Page 10 of A Fine Line
Crew Wells. The one, the only, man who every time I looked at him felt like a giant stub to my pinkie toe. The first man I’d given my number to after my break up, but certainly not the first man to disappoint me by making me feel invaluable. And I doubt he’d be the last. A real shame considering he had the looks of a disheveled movie star and could certainly flirt like one too.
I watched as he climbed out of his truck, a dark green almost gray Colorado truck that matched him perfectly. All Earth tones and lean, strong muscles. He wore shorts today, not much of a surprise there. It gets pretty hot in my truck despite the autumn chill and I’d imagine even more so in his, where the grill is always on and all his hot air fills the place up. The only surprise being his shorts were shorter than usual, showing off these thick, meaty thighs that looked entirely comfortable to relax back in. My eyes eventually trailed back upward and the image of him being a sexy gladiator was squashed by one of his many, and I do mean many, Hawaiian shirts. This one had pineapples and parrots on it.
See, this was my dilemma. Fact- Crew Wells is incredibly attractive. Fact- He has the body that most men would actually dream of. Also fact- he wears ugly Hawaiian shirts ninety nine percent of the time and it completely ruins the images in my head where he is a hot pirate or a rogue wild man living among the wilderness. First time I saw him in one I thought it was cute. Charming or whatever. But then I got the side of Crew I hadn’t known existed.
After that baseball game I sat around for what felt like an eternity waiting on a call or a text. Anything from him signaling he was still interested in me. Or even if he wasn’t, that he’d at least warn a girl. But nothing came in, and I genuinely wondered if maybe I gave him the wrong number on there. Maybe he lost the note entirely. What if he’s out there now, searching for it inthe wind like a lost lonely man waiting for the beacon of fate to shine upon him.
Contrary to my belief, I was wrong. I brought my new business, all hopes and dreams and a whole lot of science and baking into this parking lot begging the universe for open arms. What I got back was him straight up ignoring my flirtatious hello- which I was going to follow up with a wondering of why he never called or texted but never had the chance. Because he walked away without another word.
Now here we were. Three years later and still glaring at each other from across a parking lot. We’d probably be old and gray, our crow’s feet forming more so into dinosaur feet wrinkles, waving our canes at each other and throwing sugar free Jello across the way. Actually, no. We wouldn’t. Because in fifty years’ time Crew Wells would still be here and I would be back in sweet home Alabama.
Which is why, as much as it pains me, I can accept the fact that I am about to do something that I had never accomplished before. Attempt small talk with my mortal enemy. It was for the greater good, my greater good. And if I had my own selfish reasons…then so be it. A girl had to do what a girl had to do.
I hopped down the back of my trailer, casually strolling over to his in my green jumpsuit and pink converse. The closer I got, I could hear his muttering and humming. Phrases like ‘where did I put that- wait, no. I need to turn on- shoot did I leave my truck running’ were mixed in with…was that Hey There Delilah he was singing?
“You’re here early.” I announced, filing down on the usual shortness of my tone until it was as fine as powdered sugar.
Crew turned to me, his once busy albeit relaxed facial expressions forming into a look he reserved all for me. He brows dipped and eyes untrusting. “I usually just give you a heads start because I feel bad for you.”
“Really?” My tone dripped sugary iced tea. “Is that why my line wraps around your truck every night?”
A slight exaggeration. But still, I knew it got a rile out of him when he finally took his eyes from over my shoulder to straight on the bridge of my nose.
“Probably because you’re drugging them into thinking they should come back.”
“If that was the case, I would have poisoned you long ago.”
Crew grumbled an incoherent reply back, something about laxatives in my coffee, and attempted to light the grill in front of him. The ignitor let out it’s familiar tick sound like the one I had in my fancy apartment kitchen, only it wasn’t actually lighting.
“Come on,” he urged the grill and the deep growl in his throat rammed itself straight to my chest. The beating muscle beneath there hasn’t quite picked up on how much we hate this man yet.
“Need some help?” I offered, watching as the blue flame stubbornly refused to pop up.
Crews hands fell from the ignitor and stared up at me. “I never want to owe you a favor.”
“I think you still owe me a favor for that time I let you borrow my spatula that you never returned.”
His mouth drooped. “We agreed to never discuss that again. And I paid fifty dollars for it.”
I smiled at the memory. Apparently, the handle on his very last spatula broke off mid-rush hour. I believed it was an excuse to see me.
“Easiest money I’ve ever made.”
He ruffed a deep sound in his throat, still rattling the knob of the grill until a ‘whoosh’ comes up, a blue to orange flame following the noise. “There.”
He reached above him, arm stretched out to grab a Mauviel copper pot above him. I couldn’t help it when my eyes trailed a little lower than his face. Low enough to see his Hawaiian shirtrising up to show a sliver of toned, lean muscle and a small trail of dark hair receding down to his-
“Why are you still here?”
My eyes shot back up to his face. Crew glared down at the pan on his grill but the question was clearly directed at me.
“I just thought I’d say good morning.”
He looked up at that, one eyebrow raised higher than the other.
“I brought doughnuts.” I lifted the small white paper bag tucked behind my back. He stared at me like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“What?” I let out a dry laugh. “I can’t be a friendly work neighbor?”