Hammer & Nails (4 page)

“I’m calling in an electrician, your system needs to be updated.”

“Okay, fine, good. See ya,” he mumbles before taking off in a jog down the street.

I watch his back as he goes. He’s got a nice back. And a nice ass. Shame it’s wasted on such a asshole.

~
Four
~

~ Nolan ~

I pull up in front of my house and park. I look out my window to see that there is a light on in my soon to be office. What the hell? It’s ten at night, no one should be here. I glance around toward the driveway and see that Harley’s truck is parked in the driveway next to the dumpster. Dammit, that is the whole reason I came here so late; I wanted to avoid seeing her and dealing with her. So, do I stay or do I go? It’s been a week since I stopped by and I’m dying to know what kind of progress has been made. Screw it, I’m going in.

I get out of my car and start for the front door, quietly opening it and walking in. I hear Harley grunting and huffing. What in the world is she doing? I walk over to the doorway that leads into the office and almost have a heart attack. Up on a high ladder in the center of the room is Harley. She’s holding up a sheet of drywall with the top of her head and one hand, while she tries in vain to screw it in place with the other. Is she out of her mind? She can’t do something like this by herself!

“Jesus Christ, Harley!” I snap and rush over to the ladder.

I quickly climb up behind her and plaster myself against her back as I reach up and hold the drywall up to the ceiling. Harley pants out a “Thanks” and finishes screwing the drywall into the joists. After that’s said and done, we both climb down the ladder. I watch Harley as she wanders over to the other drywall sheets stacked against the wall. She pulls out her measuring tape and stretches it across the board, making little marks with her pencil here and there. She completely ignores the fact that I’m standing here or that I just helped her.

“What are you doing here so late?” I ask.

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Working,” she says without looking away from what she’s doing.

I walk over to her. I’m really confused by her behavior. She’s very subdued right now and it’s kind of freaking me out. I gently take her arm and turn her toward me. She sighs heavily and keeps her eyes downcast.

“You could have seriously injured yourself and there would have been no one here to help you if I hadn’t not stopped by. What were you thinking?” I ask softly.

“I’m trying not to think, that’s the point. Working helps me not think,” she murmurs.

I frown. “Why would you not want to think?”

“Because today is a bad day and I don’t want to think about it, okay? And I don’t want to talk about it, either.” She huffs, finally lifting her emerald green eyes to meet mine. Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so sad.

She extracts her arm from my grip and turns back to the drywall.

“Listen, you can’t be doing this on your own…”

“So help me then.”

After a moment’s consideration, I concede, “Okay.”

Her only reaction is a lift of her eyebrow but she doesn’t say a word. I pull off my button down shirt so I don’t mess it up, which leaves me in only a black T-shirt and jeans. Over the next hour and a half, we work in comfortable silence. The only talking is Harley giving me directions. Once the ceiling is finished, Harley starts to clean up her tools. I help by handing her things. I’m utterly confused by her. I never thought she had the capability to remain silent for so long. I really can’t take it anymore. It’s not natural. As much as she annoys me, this just isn’t right.

“So why is today such a bad day?” I ask into the silence.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Didn’t I say I didn’t want to talk about it?”

“Come on, I just helped you put up a ceiling, don’t I deserve a little reward?” I huff, motioning to all the white dust on my black T-shirt.

Her lips twitch as she fights off a smile.

“Alright fine, but if I answer, I get to ask you a question, too,” she says.

I nod in agreement. “Okay.”

“It’s my birthday today.”

I give her a confused look. “Uh, happy birthday. Why is that so bad?”

The sadness in her eyes deepens. “My mom died shortly after giving birth to me,” she replies quietly, a small hitch in her voice.

I close my eyes and hang my head. “Shit. I’m sorry. I understand how you feel.”

“You do?” she asks, and I can hear the doubt in her tone.

I lift my head and look her in the eyes. “Seems we have something in common. My mother passed away when I was ten from breast cancer.”

She rolls her lips in and nods in understanding. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“I guess that explains why you are the way you are.” I smirk, hoping to lighten the dark mood that we seem to have fallen into.

She snorts. “Yeah, this is what happens when you are raised by your father and three brothers.” She chuckles and motions toward herself.

“Oh Jesus, three brothers?” I breathe.

She smiles fondly and it makes my heart flutter in my chest. Damn, she’s so pretty. “Oh yeah, it might do you well to not fuck with me too much.”

I bark out a laugh. “Great! Now you tell me.”

She sends me a teasing wink. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. Be glad you’re not my boyfriend.”

I groan. “Thank God for small miracles.”

She snickers, scrunching her nose up, making her look so freaking cute. We stare at each other, something passing between us - an understanding, maybe?

“My turn. Why don’t you have a Boston accent? Your father has owned the Bruisers for a long freakin’ time.”

“We lived in Philly until I was 12, then we moved here when my dad bought the team. I just never picked it up, and neither has my dad.”

She nods. “That makes sense. It’s weird that you never picked it up, though, living here for so long.”

I lift a shoulder in a small shrug. “I don’t know.”

“I bet you can do it if you tried.” She grins.

I laugh. “No.”

“Come on! Let me hear the Boston in you, Nolan.” She teases.

I shake my head. “No, no, I really can’t.”

“Sure you can. You have lived here for how long? I’m sure you’ve picked it up a little bit.”

I sigh. “Alright fine. But this is a one-time thing.”

“Okay!” She chirps, watching me excitedly.

“Yo, bang a u-ey so I can hit the packie and grab me some beeah fuh suppa.”

Harley burst out laughing. “That was wicked awesome! You are really good at it.”

“How about we call it a night?” I smirk.

