
“I don’t like to curse.”
He lifted another piece of wood from the truck. His biceps looked even bigger now that he was shirtless. “Why not?”
I took the other end of the wood and tried to look at the ground. “My parents were strict about curse words when I was growing up.”
Jayce looked to his left, then his right. “I don’t see your parents around now.”