Lucky Baby (Crescent Cove Book 11) Page 3

  “Right.” I unearthed the sticky note. “You probably don’t—”

  “Oh, honey, I know everyone here. I’m the head of the HOA.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded terrifying. “Okay. I’m looking for the Olsen house on Elm.”

  “Oh, Kimberly. Yes.” Her voice went a little sly. “She’s got that handsome handyman working on her fence.” She fanned her face. “All the girls have been making excuses to go over and watch him dig the post thingies. Then he uses this handheld mixer thing to make cement. I’ve never seen muscles like that outside of watching The Bachelor. My husband isn’t anything to sneeze at, truth be told, but nothing like that.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure he’s enjoying the attention.”

  “Oh, do you know Lucky? Of course you do, you look like…”

  I tightened my hold on the handles of my bike. “I look like…”

  “Um, well, you look like the kind of woman who would go out with a man like him.”

  Being insulted took too much energy, but it certainly threatened. Lucky and I didn’t fit in any shape or form. He was the Jason Momoa sized key to my non-standard-sized lock.

  Then again, with Lucky, you’d probably need an expandable one if he was built to scale all over.

  I huffed out a breath. Already I was experiencing suburbia-induced psychosis.

  “He’s working on my house next.” Why I felt the need to explain, I had no clue. I’d been learning that some sugar was easier than the vinegar that flowed through my veins on most days. I pasted on a smile—as much as I could with the foam insides of my helmet pressing on my face. “So, you know where the house is?”

  “Why don’t I just drive there and you can follow?”

  God save me from nosy neighbors.

  “Oh, I’m Bethany. You are?”

  Of course, she was a Bethany. “Tish.”

  “Well, Tish, let’s get you over to Kim’s house. She’ll just die.” Her voice lowered and she peered over the window to scan the length of me. “Are those leather pants?”

  I lifted my boot onto the foot peg and revved the engine. Maybe this wasn’t exactly the best idea. I glanced around at people craning their necks to check us out. I was going to be talked about during dinner tonight for sure. “Leather from top to bottom, Bethany.”

  She probably figured that included underwear. I was obviously a rough and rowdy chick the likes of which these suburbs had never seen.

  My plain cotton would kill all her secret dreams.

  “Wow.” She shook her hair back and straightened her shoulders so her mom rack was on display.

  Not sure what she thought it was going to do for her. Or maybe she was hot for my leather. Go HOA lady. “Ready?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” She brushed her hair away from her face and put her hands on the wheel at ten and two. She put her blinker on and then eased onto the street.

  A few people came out of their houses and even a few bold ones ended up on the lawn to get a good look at the chick on the motorcycle. I resisted the urge to gun the engine. All it took was a tiny tap of my boot, but I didn’t want to give anyone the vapors. That and Queenie still needed some adjustments before I could do fancy maneuvers on her.

  Three minutes later after traveling through a maze of sameness, we turned off and a dizzying circle of houses in the exact cookie-cutter house plans greeted me. How could anyone handle this? The only differences were the fonts on the mailboxes. Twenty to one, that had to be approved by Bethany.

  The meaning of HOA finally clicked in my brain. I’d bet Bethany liked to lord over her little dominion—with a smile and brownie, of course.

  Two cars were in the driveway. Instead of honking her horn and moving along after she pointed to Kimberly Olsen’s place, she parked beside the perfectly manicured lawn.

  Great.

  I eased behind the Beemer with the vanity plate, Bethany1. She’d probably had that plate since her sixteenth birthday. Hell, probably got it with her first car, thanks to daddy.

  I tamped down the snarling bitch that lived in my chest. Bethany and her privilege were just a part of life. I was here to call in a marker, not judge suburbia rules of etiquette.

  I hooked my helmet to the handlebars and leaned down to shake out my hair, then flip it back. Bethany was staring at me again. Kinda like I was an alien. Maybe I was in this part of town. I tugged down my fitted motorcycle jacket and dropped my double kickstand to the unmarred blacktop.

