"You need the name of another sub," she accurately surmised. "Just a minute." I heard some clicking of keys and then a ping on my phone. "I texted you a contact. After we're done, I'll call him up and tell him he needs to get over there right away."
"Thanks, Aunt Peg." Relief washed over me. "I really appreciate it. And…I'm sorry about everything else."
"This is an O'Malley project even if my husband doesn't acknowledge it. Nothing for you to be sorry about, Finnegan. It's not your fault my husband can't keep his dick in his pants or your mother doesn't care about ruining two families. You shouldn't have to suffer because of that. Goodbye now."
That should have been comforting but wasn't, in any way. Even though my problems seemed to be solved, I felt like shit. Henry and I walked the entire property, checked every sub's work, and prepared a list of all the things wrong.
Henry was testing me. He was a competent foreman, or my dad wouldn't have put him on the job. And I knew my dad wouldn't have been here every day, all day long either. But my dad had so much experience, he could do a walk-through in an hour and know exactly what needed to be done and what wasn't up to snuff. It took me hours.
"I need to be here every day, don't I?" I asked Henry.
He nodded. "On a build this big? Yeah. I'm looking at this stuff, but the buck stops with you."
I exhaled heavily. "I'm in the middle of a flip."
There was a little disdain when he answered. "Your profits on a flip are five figures, right?" I knew where he was going with this. "The profits on a build like this are six or seven figures. What's more important to you?"
The only relief I had was looking forward to the concert tonight with Winter. Adam surprised me with lunch.
"I could kiss you," I said honestly.
"If you want." He shrugged. "But then you'll become addicted to me. All the girls do. One kiss and they're done for."
"Yeah, but I know what you look and smell like in the morning."
"A bouquet of awesome, you mean? I admit that letting that knowledge into the public will endanger me more, so let's keep that a secret between us."
"How about the knowledge that you enjoyed eating your nose crud? Is that going to drive the women into a frenzy?"
"There's a fetish for everything, man. Don't be judgmental."
I ate the rest of my sandwich and then tossed the paper and napkins in the trash. The office trailer needed cleaning. It had been a mess when I’d brought Winter here, and it was still a mess. I wondered if my dad had hired someone to clean. The weight of all I had to do made it hard to stay upright, so for the time being I thought I'd lay my head on the table.
"You okay?" Adam sounded concerned.
"Yep." Not really, but I wasn't interested in talking this out with anyone, not even Adam, who was my oldest friend.
•••
The situation rode me hard all day, and by the time the concert rolled around, I was in a foul mood.
"You look tense," Winter observed as we settled onto the blanket I'd brought.
"I need a beer," I muttered and then grimaced. Winter not only didn't drink, but she had an understandable aversion to people close to her drinking.
"Oh, well, you should get one. I don't mind." She turned from me and faced forward, her face completely blank of emotion. Dammit. This wasn't how I wanted the date to go. Looking around, I saw Bo and AnnMarie staring at me. Actually she was wincing. My fuck-up with Winter was evident to everyone. She'd moved as far away from me as possible. Soon her ass would be off the blanket and on the grass. Hell, if I didn't get my act together, she'd find a different party altogether.
Sucking in a breath, I forced myself to exhale some of my anger. "I'm sorry I'm being shitty company. If I promise to stop being an asshole, will you sit next to me?" I patted the blanket.
"You could tell me what's wrong," she offered without moving. Since she wasn't coming to me, I was going to her—even if it meant chasing her all around the park.
"How about this? We try to enjoy the concert, and at the end of the night, if you still want to know, I'll explain everything." The last thing I wanted was to dredge up the whole mess about work, my uncle, my mom, and my screwed up home life. It just wasn't good date conversation. It wasn't good post-date conversation either, but I hoped she'd forget about it by then. I reached across the blanket and rubbed two fingers over her very sensitive inner wrist. Her mouth formed an unintentionally erotic circle as the touch did just what I hoped—distracted her. My hand curled around her wrist, and I tugged her gently toward me.
"Does the music get any better?" she asked. I took her change of subject as tacit agreement to my request.