Nailed

chapter one

FIRST JOB

Mandy hadn’t taken the job framing houses so she could stare at tan, bare-chested hotties in low-riding jeans with tool belts slung around their waists. She’d grown up on construction sites—her father’s workers and crew were like her uncles.

She was eighteen now, and the young guys glistening under the noon sun looked anything but related to her.

Her mouth went dry.

There were four golden gods in all. One was her brother Marc. She wasn’t looking at him, of course.

She was watching his nail-toting, hammer-wielding companions. All three, including her brother—even though she cringed at the admittance—were built better than any sculpture she’d seen. She couldn’t take her eyes off their muscle flexing under golden-brown skin.

The sun was hot, with rays that needled her. Her arms, naked in the tank top she was wearing, felt the heat, though she was sure half of it was due to the sizzling sight. The guys had on shorts, their legs the same rich bronze as their bodies. She’d worn jeans because of the potential hazards on the job, and was sorry now—the sun’s fire magnified through the denim. She’d be a walking oven in no time.

I need to focus.
Mandy blinked as if that would cause the exquisite scene before her to vanish. She cleared her throat.

The sound brought all heads whipping her direction.

“Hey.” At least her voice didn’t betray her rattling nerves.

Her brother scowled and started over to her. He jerked his sandy head her direction and the other guys immediately left their posts and crossed to her.

When Marc stopped, she recognized the musky odor of his sweat, like a signature.

“This is my sister, Mandy,” he announced. The three other guys approached in what Mandy could have sworn was slow motion…in her head she heard a bass thumping, drums pounding, as if the moment was straight out of a music video.

The first guy had a red bandana wrapped around his head. The laugh lines feathering away from his smiling eyes told Mandy that he was probably the oldest of the group, somewhere in his late twenties. He most definitely was the tannest, his skin starting to leather.

He extended a hand. “A.J. Heard a lot about you.

Congrats on graduating.”

His hand was hot and sweaty, but Mandy expected that. “Thanks.”

Next to A.J. stood a buzzed blond with pearl-blue eyes. He hadn’t shaved, Mandy noted, and the stubble on his cheeks and neck made him look like he was a surfer who’d just taken a wave and brought home some sand. His light denim, thread-bare shorts were cut off at the knees, the hems frayed. He rubbed his hand on his rear pocket before sticking it her direction. “Larry.”

Mandy gave him a nod when she shook his hand.

“Hey.”

The last one of the crew looked to be about her age, and from the intense focus of his deep brown eyes she knew he was about as happy as Marc to have her there. He wore a blue Boston team baseball cap over hair nearly the same rich chocolate color as his eyes. He was forgoing the friendly handshake by keeping his arms crossed over his chest.

Mandy withdrew her extended hand. Marc had squeezed enough lemons into her life that she never puckered up and backed away from anything. “You going to tell me your name or do I call you Boston?”

His eyes narrowed. “Boston will be fine.”

“Nice to meet you, Boston.”

“It’s Charlie,” Marc said.

Mandy wondered why Boston shifted, like he was embarrassed, at the mention of his name. “Charlie? As in Charles?”

“As in Charlie,” Boston corrected.

“I’ll stick with Boston,” she grinned. “Now, where do you want me?”

The guys exchanged slow glances. Marc sighed, scratched his shaggy hair and looked her over from pony tail to work boots. “You can back out now and I won’t tell Dad a thing.”

Mandy stiffened. “Forget that.”

“Man.” Marc shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re trying to do this.”

“I’m not trying, Marc, I’m doing. Now tell me where you want me. Or maybe you’d prefer it if I call Dad and get my instructions from him.” She whipped out the cell phone she kept in her belt.

“This isn’t
his
job,” Marc snapped. “It’s
my
job.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t step on your boots.” She tucked the phone back with a smile. “Just tell me where to go.”

The guys chuckled and exchanged low murmurs Mandy was sure weren’t complimentary. “Something you want to say?”

A.J held up his palms. “Not me, sister.” He looked at Marc. “I’m getting back to work, boss.” With a wink and whistle, he turned and headed to the northern most corner of the partially framed house.

