Page 9 of Fake Shot

I just laugh and then ask, “Can we carry this outside now, or do you need to whine some more?”

“Is this how you say thank you for fixing your problems?” Jameson’s voice is low and raspy in his annoyance, which only fuels my desire to piss him off.

“Save that tone for your family, asshat. I’m immune.”

“I don’t know why I still put up with you,” he mutters as we continue moving across the lobby. The doorman rushes to prop open the glass doors, and he follows us out to the truck so he can open the back like he did when we brought my suitcases out. Once we load the mattress in, I tip the doorman and we’re on our way.

“I can’t believe how much damage there was from a busted hose,” Jameson says, shaking his head before he looks over his shoulder and pulls out into traffic.

My entire first floor was already gutted by the restoration company, and it was pretty shocking to walk into. The glass doors to my balcony were wide open and fans were placed strategically around the space to dry everything out. It smelled faintly dank, like moisture without mildew. Thank God. The upstairs was significantly better, with the bedrooms at least being mostly unaffected. Some water had seeped through the doorways and caused damage to the floors, but the walls and all the furniture were fine. I was able to pack up most of my clothes and my personal belongings from my bedroom and bring my brand-new bed with me.

“Yeah, the insurance guy is coming by this week to take a look at everything and let me know what they’ll cover.”

“Did you find a contractor yet?”

“I was going to ask Jules and Audrey,” I tell him, even though that should be obvious.

He gives a dismissive snort. “Good luck with that.”

“Why? I’m practically family,” I say. There’s no one else I’d trust like I trust them.

“That’s why Jules won’t do it,” he says. “She doesn’t work with friends and family.”

“Bullshit. Isn’t she renovating Drew’s mom’s house right now?” Drew’s practically married to their sister, Audrey, so he’s both a friend and a family member.

“Yeah, but that was a favor to Audrey.”

“Okay, well, she renovated Lauren’s house last year?—”

“That was a favor to me.” He and Lauren weren’t even dating yet when they started the remodel on her house, but I’m pretty sure he’d been secretly pining over her for years before she moved back to Boston.

Slowing the moving truck down, he waits to make a left turn that will take us out of the Seaport.

“So you can ask Jules to renovate my place as a favor too.”

“I’m fresh out of favors with her,” he says. “Letting you stay in my old apartment has already exceeded her good will.”

“Why?” I ask, pulling a pack of Hot Tamales out of the bag that sits on the bench seat between Jameson and me. “I’m awesome. She’ll love having me around.”

The sound that comes from the back of his throat is practically a snort. “I don’t think she sees it that way.” He glancesat me with one eyebrow raised before looking back at the road and then making the turn.

What the hell?People love spending time with me.

“How does she see it, then?” I toss some of the cinnamon candies into my mouth. I’d offer him some, but I know he hates them.

“Jules is a very private person,” he says cautiously.

Of his two sisters, I think she’s the one he’s always worried about. Audrey got pregnant in college and didn’t tell anyone who the father was, then finished architecture school and started Our House with Jules—but he didn’t seem to worry about her. Audrey is a straight shooter; you always know where you stand with her.

Jules, on the other hand, is much harder to read. She’s brazen and comes across as a bit brash. She seems kind of like a badass, but I think there’s a lot more below the surface—especially because she’s got a complicated past that she never wants to talk about.

“I’ve known her since she was, like, ten,” I remind him. It’s funny to think that when I met her, she was all long, gangly limbs, and perpetually covered in construction dust. All she wanted to do was build shit.

“That doesn’t mean youknowher.” Jameson’s words give me pause, because when you think of someone like family, you think you know them. It makes me wonder what Idon’tknow.

“Okay, so she’s a private person,” I say, suddenly feeling tentative. I’m not used to being told to get lost. Quite the opposite. Women, especially, seem to love me. “I can stay out of her hair if that’s what she wants, or needs, or whatever.”

“Can you, though?” Jameson asks.

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