  Late morning sunlight fought its way through the huge oak trees that canopied the boxy modern house. A stone pathway led to the side of the house where a bright white fence stood. A wheelbarrow and bags of quick cement were stacked beside a bed of fall flowers. A trio of pumpkins and a scatter of gourds artfully framed the small hand-painted sign decreeing that The Olsens had been established in 2012.

  Shoot me in the forehead.

  Maybe I just should have texted Lucky.

  “Are you coming?” Bethany was standing at the gate.

  “Shouldn’t we ring the doorbell or something?”

  She laughed. “Why would we do that?”

  “Why indeed.” I carefully stepped over a pink bike crossing the wide gray pathway. A squeal from the backyard nearly had me running back to my bike. Shouldn’t the kids be in school? Ugh.

  “Kimmie! Are you here?”

  Yeah, I should probably just go. Before I could turn around, another small blond stuck her head around the corner. “Hello.” She was of an indeterminate age, but probably not old enough to go to school. I was pretty sure she wasn’t big enough to ride the bike I’d stepped over.

  “Hi.”

  “I’m Abby.”

  I wiped my palm on my hip. “Tish.”

  “Your hair is pwetty.”

  “Um, thanks?”

  “I like your pants. They’re shiny.”

  “Protective leather for riding my bike.”

  “I think my sister needs them. She falls down a lot on hers.”

  I pressed my lips together against a laugh. My fall would be a bit more intense, but the kid was quick, I had to give her that.

  She wasn’t so bad. Maybe there was just the one. A high-pitched squall had me wincing. I’d never had any luck, why would today be any different?

  Before I could back down the path, the little girl stepped up to me and took my hand.

  “It’s okay. It’s just Gus. He cries a lot because he has a toof that won’t come in. Drools a lot too.” The loud whisper shouldn’t have been adorable, but it was.

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, he’s chewing on everything. It’s ‘esgusting. Misty, our cat, won’t come out from under my bed.”

  “I wouldn’t either, kid.”

  She laughed. “You’re funny. I like your voice too. It’s so…different.”

  Smoking like an asshole through the better part of my teens and early twenties had deepened my already husky voice. “Different is good, right?”

  “Yeah!” She dragged me behind her as she headed for the backyard. “Mom! We have a vis—vis…” She glanced back at me with a furrowed brow.

  “Visitor?”

  “Right. That. Visitor!”

  Bethany and a slightly harassed looking brunette were on the deck. Three other women were sitting at the table with Brewed Awakening cups scattered around with a bakery box from Vee’s part of the café.

  They didn’t seem to care about my appearance in the least. Then again, their attention had zeroed in on a certain long-haired construction worker.

  Lucky had lost his plaid shirt, leaving his shoulders glistening with exertion. A white ribbed tank stretched across his back, smeared with dirt and cement debris. His arms were a grid of flexing muscles as he used the hand-mixer in a large white bucket.

  His hair was up in a messy man-bun with his aviator sunglasses perched on the blade of his sharp nose. A red bandana was wrapped around one wrist and a leather cuff draped over the
other.

  He was outrageously fit. I had to fight not to do some staring of my own.

  Make that a lot of staring.

  My first instinct was to head for the gate and jump on my bike. I could totally find another builder. Maybe even hire Gideon without Lucky.

  I definitely shouldn’t have come.

  But then he switched the mixer off and turned to put it on the flatbed cart with his tools. The cart was splattered with old cement and his discarded red plaid shirt fluttered in the breeze like a flag.

  He spotted me and put his sunglasses on top of his head. His gaze skimmed down my body without a single hint of remorse. His mouth went from a grinning slash to a wide smile. His eyetooth was slightly crooked, and I had the most ridiculous urge to lick it.

  Where the hell had that come from?

  Maybe escape really was the answer.

  Possibly a lobotomy.

  He hauled a large piece of wood off the pile on his cart and muscles I didn’t know the name of shifted under his bronzed skin. Objectification station had one more gawking female.