“Uh, yeah…” Larry scrubbed his stubble as he backed away. “That goes for me.”

Mandy’s eyes widened when he turned and she saw his backside; the denim was so worn it barely held together over grey knit bun-huggers. When he reached back for a deep crack scratch, her face twisted.

She knew better than to verbalize disgust, and when she tore her gaze away from Larry’s barely-covered bottom she found both Marc and Boston watching her.

Marc wore a smirk, but Boston’s expression was dark and unreadable.

Mandy stood erect, one hand poised on her hammer, the other on her drill. “Shall we?”

Marc sighed. “Come on, then.” He took off, and she followed, noting Boston’s gaze was still locked on her. She stopped.

“After you.” Mandy made a sweeping gesture. This guy had a nail stuck in his cheek, it was obvious.

Finally, he uncrossed his arms, and Mandy couldn’t help that her eyes were drawn by the gravitational pull of his ripped abs. Before she let her gaze linger, she cleared her throat and looked him in the eyes.

His not-amused expression told her he didn’t appreciate being sized up. Lifting her chin, she decided to slip on her boxing gloves. She’d learned a lot growing with a brother who loved to remind her how inferior the female sex was. She could fight as long and hard as the next guy.

Marc’s angry voice broke their tight stare down.

“Over here, Mand. Now.”

Mandy avoided stray blocks of wood, fallen nails, and other potentially hazardous debris as she made her way to her brother. She kept glancing over her shoulder, feeling the quiet heat of Boston at her heels.

“Ready, boss.” Playfully, she whipped out her hammer and drill, but the joke only made Marc’s face stony.

“You can start bringing over shears,” he told her.

“We’ll be going up tomorrow.”

Seeing that he was finally going to let her do her part, she dropped the antics and nodded, slipping her tools back into the belt.

“Supplies are—”

“I know.” Why he was explaining the basics, she couldn’t fathom, unless it was to show his team he was good at bossing around. She and Marc had grown up playing in framed houses like monkeys on a jungle gym.

Marc snorted, looked at Boston and jerked his head, and the two of them walked off to another section of the house. Mandy let out a little huff.

She pulled leather work gloves out and slipped them on. No way was she going to ruin a fresh set of acrylic nails she’d just had put on two days ago.

Crossing through the site, she stopped and took in a deep breath. She loved the smell of raw wood, the sound of hammers banging—that magical rhythm that was both passionate and fierce, uncivilized like the melody of a tribal sacrifice deep in the jungle. Ever since she was a little girl that scent had intoxicated her, the act of constructing had enticed her, and she’d decided to set her course for her own construction company someday, just like her father.

“Smell the roses on your own time.” Marc’s cross voice snapped through her bliss. She cocked her head at him. She’d paused for what, about a second?

“Yes, sir,” she said with a salute. A.J and Larry hadn’t stopped to take note of their little squabble, but Boston had. She gave him a friendly nod before making her way off the cement foundation and onto the dirt. If these guys thought she was going to cave under a little rough treatment they had another thing coming.

The thigh-high stack of four-by-eight pieces of plywood lay just outside of the framed first floor. She reached over, put both hands on the sides of the top piece and pulled. It weighed a ton, and she grunted, levering the rough wood so it slid off the pile and stood upright.

Her quick glance back at the guys reminded her that she had an audience: all of them had stopped and were watching. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and gripped the cumbersome piece, lifted it about four inches and started over.

The muscles in her arms quivered and sweat streamed down the sides of her face, along her spine.

It wasn’t as though she couldn’t carry the twenty-five pound weight. It was the awkward position she had to carry it: right out in front of her. Most workers hauled shears over their heads. She’d never be able to do that.

By the time she had the piece near the corner where they were working, she was gasping. Resting it against one of the framed walls, she stepped back and swiped her forearm across her forehead.

“Gee,” Marc began, and Mandy knew by his tone he was going to be mean. “That only took you seven minutes. At this rate, we might have the first floor done in, what, about four weeks?”

Mandy glared at him but didn’t say anything, just stomped back to the pile and grabbed another one. She tried to hold the shear up higher in hopes she could cross the site faster, but the awkward position left her waddling like a duck so her knees didn’t bump into the shear. She only made it halfway before she had to stop and give her arms a much needed break.