She nods as she yawns. “Yeah, okay.”

“Are you going to be okay driving?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

We shut off the lights, grab our things, and start for the door. I’m walking behind Harley when she trips over something on the floor then pitches forward and cries out. I instinctively throw my arms around her to stop her from hitting the floor. I yank her back against my chest and hold her there.

“Shit, are you okay?” I ask in concern.

“Um, yeah…” she replies hesitantly.

It’s then that I realize one of my hands has landed on her breast and is pretty much groping it. I let her go as if burned. She stumbles forward a bit.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I exclaim, completely mortified.

She turns to look at me. Even in the dark, I can see her eyes glittering with amusement.

“Trying to cop a feel, Mr. Hammerstein?” She teases, wagging her eyebrows at me.

“Jesus, not on purpose.” I huff and rake a hand through my hair.

“Mmm hmm,” she hums and continues toward the front door.

“Seriously, Harley, that was not intentional,” I say, following her.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Hammerstein. I can’t blame you, really. It’s hard to resist all this,” she says dismissively and runs a hand seductively down her side.

I fight the smile and hard on that threatens to appear. I walk Harley to her truck. She opens the door and hops in. I stand in the opening, one hand resting on the frame, the other resting on the door’s armrest.

“You can stop calling me Mr. Hammerstein. Nolan is fine.”

“Aw, really? Hammerstein is so fun to say, though,” she whines.

I roll my eyes. “Nolan from now on, please.”

“Whoa, you said ‘please’!” she says, feigning shock.

“Harley.” I warn.

She sighs. “Okay, fine. Goodnight,
Nolan
,” she says with a playful smirk.

I bite back a moan at the way my name sounds coming from her mouth. Her eyes glint mischievously and I narrow mine at her. What is she thinking? Her hand moves in a flash. She cups me through my jeans and gives my semi-hard dick a light squeeze. I yelp in surprise and back my hips away.

“Hey!” I sputter in utter disbelief.

“’Hey’ nothin’. A grope for a grope, it’s only fair,” she replies innocently.

My mouth drops open. “You’re unbelievable,” I say when I can finally speak.

She grins and sends me a wink. “Gotta keep you on your toes. Night, Nolan.”

She tugs on her door, forcing me to back farther away so she can close it. I stand there as she starts up the truck and backs out of the driveway. I watch her drive away as I try to understand what the hell just happened. I shake my head as I start for my car. I don’t know what to think of her after tonight. I’ve seen a different side of her, but that doesn’t change who she is, which is an annoying pain in my ass. I get in my car and sit there, looking over at the dark house and shaking my head.

“This is all your fault, house. Damn you for having to be redone,” I mutter. I start up my car and drive to my father’s.

~ Harley ~

I fight not to laugh as I catch Nolan’s disgusted reaction to the furniture place I bring him to. We are standing on the sidewalk and he’s just staring at the sign above the door. I know he is going to hate this place, but I think it will be the best shot at finding the perfect desk for his office. And since he liked all of my decorating ideas at the initial consult, I’ve now become contractor and decorator extraordinaire. When I mentioned to Nolan earlier that I was going to go look for a desk for his office today, he insisted on coming with me.

“No, we are not looking for a desk in there,” he says firmly.

“Oh come on, I just want to look,” I reply.

He shakes his head. “Oliver’s
Reclaimed
Furniture. Key word,
reclaimed.
I will not use something that once belonged to someone else,” he says adamantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Do you even hear yourself? You sound like a spoiled brat!” I huff and put my hands on my hips.

He sends me a dirty look. “I’m not a spoiled brat, but I don’t need to shop here when I have the money to buy something new!”

“But the look we’re going for with the desk is something distressed and old looking,” I counter.

“They make
new
furniture that looks distressed and old,” he states.

I shake my head. “It’s not the same.”

His stubbled jaw bulges as he grits his teeth. “Ten minutes. That’s it,” he grinds out.

“Okay!” I chirp.

We walk into the building and my eyes immediately take in everything that’s here. I see a couple of things that could possibly work. The problem is going to be getting Nolan to agree to it. I start toward one of the options. As I get closer, I change my mind. Not what I want. I let my eyes scan over everything, constantly searching. My eyes land on a piece of furniture peeking out from behind a hutch.

I sneak a peek at Nolan to find him looking at everything in distaste, like everything here has leprosy and he is somehow going to catch it. I roll my eyes and focus back on my task. I squeeze between two pieces and step behind the hutch. I gasp and run my fingers lovingly over the beautiful distressed oak table. It was probably once a kitchen table, but it could easily be used as a desk in Nolan’s large office space. It needs to be cleaned up, but it is absolutely perfect, and exactly what I was looking for.

Nolan appears on the other side of the table across from me. His eyes already telling me the answer is no.

“Nolan…”

“Nope.”

“But…”

“No.”

“Will you just…”

“Not going to happen.”

“Just listen…”

“Nein.”

“Did you really just tell me no in German?” I scoff.

“Yes, because I’m not buying this table.”

“I’ll buy the damn table.”

“No, you won’t. I don’t want it in my house.” He shakes his head.

“You stubborn mule, it’s perfect!” I shout at him.

Humor flashes for a brief second in his blue eyes before they turn back to hard and unrelenting. “No.”

“It’s exactly what I picture in there, though!”

“It’s my office, and I don’t want someone else’s discarded furniture in it.”

“UGH! You are such a tool!” I snap and storm toward the door.

Nolan follows me out. I stand on the sidewalk, arms crossed over my chest, firm pout on my face. I will get that table and it will be his desk. He doesn’t know who he’s messing with. I have a vision of what that office is supposed to look like, and that table needs to be in it.