Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

I take a deep breath. “My mother called me the stupid one. She didn’t refer to us by our names. It was always, the funny one, the smart one, the ambitious one, the one good at making money, the hard-working one…you get the picture.”

Grant nods, gaze fixed on me and unblinking.

“After I dropped out, the girls in France looked down their noses at me because I didn’t even graduate from high school. Some of them were real snobs, reading heavy literature to sound cool. So I tried reading those books, too.”

A smile kicks up at the memory. I could barely get through them. “One of them, an American girl from California, handed me a romance novel and said try this…I started highlighting her paperback. Words I liked. Words I didn’t know. Words I didn’t use enough. Writing them down in a notebook…I had ten notebooks filled with words and expressions by the time I left Paris and moved to L.A.”

I shrug. Grant’s expression is unreadable for once.

“Now I highlight them in my e-reader…it’s a habit.”

An awful, heavy, eternal minute of silence passes. He gets up off the stool and walks over to me. My heart starts to freak out and my mouth runs dry. I have no idea what to expect.

He hugs me. He hugs me tightly.

“Perfect…that’s your word. You’re the perfect one,” he murmurs close to my ear. And then he lets go and walks out. The milk did not work wonders that night.

“I’m screwed,” I say into my cellphone. Glancing around the studio, satisfaction blooms in my chest. It’s perfect. Every fixture in place. The handicap ramp done. Thanks to Grant’s contractor the studio is ready in time for the grand opening.

“On a more positive note, the studio is perfect. The wall didn’t have to be knocked down because Grant’s guy found three more feet behind some sheetrock on the far wall.”

“Thank fuck. Now how bad was the screwing?”

“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t sleep with Steven. He was nice, but no chemistry…I’m talking about Grant,” I practically sigh.

“You mean the electro-shocked gorilla that’s hung like one too?”

I laugh. “Yeah, that guy. One minute we can barely stand each other and the next minute…oops.”

“Oops? What kind of oops? Oops like he’s really seventeen and not eighteen oops. Or I put on a mismatched pair of socks oops.”

“Somewhere in between. Oops, I’m falling into serious like oops.” Devya’s silence worries me. “What? No words of wisdom? Where’s the advice now that I really need it.”

“No turning into a love zombie,” she finally says.

“I know. You’re right.”

“And stock up on extra-large condoms.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Morning.”

Grant is already seated at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand, smirking at me when I amble like a drunkard to the espresso machine and hit the buttons that will magically produce a three-shot latte (and salvation).

The start of a migraine is already rolling over me. I can feel it. Unfortunately, the inspector is coming to check out the new electric panel today and I can’t afford to be anything less than sharp.

Hormonal migraines are the bane of my existence. Ibuprofen, plus thirty gallons of caffeine should do the trick with any hope.

“Morning,” I croak and scowl at the smirk. I’m still in the t-shirt I sleep in and like clockwork his gaze takes a meandering tour of my body.

“You feeling okay?”

“No.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and press into the sockets. “I think I’m getting a migraine.” Grabbing the latte, I take a seat across from him at the table. Sam must still be asleep.

“Take the day off.”

“Can’t,” I say, guzzling my first cup. I glance over at him and find a heavy frown. “The building inspector is coming today.”

By the time they’re this far along I usually have to spend the day in a pitch-black room, suffering. I don’t tell him that, though. I just need to get through the next few hours. “Do you have any plans today?” I ask with a pathetic hound dog look, chin resting on my fist.

He’s been so helpful with Sam and Roxy I don’t know what I would’ve done this summer without him. He’s been legit indispensable…and a good friend. The best friend a girl could ask for. A friend and only a friend because he thinks he’s bad news. I have news for him––I’m bad news, too.

He looks up from his iPad. “Yeah, hanging out with my buddy, Sam, and my best girl, Roxy.”

He keeps saying stuff like this and I might for real swoon. My hand falls over my heart. “They should saint you. Or at the very least knight you.”

He smiles wickedly and a warm flush covers everything south of my hairline. His expression says he’s picturing himself on his knees in front of me…

Oh, wait, scratch that, that’s me picturing it. “I should be back in time to cook a late lunch if you dude-bros can wait.”