Refusing to look at Marc or the other guys, she hoisted up the plank again and labored over to the wall then laid this piece against the other.

“Aw, come on.” A.J. set down his nail gun, stepped away from the wall he was framing and sauntered over with a grin.

“You – don’t – need – to help me,” she gasped. “I can do – it myself.”

“Sure you can, baby doll.” He was over at the pile of plywood before she could say another word. With the effort of plucking cardboard, he had two pieces of the bulky wood off the pile and up over his head. His eyes crinkled into another grin. “You pull ‘em off the stack and I’ll carry them over, how’s that?”

Mandy blinked. One glance at her brother and she knew he’d chide her later. “That’s nice of you, A.J., but I can do this. If it takes me all day, I will do this.”

“It’ll take you more than all day,” he winked. “And I know you’ll do it. But it’s a two-man job, so, I’m your man.” He started back into the house, every muscle in his body snapping to attention under the load.

Over in the corner, Marc shook his head and went back to work. Larry started whistling. The look of wary curiosity on Boston’s face had Mandy lifting her chin and staying locked in another stare-down with him until he finally turned, driving his hammer fast and hard at a two-by-four.

A stream of frustration ran through her. So this was it? Her dream of working for her dad, of learning his trade was going to be earned with teeth and nails? Power games and politics?

A.J. tossed the shears into the stack she’d started and headed back her direction. Quickly, she reached over, grabbed onto another piece of plywood and pulled it off the stack, then held it ready. His fingers brushed her gloves and he smiled into her eyes before taking the piece. “What, they didn’t have enough room for you at Harvard?”

Mandy flushed. “They did. I just…I’ve always wanted to build houses.”

“That so?” A.J.’s smile deepened. “Guess that’s why you’re here then.”

“That’s right.” Mandy gave a nod, hoping the others, including Marc, would get over it. “It’s been my dream since I was a little girl.”

“Dream, huh? Well, baby doll.” A.J. took the shear and lifted it. Sweat glazed the contours of his chest and underarms. “You came to the right place.” He turned and headed across the site. “Didn’t she boys?”

“We’re it, yeah,” Larry piped with a string of nails propped between his teeth before pounding his hammer.

He laughed, and the guys laughed with him.

Mandy went back to work.

In tandem, they moved half the pile, until A.J.

stopped, yanked the red bandana off his head and swiped it over his face. A crop of caramel-colored hair stuck up on end and he scrubbed it with a groan of pleasure. Mandy pulled her water bottle from the back of her tool belt and took a long drink.

By noon, Marc, Larry and Boston had finished half of the main floor framework.

“I’d say it’s about lunch time, wouldn’t you, boss?”

A.J. addressed Marc.

Marc glanced at his watch. “Yeah, it is.”

Though Mandy acted like she could go on until midnight, her arms were ready to fall off and she had a dull ache in her lower back. One sweep of the toned, sweaty bodies surrounding her and she humbly realized she had a long way to go before her own body could take long days of abuse like this. But she was okay with that.
This isn’t a race, but a marathon.
She didn’t care if she was at the starting line and these guys were already half way around the track. She’d catch up. She might even pass them by.

Each of the guys took off their tool belts and started toward the white
Homes by
Haynes
truck Marc had driven them to the site in. They gathered at the rear of the vehicle and laid their belts inside the bright metal box meant to safely store valuables under lock and key.

Mandy joined them. Standing behind a wall of bronzed males she was overcome with the musk of perspiration – hers, mixed with the fading, sweet perfume she’d dabbed on earlier and their natural scents heavy and dirty, but not entirely disgusting. Mandy understood a fair amount of stink came with the job. She cleared her throat, and waited for the wall of flesh to part so she could safely stow her own belt.

A.J. turned around and flashed a glimpse of white teeth. Before she knew it, he had her belt and was setting it inside of the storage box for her.

She caught Marc rolling his eyes. He pulled a red
Homes by Haynes
tee shirt over his head. She had to defend herself. “Thanks, A.J., but you don’t have to treat me any differently than you would one of the guys.