She stops short, shaking her head. “Maybe not such a great idea.”
I smooth the crease between her brows with my thumb. “Why not? I can volunteer too, the shelter is run by my dad’s ministry. Honestly, I probably should’ve volunteered before now.”
She tosses me a skeptical look. “No. Not seeing it.”
Really? “You don’t think I’d do something nice for someone else?”
“I just think taking you there would be—not the most judicious thing. I mean, these women, some of them have been through a lot—with men. Others, well, they have issues. And, sorry, Danny, but you’re you. You kinda go through girls like frat boys go through bottles of beer. One after another. The last thing we should do is take you to a brewery.”
Well, that explains a lot about the way she sees me.
I throw my hand over my heart. “Wow. You really know how to hurt a guy.”
She shrugs. “Just sayin’.”
I lean in close and drop a kiss on her temple. “Tell you what—let me hang out with you and the kids, and I’ll show you I’m capable of not flirting with any of the ladies.”
She narrows her eyes, and her mouth hardens. “I don’t care if you do want to get back at your dad; you embarrass me, Jennings, and I’ll have your ass.”
* * *
I’m not really sure how I thought it’d be, but the shelter isn’t what I expected. I guess I’m surprised it’s not more run down, more desperate. But of course, Dad couldn’t have anything like that connected with his name.
Once I’m checked in, they have a copy of my driver’s license, and I’ve been given the whole you aren’t allowed to work with the kids until your background check comes through spiel—apparently it doesn’t matter who my dad is—I follow Mo down a corridor.
The hall is lined with photos of the ministry’s benefactors and those who support the shelter. Right smack in the middle of the wall is a huge painting of Jesus. Parked next to it hangs an equally large photo of my dad. His hair perfectly combed to the side, his wolfish grin concealed behind the million dollar smile he gives to the world. His teeth gleam as much as the white linoleum squares lining the hallway, reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead. Makes me sick. My gaze flits to my shoes.
Not sure I’ve ever seen a floor so clean—hate to be the poor bastard who has to keep it maintained.
The buffer vibrates under my hands.
Burn it and buff it. That’s what the guy said. Use the coarse pad to heat the wax already on the floor, and then buff using the softer pad to make it shine.
Guess I’m the poor bastard shining the floors today. Before that, I was the guy who swept and mopped. Yesterday I was the one who cleaned bathrooms and restocked shelves in the pantry. The day before that, I unloaded a box truck of donated clothing and paper goods. I’ve never seen so many rolls of toilet tissue in all my life.
This isn’t what I thought I was volunteering to do. But maybe Mo will see I’m not just all about a piece of ass. Okay, I am all about a piece of ass, but I want a particular piece, and if this is what I have to do to get more of it, then I will.
Every once in a while I get a glimpse of Mo as she walks this kid or that down the hall from one place to another. The most I get from her is a half-smile. Somehow she’s managed to avoid me altogether at home.
I guide the buffer back and forth, back and forth, gliding over the linoleum tiles, watching the door Mo went through earlier. When someone taps my shoulder, I flip the switch, turning off the machine.
A petite girl with huge brown eyes smiles up at me. She throws herself against me. “So, I’ve been nominated to find out your name. We’ve been watching you.”
What the fuck? I back up, but she stays with me.
She slides her hands under my shirt. “I’m Roxie. Want to take me out for a drink or something?”
I grab Roxie’s wrists through my shirt before she gets them to my pecs. The door I’ve been keeping an eye on opens and Mo walks into the corridor. Her eyes zero in on me—and Roxie.
Mo mouths something. Beer.
Ah, fuck.
I slide sideways out of Roxie’s hold and tuck my fingers into my front pockets. “Thanks. Really. But I can’t.”
I try not to be rude, but Roxie’s lip pokes out in a pout anyway. Normally, I’d have totally taken this chick up on her offer. But somehow, it just isn’t as appealing as it would’ve been a few weeks ago.
Mo passes by. Under her breath, she mumbles, “Brewery.”
I jog after her.
Roxie calls, “You’re missing out.”
I shrug. “Sorry, got things to do.”