One Hot December (Men at Work 3)

“That’s dumb.”

She splashed water in his face.

“I deserved that,” he said.

“You did.”

“But it is dumb.”

“Ian...”

She moved off his lap and sat next to him.

“I’m only teasing you,” he said as he dragged her bodily back into his arms.

“Ian, I have worked at a construction site for two years now. The only woman on a construction crew. I’ve been called a slut. I’ve been asked how big my cock is. One guy calls me Lady Gaga all the time.”

“No, that’s gotta be a compliment.”

“Not when the sentence starts with ‘Shut the hell up.’”

Ian winced. “I know a lot of the guys felt threatened by you. I’m sorry. I did my best to make it a safe place to work. I know my best wasn’t enough.”

“It was subcontractors mostly, other guys on other crews who didn’t know me and thought they could get away with saying that stuff.”

“Can’t fire the subcontractors,” Ian said. “If they don’t work for me, I can’t fire them.”

“Right. Even if you could, if you fired everyone who said something inappropriate at work, you would have fired everyone. Myself included.”

“That’s true. There was the porn name incident.”

“Lady Welder is a great porn name.”

“Yes, and it’s mine. Go get your own.”

“Knowing what you know about what my life has been like the past couple of years, do you really think it’s irrational of me to be nervous about dating you?” she asked, and waited, wanting a serious answer, needing a serious answer.

Ian gave a heavy sigh and sat up in the hot tub.

“No. It’s not irrational. You’ve had to put up with a lot of shit over the past couple years, and I don’t blame you for worrying about having to go through another couple years of proving your worth to people who don’t get you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you understand where I’m coming from. The last guy I dated before you had full-sleeve tattoos and a blue Mohawk. He was a bartender at a music club. We matched. You and I, we don’t match very well. We clash. We’re like Joe Biden and Joan Jett.”

“I can’t believe you called me Joe Biden.”

“He’s the first Catholic guy I could think of who wears suits all the time.”

“First of all, Joe Biden and Joan Jett would be the founders of the greatest rock n’ roll supergroup ever. And second, we do not clash. You’re sexy. I’m sexy. We match.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“I am. I swear I am. Okay, let’s discuss it. Yes, my father has a lot of money and a lot of companies and he’s kind of important out there.” Ian pointed west toward Portland and presumably the world at large. “But I don’t have a lot of money. I make a good salary, but I’m not rich. I own no companies. I’m not important to anyone but my father, my family, my friends and you.”

“I know all that. I know you don’t care that I don’t have much money or that I live in a kind of crappy apartment or any of that. I know.” She raised her hands in surrender. “But I also know people aren’t going to expect to see someone like me with someone like you. Not even me. When I picture you, Ian Asher—scion of the Asher empire—with somebody, it’s not me.”

“Who do you picture me with? Is it a guy? Because I picture you with other girls sometimes.”

“Ian.”