  Checking him out was one thing. That was natural, and hell, it had been a damn long time since I’d even looked up from my fabricator. I was human, after all. Much to my consternation sometimes.

  But Lucky Roberts was definitely not going to be added to my already full slate of complications.

  Look but don’t lick was officially my new motto.

  Three

  I hadn’t seen my redheaded Valkyrie in a damn long time. She’d been playing hide and seek with me since we'd made our pact during the insanity that was Caleb and Luna’s engagement.

  Well, more hiding than seeking in my damned opinion.

  I’d barely seen her since that afternoon in September. I was hella disappointed that she hadn’t taken me up on the favor she’d threatened me with. Now that my best friend was on easy street with his girl, Luna, I’d been bored as fuck.

  Gideon was ready to sell me on Facebook marketplace because I wouldn’t stop bugging him for jobs to keep me busy. Luckily, we usually had more work than men to cover, but I was pretty sure he was down to giving me the shit jobs until a few bigger ones came up in the schedule.

  Problem was, I didn’t like to spend the night alone. Add in the endless weekends and I was going nuts.

  Of course I could’ve sought out some company of a personal nature. I wasn’t exactly hard up for dates. I just didn’t seem to want any.

  It wasn’t as if my flagpole wouldn’t raise anymore. No, sir, it was fully operational. The mental side of things was what was slowing me up. I had gotten pretty particular lately.

  Hell if I knew why. Or would admit it, which was almost the same thing in Lucky land.

  Deny, deny, deny.

  So, I worked. I told Gideon I’d take anything—even the jobs with back-breaking physical labor. Like this job in cookie-cutter nation, Cove Gardens. Putting a fence up on my own was doable, but it wasn’t ideal. A bevy of MILFs watching me didn’t suck though.

  I didn’t poach on married ladies. Even I had some limits when it came to women, but I didn’t mind showing off for them. Their excuses for stopping by were getting more interesting. Most of them included baked goods and the occasional apple-laden treats or spiked cider, which was my personal fave. Kimmie was usually exasperated, but I was pretty sure she enjoyed the adult conversation. Her day consisted of a kid strapped to her chest and the little blond devil child twirling around the yard. Abby, the devil, asked many, many questions about my process.

  Pretty sure Kimmie was glad to unload question time to me for a few hours. As long as the kid stayed behind the big pink chalk line I’d sprayed in the grass, I was cool with it. I figured it was good practice for when my goddaughter or godson showed up.

  Caleb had promised me I was first in line to be the kid’s godfather. Which was a rather official and scary title but I intended to use it as cred all over town.

  At least I had before the psycho chick at The Mason Jar had slowed my roll and I’d gotten super selective when it came to the dating scene. I wasn’t sure which sucked more.

  I was usually proud of my easy standards. I looked at it as a Lucky loves the ladies benevolence program.

  Now it was more Lucky loves his right hand.

  Tish was in Abby’s line of fire right now. She was circling her like a shark. I couldn’t hear the questions, but her little bow mouth was flapping so I was sure there were a lot of them. Kimmie kept trying to corral her, but the kid would not be deterred.

  Kimmie gave up and ate a brownie from today’s bounty. I wondered if they were the macadamia nut ones Mrs. Jones made last time.

  Absently, I rubbed my belly. I’d definitely been working up an appetite.

  Maybe I could get the Valkyrie to go to dinner with me. All friendly like.

  I could have female friends. It was doable, right?

  Maybe.

  My shoulders hunched at the squawking shriek coming from the deck. I spun around fast enough that the bucket of cement splattered upward, dousing the front of my jeans. “Awesome,” I muttered.

  I glanced back at the women and found Tish smirking at me. Her hands were on her hips, showing off the delicious line of her leather-clad legs. Goddamn, she was magnificent. I was no poet, but her hair was that kind of red that made a man think of black silk sheets.

  I didn’t have silk sheets, but I’d damn well get them if she deemed me worthy of a tumble.

  A friendly tumble.

