Page 10 of V is for Valentine
“Can’t complain. It keeps me out of trouble—”
She made a small disbelieving sound which shifted into a half cough and he laughed.
“Do I still drive you crazy?” he asked matter-of-factly. “Or are you coasting on fumes from incidents past?” Because they had some incidents past that were worthy of carrying a grudge, but mainly they’d fed off one another. One-upmanship had become a way of life.
She gave him a thoughtful look. “I guess,” she said slowly, “that remains to be seen.”
“Guess so,” he agreed affably, pulling off his hoody. Beneath it he wore a shirt he felt he could sacrifice to construction, which read “A is for Awesome.”
Felicity’s gaze slowly rose from the shirt to his face.
“It was a gift,” he explained.
“You impressed someone.”
“Nothing new there.”
She looked at his T-shirt again, then shook her head. “We need to get to work. Feel free to grab an apron.” She pointed to the canvas construction aprons hanging from a nail set in the framing. “Drills are there all charged up. Drywall screws in those boxes.”
She dropped the drill into the holster on her tool belt, which sagged a good inch or so under the weight, then tied on one of the aprons. “I think it would be fastest if we worked in separate areas. I’ll work on the office at the south end of the building if you start on the larger room to the north.”
“Considering the weight of the drywall, it might be faster to work together.” The wallboards were on the smaller side for a construction site, eight feet long and four feet wide, but still unwieldy for someone Felicity’s size.
“I can handle the weight of the drywall,” she said, scooping up a handful of screws and dropping them into the front apron pockets. “Working alone will be fastest.” She focused on his T-shirt again, then raised her gaze. “Mr. Awesome.”
“Whatever you say,” he replied as he tied on his apron. He poured screws directly from the box into the front pockets. “B is for Boss.”
“Right.”
“And C is for Cooperation,” he murmured lightly as he picked up a drill and started to the far end of the building, walking between upright two-by-fours.
“E is for Efficiency.” Her voice rose on the last word.
“You can’t skip letters.”
“D is forDone Arguing over SomethingDumb,” she shouted after him.
“Good one.”
“I can skip letters if I want.” She muttered the words, but he heard and couldn’t help laughing.
“Feels good to be twelve again,” he said.
Instead of firing back an insult, she gave a husky laugh, catching him unaware and causing something warm and hungry to ripple through him. He glanced at her from across the wide space, and she met his gaze with her old cocky look, as if daring him to call her on the fact that she’d ceded him a point, before turning to focus on the stack of drywall that she said she’d have no problem with.
His nemesis was back, looking hot and sassy in her baggy jeans and tool belt, blue work shirt and red bandanna holding back her short blond hair.
He turned to his own stack of drywall.
His nemesis would not appreciate his assessment, but that didn’t keep him from having questions.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he yelled across the room.
“Why would you ask that?” she replied.
“Chooses not to answer,” he said to himself as if making a note.
“I do choose to answer. I am not. Too busy. And you?”
