Page 54 of The Backtrack
That is, until her moment of peace was interrupted by the low rumble of a motorcycle. Motorcycles made Sam think of Damon. But Damon wasn’t the only person on Tybee who owned one. Plenty of people did. So she kept her eyes closed and tried to refocus.
Grass.
Sun.
Not Damon.
The engine grew louder, like the motorcycle was cruising down her street. Still, that could be anyone. It was when the engine stopped in front of her house that she realized what was happening and attempted to become one with the lawn, because she knew in her bones that Damon had just arrived.
She tried her bestnotto breathe so as to avoid being detected, but her tactic didn’t appear to work, as Damon’s heavy boots clomped across the driveway.
“Sam.” His tone was concerned.
She opened one eye and there was Damon, blocking the sun in a way that also surrounded him in a halo of light, like some hot biker angel.
“Damon.” She tried to sound casual, like this had been her plan all along.
“I see you’re lying on the ground.”
“You see correctly,” she replied. She could do this deflection thing all day. And besides, she didn’t owe him an explanation or anything, really.
“I asked him to come help. So sue me,” Pearl shouted from the porch. Sam tried to express how angry she was through her eyes, but Grandma Pearl stood down to no one. “I’m going to take a nap, which is all I’m good for these days. You two have fun.”
Pearl waved to Damon just as he raked a hand through his hair, like he was in a goddamn shampoo commercial. Like he didn’t realize the move made Sam suck in a deep breath.
“Pearl said you were trying to use a hammer.” Damon put his hands on his hips. “She sounded pretty worried about it.”
“I’ve used a hammer before.” Sam finally sat up. Damon extended his hand and she took it. When she stood, they were face-to-face and way too close. She could smell the burn of the road on him, nearly feel the scratch of his shadow of a beard across her cheek. She took a step back and unhooked the hammer from the belt loop of her jean shorts. Then she waved it at him, like that was a normal thing someone did with a hammer.
“Yes, you’re very skilled.” Damon peeled off his leather jacket, which revealed his short-sleeved fitted shirt and the defined line of his triceps. He draped the jacket over the back of his bike. “Let me help you prep for the storm. We both know this is a two-person job.”
She did know that, but she really wished her grandma had called anyone else to be there with her.
“Okay,” Sam said, resigned. “You’ll be my other person.”
They didn’t have to talk about their non-kiss. She could just accept the help, get the house safe and then Damon would leave. Simple and clean. Sam pointed toward the stack of boards. He grabbed one end and she the other. As they maneuvered the board to the side of the house, she couldn’t help but remember the way Damon had looked at Alt-Sam in her most recent vision—so caring, like she could do no wrong. Meanwhile, this Damon couldn’t even meet her eyes.
“How was your day?” Sam decided that if they were going to be stuck together, small talk was a safe lane. She gestured for Damon to lift one side of the panel, as she grabbed the other.
“We were doing storm prep, mostly, but I did have a middle-aged tourist tell me I look like Colin Farrell, which was nice,” Damon said.
“Thatisnice.” Sam and Damon lifted the panel up until it covered the window perfectly. “Was that before or after they grabbed your ass?”
“Oh, definitely foreplay to the ass grab,” he grunted out. “You’ve gotta buy me dinner before you get a handful.”
Sam couldn’t help notice the bulge of Damon’s biceps as he held the plank in place. The little line of muscle that spanned the length of him. The way his shoulders popped and revealed their own strength. “Noted,” she said and glanced away.
“Where are the nails?” Damon asked.
Sam snapped out of her gaze and reached into her pocket with her free hand. She passed a long nail over to Damon and he pinched it from her grasp. The small graze of his fingertips sent a little jolt through her, and she quickly shoved her hand back into her pocket for another nail.
She propped the wood on her knee, positioned the hammer over the top of the nail andthwack, thwack, thwackedit into place. When the nail was flush with the wood, she passed the hammer to Damon.
“Hey, you weren’t kidding. Maybe youhaveused a hammer before.”
“A gal has to have her tricks.” She winked at him and he gave her a small smile back.
“The rain is coming.” He hammered away at his own nail, then opened his palm for another, which she placed into his hand without having to touch him.
