I can't help it. "And the days you don't see me?" Fishing, fishing, fishing. Gosh, I'm shameless.
"Boring. Like flat soda."
"I hope my coming here doesn't create issues for you with the guys," I say, shuffling closer to him.
“Nah. They may tease me, but they're good dudes. Most of 'em." He shrugs. "You see Duane, though, I want you to give him space. Guy ain't all there."
"Which one is Duane?" I ask. "So I know who to avoid."
"I'll point him out." He glances at the shirt in his hand. "Sorry, I got hot."
"I don't mind," I say, unable to suppress my grin. "At all."
He frowns as if having to figure out what I mean by that. "Oh…okay." He shrugs into the shirt, which sticks to his sweaty skin and muscles. And that's almost as yummy a sight as him shirtless. "I probably don't smell too great."
I shrug. "Maybe I'm weird, but I don't mind."
He juts his chin at the piles of broken tile. "Just gotta clean that up and we can go."
"I'll wait in the car, get the A/C going."
"Cool." A pause, as I turn away. "Noelle? Thanks for coming."
I shrug. "Missed you."
He swallows and nods his head. Chews on the end of his mustache. "Missed you, too." He rubs the back of his neck. "Be right out. Won't take five minutes. You can have Panzer come with you. You know the commands by now. He listens to you."
I nod. "We're buddies. See you in a minute."
He nods, grabbing a wide-bladed, short-handled shovel from the corner and scooping tile shards into a two-wheeled wheelbarrow.
I head out to the front door, already glad to be in the fresh air—I don't know how he stands being in there all day.
I pat my thigh as Panzer eyes my approach. "Panzer, Komm. Fuss."
He hops to his feet and walks with his hard ribs against my right thigh, panting happily. The rest of Riley's crew is gathered around the trucks, taking off gloves, hard hats, and glasses, smoking cigarettes, and putting away tools.
I set the hat and glasses on Riley's hood.
"Man, why we ain't got no pretty girls visitin' us?" one of the guys says—a big Black man only a little smaller than Bear, with kind brown eyes, a short beard, shaved head, and a friendly grin as he elbows the guy next to him. "Ol' Brer Bear barely says two words all damn day, and he got a visitor. My man's got game."
Another guy, this one less friendly looking, with longish, greasy dirty blond hair and a scruffy goatee, his eyes beady and quick and unreadable, eyes me up and down. "Hell, if I know, but a dish like that's wasted on that big oaf."
The Black man slugs his companion on the shoulder—hard. "Man, shut thefuckup, Duane. Bear hears you talkin' about hislady friend like that, he'll pull your skinny white ass apart. An' he won't need that dog, neither."
"I ain't afraid of him," Duane says—I see why Bear warned me about this guy.
"Well, you an idiot, then. He likesme, and he scares me to fuckin' death. You wanna talk shit about his girl, be my guest." He grins at me. "Just tell him Darius wasn’t part of it, alright?"
I laugh, grinning at Darius. "I will. I'm Noelle Harper."
He comes toward me, removing a work glove and offering me his hand. "Darius Thibodeaux. Nice to meet you, Noelle Harper." He grins back. "So, you’re sweet on the big man, huh?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"Good, good. He's a real one, y'know? Works like a dog."
Duane snorts. "Dogs don't work. Stupid thing to say."
