Free Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone by Shari J. Ryan Page B

offered me a job.”
    “Sweet, bro.” He looks confused for a quick second and places his hand on his forehead. “Wait. A chick you met? You’ve been here a week and the only person you’ve mentioned is that Bambi woman you were talking about this morning. Bambi runs a body shop?” He’s smiling. He loves the idea of this, I can tell.
    “Yeah. Cool, right?”
    “Bambi’s Body Shop?” he snickers. “That’s funny.”
    That is funny. She should have named the place that. I should suggest it. “Yeah, I must have been so damn charming that she wanted to offer me a job,” I tell him.
    “Charming?” he asks through laughter as he starts walking again. “Was this before or after you tried to drag her into the Sawdust Motel?
    “Don’t worry about that,” I say, leaving this topic alone.
    “So does this mean you might be thinking about settling your ass down here for a bit?”
    “It’s not Boston, but I think I’ll stick around for a while.”
    “That’s what I like to hear. I’m glad and grateful you came, man, it’s good to have you back in my life again.”
    “Dude, you’re getting all cheese-ball on me now. Need a tissue?” I reach down into my shirt just as Tango punches me in the shoulder.
    “Get to work, ass. The siding needs to go up on the left side. You can start there. One of the men can show you around.”
    “Yes, Sergeant.”
    “Oh and lunch is at noon. We can get a bite down the street,” he says, disappearing inside of the bare-bones framed house.
    Damn, it has to be at least a hundred degrees out here. My ass is not primed for this shit. I’ve lost all my stamina since I was discharged a couple of years ago. I definitely know I’ll be happier under the hood of a woman tomorrow, that’s for sure.
    After watching one of the guys show me how to put up the siding, I squat down to grab my next piece and feel something sharp in my back pocket. Crap. The charger. I should have given it back to her while we were at her house, although I guess I still haven’t had much of a chance to completely charge my phone. Guess it was meant to be, and I still have an excuse to see her, hopefully tomorrow. Maybe we’ll even become roomies. That’d be a hoot.
    I haven’t even gotten two pieces of siding up when I start looking around for a water station. This heat blows. How does he do this every day?
    “Fuckkkkkk!” I hear loudly from the other side of the house, followed by a rattling crash. What the hell is that? I run around to the front of the house where everyone is crowding. “Someone call 9-1-1,” a bunch of people are shouting, but no one is jumping into action. I push through the hovering men and find that several planks of wood fell from the second story, or so it looks. I’m still looking at the scene trying to figure out why everyone is yelling about 9-1-1 but then I hear another growling shout and I see Tango lying beside the pile of lumber.
    I shove the rest of the people out of the way and climb over the pile to get to him. “Dude, what the fuck happened?”
    “That shit wasn’t secured up there,” he says breathlessly. I hear blame being tossed around behind us.
    “What’s the damage?”
    “Just my leg, man. It’s broken.” Tango tries to sit up but the wind escapes him so fiercely that he lies back down. “Maybe a few ribs too.” A fit of coughs follows his statement.
    “You’re going to be okay, you know that. You’ve been through worse.”
    Tango fists his hand around the collar of my shirt as the veins in his forehead press against his red skin. “I know I’m going to be fine but this fucking hurts like a bitch. Call an ambulance.” Tango hasn’t ever had the patience for pain or weakness. Not that any man I have ever worked with has, including myself, but the whole talking someone down thing is just old habit.
    “I’ve already called an ambulance. They’re on their way,” a man shouts from behind us. Behind us . Why is it no one came over here to help