Twist--A Dive Bar Novel(19)

The man did not laugh.

Today’s options were jeans or tights and a skirt. I had good legs. A big butt, but good legs. Black tights and a matching skirt, done. A somewhat fancy red bohemian blouse with cool embroidery for the top half. Sometimes a girl just wants to dress up a little. Feel pretty. No biggie.

“Won’t be long.” I headed for the bathroom.

He pulled out his phone and relaxed back in the chair, just hanging. “No worries. Take your time.”

* * *

Tools sat in the first large storeroom that was one of the studio apartment options. It sat above an empty shop, on the other end of the building from the Dive Bar. If Joe did wind up living there, he could just about make as much noise as he wanted.

A partition sat in the middle of the room, turning it into two offices, maybe. The little bathroom was a mold- and spider-infested ruin.

“Galley kitchen would work well,” mumbled Andre. He, Joe, and Pat were gathered around my laptop, looking over the designs.

“Definitely conserve space.” Joe pulled a rubber band out of his jeans pocket and proceeded to pull his hair back and put it into a ponytail. “I think the walk-in shower’s a good idea too. Keep things nice and streamlined. Minimum fuss. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Okay,” said Andre.

Pat seemed less scary today. Just sad. Contained, I guess. He didn’t say or smile much. From the brief chat I’d had with Nell, and the mega-fast walk through of her kitchen the night before, I couldn’t imagine the two of them together. She came across as so bright and bubbly.

I moseyed on over to the collection of tools, just checking things out. A battered red toolbox sat open, displaying a wide array of goods. Atop a notebook sat a laser meter and measuring tape. A rubber-headed mallet and a saw. Ooh, a sledgehammer.

The men folk were still busy, discussing the designs … what the hell?

Quiet as I could, I picked up the sledgehammer. Gave the heavy bastard a swing or two back and forth. Wonder what it would be like to send it slamming into something. To crash it into a sheet of plasterboard.

“Alex,” said Joe, startling me.

“Yeah?” All swinging of large manly tools ceased immediately. I felt like a little kid getting caught stealing candy. “Hi.”

For a moment he said nothing, just looked at me in the quiet, mindful way he had. Then he nodded toward the partition.

“What?” I asked, eyeing the object of his attention.

“Hit it.”

My eyes widened. “Really?”

“It needs to come down,” he said. “You wanted to do some of the work, right? Learn some stuff?”

“Yes.”

He wandered over to the bit of wall in question, knocked on it twice. “It’s not a load bearer or anything like that. No wires in there. Go for it.”

Without further ado, he handed me some safety glasses. I donned them, looking beyond cool, no doubt. Then I lifted the heavy sledgehammer, giving him a small, unsure smile. The kind of smile you give a man when you think he’s serious but you’re not a hundred percent sure. Given life experience, etc., he might just be mocking me.

Andre shook his head and smiled. “Leave her alone, man. She’s looking gorgeous today. If she starts in on that she’ll get covered in plaster dust and shit.”

Interesting. Pat stayed silent.

Joe, on the other hand, gave Andre a hard glance before turning back to me. “Alex.”

“Joe?”

He licked his lips. Something low in my belly liked that. The aesthetics of his lovely mouth framed by the golden beard. Maybe I was going a little loopy. Loopier. Or maybe my tastes were undergoing a serious shift.

“Make that wall your bitch,” he said, eyes intense. Challenging.

I nodded, hefted the sledgehammer back out to the side, and then let loose. It was a pathetic hit. Sheetrock cracked but that was about it. More swing, more oomph was required. Much, much more. Again, with both hands wrapped tightly around the hilt, I drew back and then swung. Putting my weight behind it this time. Going in hard.

Crash!

The first layer of the wall cracked right open along with the second, a couple of inches in. I even managed to splinter an old length of wood running through the middle. Dust and dirt filled the air. Doubtless it had rained down on my hair, was covering my clothing. Who gave a fuck? The feeling of strength, the shock of destruction. I was hooked. Already my arms were starting to feel the burn from the unexpected workout. But it was all good.

Again, I drew back then rammed the sledgehammer into the wall. Crash boom bang. Holy balls. The big-ass hole, all of the wreckage and mess, I’d done that. Me.

I grinned at Joe and he grinned back, watching the proceedings with his thick arms crossed. Poor Andre shook his head while Pat gave me a half smile.

