Page 115 of Mess With Me

“You know I’m up for it.”

I hang up the phone feeling energized about work for the first time in a long time. And guilty as fuck for thinking about abandoning Lionel, no matter how bad things have gone.

“Everything good?” Sasha asks. We’re just pulling into the parking lot of the Lumber Depot.

“My friend Ford’s coming to Quince Valley. He wants to meet you.”

I grin.

“This is Ford from work? I can’t wait. He sounds handsome.”

“Hewhat?”

“You know. That time I picked up your phone when you had grease all over your hands.”

I grimace. “It was supposed to be Chelsea.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Sasha.”

Her mimicking of Ford’s voice would make me laugh if it weren’t for the spike of jealousy running through me. “You know what? I’ll just tell him I’ll meet him in the city next time I’m there.”

“No way.” She throws the truck into park. “He can come out to the bar with us. We’ll be there to talk ghosts anyway.”

I groan. I’d forgotten about that meeting she’d set up. Jude had rescheduled it twice, first due to something going on with the non-profit he ran and the next because of back-to-school teacher interviews. We were locked in for next week, though, he promised.

“Let’s just get this wood and get back home so I can show you exactly how much I don’t care about you thinking Ford sounds sexy.”

Sasha hops out of the truck before I can go over and open the door for her. I scowl, even as she kisses my cheek and especially when she whispers, “I like you a little jealous.” Even though she makes me blush.

The trip inside is quick—we know exactly what we’re there for, and we end up buying the longest lengths of lumber the store’s got. Sasha also insists on getting three brand-new rocking chairs with padded seats we see on a “last chance” display of outdoor furniture.

“One for each of us,” she says, smiling. I have to look away. The rocking chairs have a permanent kind of feel that belies our shorter-term arrangement.

“These are going to stick out of the bed, Angel.” I warn her about the lengths of wood as we load them onto the flatbed cart. “By a lot.” Luckily the rockers come flattened so everything should still fit.

“I’m still driving home.”

I’m not sure if she’s still convinced that’s the best idea once we reach the parking lot. She moves the smaller pieces of lumber herself, but I have to get up onto the tailgate to strap on the big pieces.

Sasha huffs as she throws the next smaller piece on the load a shade too hard. It’s only then I notice there’s a woman nearby looking quickly away. Was she looking at me?

I pay attention after that and see Sasha puff herself up every time a woman passes by, whether she’s looking at me or not.

I have to try hard not to smile. “You all right?” I ask when I hop down off the back once it’s all secure.

“I’m fine,” she says as I strap the red flag to the back.

“You sure? You looked a little jeal—”

“I said I’m fine. You look a little sweaty. Your arms are all glisteny.”

“Is that a word?”

“You stink, too.”

I clench my jaw to keep myself from laughing. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, Angel,” I say, kissing her forehead.

“I’m not—ugh,sosweaty!”

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