Page 9 of Backed By You
I wonder if she envisioned it hitting me in the face, given the force she put behind that.
I release my burning grin and chuckle as I start the chainsaw and get to work.
My morning peace is then interrupted by her blaring music. The same shit she played last night. And Iswearshe didn’t turn it down one damn bit after I told her to. Now…she’s got it cranked to the max.
I shake my head, doing my damnedest to brush off the building irritation this woman is causing. I kill the rumble of the chainsaw and begin dragging the cut brush to the bed of my father’s truck for his burn pile.
The blaring music abruptly stops, and I glance up to see Callie walking out with Hulk at her side. He’s wearing a black and royal blue vest with ‘service dog’ written on either side. There are a slew of patches on the vest: Do Not Touch. Working Dog. Certified Service Animal. And an insignia to show his credentials.
Her high-waisted leggings, off the shoulder peach crop top, and sneakers have my cock weeping. Her honey hair bounces in loose curls, a light coat of makeup that suits her fuckin’ beautifully.
It’s infuriating the reaction my body has to the very sight of her.
She walks to her Jeep, and Hulk jumps in the front seat. She leans in to hook him into some kind of harness attached to the seatbelt. Gorgeous hazel eyes catch my stare for a moment, and my throat bobs uncomfortably when she sends me a stunning smile.
A smile so fucking breathtaking I don’t know what to do with myself.
It’s not meant for you, idiot.
I scowl.
She hops in the driver’s seat and backs out before heading toward town—leaving me a puddle in the brush with a hardening cock.
I finish roughly half the brush removal before the truck is full. After a quick shower and change of clothes, I meet up with my father to head to the dealership.
I go through the motions of buying myself a newer four-door, extended-cab, charcoal grey pick-up. They let me know it’ll be ready to be picked up tomorrow.
We get lunch at the diner, and I chat with Butch about the deep-rooted trees I need gone. I rattled off basic specs to Rhett on my lumber order to get that underway.
I’m feeling productive as hell until every-damn-one of them feels the need to make multiple comments on me needing to ‘relax’ or ‘take a break.’
“Is all this labor good for your knee?”
To them—no, it’s not good.
To me—I work through the pain. I always have. I do my physical therapy, but I don’t lie to myself. At the end of theday, I’m sore. I’m hurting here and there depending on how I’m moving, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
I manage just fine.
I pull in beside Callie’s Jeep, parked even wilder than before. She has it backed in with the tailgate open like she was unloading something.
That’s when I see her.
She’s reaching up high under the sloped roof of the front porch with a drill in hand. She’s recklessly standing on a chair of all things. On her damn tippy toes to do whatever the fuck it is she’s doing.
I growl under my breath as I get out.
Hulk catches sight of me first, giving a loud, aggressive bark my way, alerting his owner of my presence. “Oh, hey,” Callie says, peering under her arm at me.
As I approach, I stare at a set of chains sitting on top of a wooden bench swing that wasn’t here this morning. “What are you doing?”
Bracing herself, she steps down from the chair. “I got a porch swing,” she announces proudly. She smiles, pointing to the handcrafted swing. “Isn’t it beautiful? I had it custom-made by this guy in town. It came out way better than I expected.”
“Did Duke give you authorization to be drilling holes in the roof?”
Her face scrunches as if she’s tasted something sour. “What is it with you and thisauthorizationanddid you get permission? It’s a swing, Beau. A harmless, pretty porch swing. And in order to hang it properly, I need to drill holes for the hooks into the roof. Is that okay?”
She says it so sweetly, I almost give in.Almost.