Back to wall breaking I went.

Bam. That’s for the people who made me feel small. The ones who overlooked and ignored me. The ones who never let me fit in.

Bash. This was for the ones who put gum in my hair and tripped me in the hallway. Who pushed me and hurt me physically.

Boom. An extra-special hit for those who’d tortured me with words. Because those words, all of those insults, they never left my head. Not even after all these years.

Bang. Here’s to the bullies, the bastards and bitches out for attention. The ones who caused me pain just so they could feel superior and powerful in front of their peers. All of them.

The list went on. A strike for those who’d told me to shrug it off, to ignore it and stop whining. Another for the people who’d seen it happen and done nothing. Acted like it was all just a joke, a normal part of growing up, nothing serious. I kept hitting, breaking down the wall, taking the fucker apart. And I didn’t stop until I was dripping with sweat and sheeted in dust, three-quarters of the wall laid bare to the studs, smashed to smithereens. My shoulders were screaming and body tired, but my soul was oddly appeased. God knows why, but I loved it. The power, the violence, the ability to well and truly affect my surroundings. Joe standing and watching, keeping out of my way, just letting me do my thing. I could have done it just fine without him there, sure. To have him close, however, made it better.

I doubt Valerie’s therapist would have approved. But I felt the best I had in a while.

I don’t know how long I spent staring at the remains of my wall, gulping down the bottle of water Joe had passed me, enjoying the afterglow. Sex with strangers didn’t even begin to compare to this stress-busting experience. Maybe I’d been a Viking marauder in a former life, or something.

At some stage during my “I am woman, hear me grunt and roar as I pulverize this innocent bit of building” Pat and Andre had disappeared. Only Joe and I remained upstairs, as far as I was aware.

“I see,” he said into a phone.

My cell. Shit. I’d told him he could answer it. Sure. Hadn’t exactly been serious, though. Nor had he seemed interested.

He noticed me noticing and held my gaze. The look was loaded. Meaningful. Full of what exactly, I couldn’t say.

“Okay, Valerie,” he said, eyes still on me.

I took a step forward, held out my hand. A swift shake of the head was my sole reply.

“Much appreciated,” he said. “Bye.”

“That was Val?” I asked stupidly.

“Yeah. Your phone kept ringing. Saw it was her so I answered to get her off your back.”

“Oh.”

“Earlier you said I could. This a problem?” He passed me the cell and slid it into the pocket of my now white-and-gray-speckled gritty skirt. So much for looking pretty.

“Ah, no.” I guess.

“Your first boyfriend lied to you, huh?” He canted his head, eyes narrowed on me.

Shit. My mouth opened, closed.

“He cheated on you?”

“Um. Yes.”

“Hurt your feelings?”

“That’s right.”

Slowly, Joe nodded, taking a deep breath at the same time. “And that was the reason you gave for not being willing to forgive me.”

“Lying is a serious offense,” I said, inching back just a little. Not that I was scared. Exactly. Definitely not because I thought he’d hurt me physically. Despite all of my sledgehammer girl-power behavior, I could still be harmed in other ways. A woman needed to protect herself. Right. “It’s a really bad thing.”

“It is. You’re right.” He took a step forward.

I took one back. “So? What’s your point, Joe?”

He stepped forward again. And again I stepped back until my spine hit the jagged remains of the wall. Whatever Valerie had told him, it couldn’t be good. And since when had my best friend decided to work against me with this man? Talk about betrayal.

Joe towered over me, arms relaxed at his sides. His eyes, however, they didn’t seem so chilled.

“How old were you when you had this lying, cheating boyfriend, Alex?” he asked in a disturbingly calm tone. I didn’t trust it one bit.

“Young-ish.”

“Do me a favor, Little Miss Fucking Sunshine? Be exact.”

I was going to kill Valerie. Sledge her with my mighty hammer. Wrap her in plastic and encase her in a wall. Something like that.

“Hmm?” He waited, looming above me with judgey eyes. “How old, Alex?”

“Twelve,” I grumbled.

The man paused, cupped his ear. “Sorry. What was that?”

“Twelve. I was twelve years old when Bradley Moore cheated on me by dating some cow who was friends with his cousin.” I did not sound like a sullen little brat. I sounded like something else, vaguely related to the same. Someone who’d just been busted using a piss-weak excuse to avoid getting involved any further with this man. Not that it had even really worked. “It hurt.”