  Another shriek of mom voice broke my little daydream. I shoved a rogue curl back into the knot of hair on top of my head. Some days cutting off my hair seemed like a good idea, but then again, it was my best feature according to the ladies—so, it always stayed.

  Kimmie was running around the table up on her porch. I couldn’t hear what she was screaming about, but I had a feeling the kid was to blame since she was trying to hide behind Tish.

  And honestly, what kind of grown woman still called herself Kimmie? It reminded me of a doll covered in pink sparkles—which I only knew about because of the baby boom in this town. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d had to go buy a gift card for baby shit.

  In the end, I wasn’t the one who had to shout “oh, Kimmie” out in the middle of the night. Nope. Her dude had that honor. And since she was knocked up again, I was pretty sure the Crescent Cove water was working way out here in the burbs too.

  I couldn’t imagine having two under the age of drool. Hell, I couldn’t imagine any in my life. I liked the practice rounds of making a kid, not the reality.

  Tish’s exasperated face as Abby interrogated her made me laugh. She was one woman I’d like to practice on—to infinity. Even if she usually looked at me as if I was a bug on the bottom of her badass boots.

  Not that I had time to think about that right now. I was losing time on the mix and didn’t want to waste it. Gideon would kick my ass if I had to order more for this job. I hauled the five-gallon bucket of cement to the next post in the lineup.

  I glanced over my shoulder one more time. Just what was Tish doing at my job site? Hopefully, she’d hang out until I was finished enough to take a break.

  The quick set cement needed to be poured so it could cure overnight and I could come back to put in the rest of the slats. I didn’t have a lot of wiggle room to go over and see what was up.

  However, I wasn’t above using some extra attraction points. I set down the pail, yanked out my hair tie, and let my hair tumble over my shoulders. I could hear the sighs from the moms on the porch. They really liked when I did that. Tish didn’t seem as impressed.

  Ah, to heck with the friends crap. What would it take to get her to see me as bangable material? I could not get a read on that woman. Generally, I didn’t have this much trouble with the opposite sex. Becoming choosy didn’t mean I still didn’t have skills.

  Just not with her.

  I scooped up my hair on top of my head and quickly fastened my frayed hair tie around the curly
mess. I realized not everyone was my catnip and vice versa, but I knew there was something between us. Especially since she was extra surly when we did see one another. And not in the I’m-going-to-serve-you-a-restraining-order kind of way.

  I figured if we got naked then maybe things would ease up. As it was, I was spending any of my extra money in Brewed Awakening, hoping for a glimpse of her.

  She and Macy seemed to have a semi-friendship. At least when it came to coffee and food, they gave each other the same kind of grief that Caleb and I did. Back when I used to get to spend time with Caleb anyway. The wedding was in two months, and the only thing he and Luna ever wanted from me was to build shit or to nag me about getting fitted for my tux.

  I really missed having a beer with my bro.

  With a sigh, I lifted my sledgehammer and slammed the post into place with more force than was necessary. But then I heard the new blond lady give a clutching pearls sigh and decided it was worth it. Even if Tish seemed to be bored with the whole deal.

  What the hell was she doing here? This didn’t seem like her scene at all.

  I poured another bit of Quikrete over the post and measured to make sure it was centered correctly. I had five more to do, but I’d have to mix up some more since it set so fast. Maybe I could even get some more of that amazing lemonade Kimmie made.

  I dropped my hammer and stepped around the bucket when I heard a small whimper. The weeds and brush at the edge of the lawn were one of the reasons the Olsens had contacted us. They were afraid of ticks and all manner of wildlife beyond their property line.

  Another housing development was also in progress and the devil was a curious sort. Crescent Cove was a booming area for families. Maitland Enterprises was making a killing all over town, even out here in the burbs. This was a new developer though, which I was happy to see. FHK Property Group. Never heard of them.

  Whimpers turned into a pathetic whine. I frowned and crouched down. Two little sad brown eyes glowed from the underbrush. A little snout was half hidden in leaves and mud.