stepped into the car, sank into the driver’s seat. “I promise.”
“Thank you. Drive safe.” He shut her door and then stepped away. Watched as she buckled her seat belt, started the engine and pulled out of her parking space.
Instantly he regretted sharing so much. He feared that he’d run her away with talk of his ex-wife. As he made his way to his truck, he also made a conscious decision to give her some space, time, whatever. But he wouldn’t pursue her. He’d been rejected once, and that was enough to last him a lifetime. He wouldn’t put himself through it again—that he knew for sure.
* * *
He tossed his keys on the coffee table, pulled his shirt over his head and hit the power on the remote control. Searched the channels for ESPN. When his phone played a tune, he pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the screen.
Made it home.
Good. Thank you for letting me know, he typed.
I had a great time.
“Even after I aired all of my dirty laundry?” he whispered to himself. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was just being cordial. It was a nice thing to say.
Me too, he replied.
Let’s do it again.
Was she serious?
I’ll call you. He typed it but knew it wasn’t true. He wouldn’t call her again. She was much too sweet, too beautiful, to get caught up with a guy like him. He had too many hang-ups, worries, troubles. She didn’t need that in her life. She appeared to have her shit together, and the last thing he wanted to do was interfere with that.
Have a good night, was all he typed. Left it at that.
Went to the bathroom and turned on the shower.
* * *
Rest didn’t come easy with a demanding job, and before he knew it, Monday morning had crept up on him. He pulled into the parking lot and backed into his usual space. Hip-hop music blasted through his speakers. He’d arrived a few minutes early, just before two in the morning—dawn nowhere in sight. So he sat there for a moment, bounced to the music. Considered sending a text to Whitney, just to say good morning, but didn’t want to wake her at such an early hour.
When someone tapped on his window, it startled him. He let the window down to find Tyler standing there in an old T-shirt, a pair of jeans and work boots.
“Hey, Lane. I’m here, ready to work.”
“Good,” said Lane. “But don’t tap on people’s windows like that.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Let’s get you clocked in.” He turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. “Follow me.”
“Uncle Melvin said you always get here early. Is this the usual schedule?” asked Tyler.
“It’s whatever time they need us here. Is that going to be a problem?”
“No problem at all.”
“It means that on work nights, you can’t hang out partying with your friends. You have to take your ass to bed so you can get up in the morning.”
“I don’t even have any friends here yet. So I’m good on that.”
“Well, whenever you make friends. You need to be disciplined,” Lane lectured the young man. “And because I’m putting myself on the line for you, don’t even think about not showing up, missing work or not pulling your weight. I don’t have a problem letting you go.”
“I really need this job, man.”
“Good! We’ll see just how bad.”
“I won’t let you down. I promise.”
“All right, then. I’ll show you how to clock in, and then we’ll inspect the truck.”
“Cool.”
Lane led the way, and Tyler followed close behind. He’d reluctantly taken the supervisory position only recently, and he was already feeling as though he’d made a mistake. He didn’t like having to oversee other guys—just wanted to take care of himself. But since the previous supervisor had gone out on a disability unexpectedly, they’d asked Lane to step up in the interim.
“Just until we hire someone else,” they’d pleaded.
Five months had come and gone, and his replacement still hadn’t been hired. And on top of it, he despised the red-haired young man he had to report to. Blake was half Lane’s age—still had milk on his breath—and cocky as hell. He micromanaged his staff of supervisors. Didn’t allow them to manage their staff without interference. Lane feared that he might choke Blake if they didn’t find a replacement soon.
* * *
Tyler was a quick study. His first day went exceptionally well. Lane was pleased, and relieved. He didn’t need any other issues, and he didn’t need dissension with his best friend because he had to let Tyler go on his first day. All was well, and he gave the young man a strong handshake.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the opportunity, Lane.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Continue to do a good job, and we won’t have any problems.”
He packed his cooler into the bed of his truck. Removed his hard hat and reflective vest and threw them both into the bed, as well. Exhausted, he shrank into the driver’s seat of his truck. He exhaled and let the window down, found some good riding music. Every muscle in his body ached, and all he wanted was a cold brew. He pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his pants and checked his text messages.
Hope you’re having a great day. He read the text from Whitney.
She’d sent it two hours prior, but he’d been busy training Tyler.
He replied, Busy. And yours?
I work with little people, remember? Busy as well. Headed home now.
Me too.
He wanted to invite her out for a quick bite to eat, but chances were he had another early morning. He wanted to see her beautiful face again but didn’t want to rush things. Needed to take it slow. He was thinking about her too much and needed to take time and analyze those thoughts. Understand them. And moreover, attempt to dismiss them.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную
