Page 586 of Summer Heat
(Time: 7:17 a.m.)
Shit, shit, shit. I’m late for work.
Me, Summer Davis.
I’ve never once been late for anything in my entire life. Not back when I was squeezing in five a.m. apprentice shifts loading lumber and equipment while training on machines every morning before my high school classes. Not even when I was juggling a full-time college course load in the evenings after spending my days on burning hot roofs hammering down shingles or hauling and hanging umpteenth sheets of drywall and sheetrock (what I affectionately like to call the year of ibuprofen).
But today of all days, I’m late.
Worst of all, I’m late for a lame, moronic reason.
I overslept.
Or over-dreamt, rather.
Four nights in a row now I’ve been plagued with dreams of Jason so vivid, I’ve woken up feeling achy in places I’ve never ached before. These dreams…they aren’t just vividly realistic, they’re elaborately erotic.
Downright dirty.
And because of all the vivid, elaborate, dirtiness, I’m going
to be over an hour late to work.
Shit!
Things can’t continue like this. I need to find a way to get the man out of my head.
And while I’m at it, I need to stop going stupid every time he accidentally touches me.
His palm ghosting the small of my back when he walks past…his fingers squeezing my elbow when he needs to get my attention…his jawline grazing my shoulder when he speaks in my ear to be heard over the construction noise—all perfectly innocent…until my imagination turns it into dirty, sexy fodder for these crazy, impossible fantasies.
Crazy, incredible fantasies…
Damn it! Before I can fall down that rabbit hole again and make myself even later, I rush to throw on the nearest clean clothes I see and I’m out the door in under a minute, speeding up to the jobsite at breakneck speeds.
I make it in record time, shocked I didn’t have flashing red and blue lights behind me in high speed pursuit the whole way. I skid to a stop outside the trailer, my tires kicking up clouds of dust that make a dramatic entrance for me as I sprint up the squeaky metal ramp.
The door flies open before I can turn the knob.
“You’re late.”
My heart thunders in my chest at his dark, disapproving glare. “I’m so sorry, I…” I can’t even defend himself. I have no excuse.
“You missed an important-ass meeting. And I can tell you’re not ready to meet the inspector this morning.”
Shit. The inspector. I dig my nails into my palms to keep from crying. I’ve never, ever screwed up like this.
Jason’s gaze zooms in on my unshed tears. But instead of backing off, he comes down even harder. “You can’t fuck up like this, Summer,” he barks. “Not on this project. Not with a fuckload of your colleagues just waiting to tell me ‘I told you so’ for hiring you despite the rumors.”
I feel the blood drain from my face as his last sentence registers fully.
The harsh words hit its mark dead-on.
But they also dry up my tears in a way nothing else can.
“I promise, boss. It won’t happen again.”
His eyes narrow on me for a beat. “It better not.”
