7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Jake

D ay one of production was an all-hands day, with every team member we had available on site for the demolition work. Basically, anyone who worked for Hayes and who could make themselves available was on site to clean out the leftover furniture, rip up damaged flooring, pull down rotting siding and trim, or anything else we could think of to get the Collins house back to a blank slate. I'd anticipated spending my day doing backbreaking labor, and I'd dressed the part. I was wearing my utilitarian steel-toe boots, along with jeans and a Hayes T-shirt, my hardhat squarely in hand and gloves tucked into my back pocket.

To my surprise, though, Max had snagged me the moment I'd arrived, pulled me into the production trailer that had been delivered overnight, and peppered me with his ideas. Lots of ideas. While I had guys busting their asses in the scorching heat, I was trapped in the production trailer, close enough to smell Max's soap, making me lightheaded. I was sweating despite the frigid air being pumped out of the window unit.

There was something about Max that made my gut squirm. He was enthusiastic, I'd give him that, but he was also young—about ten years younger than me, if I'd had to guess. His easy confidence giving the crew their marching orders, the quick smile on his full lips, and his lean, muscled body—the heat was really getting to me already.

"Jake?" Max furrowed his brow.

I blinked and refocused my attention on his words. Not his mouth. Clearly. "Sorry. Repeat that?"

"How many days for demo?"

"Oh. Uh… probably just two or three, with all the folks we have out here today."

He nodded. "Good, because the dumpster for the debris is blocking my shot."

I scowled. Where did he expect us to discard of the debris, if not in a dumpster? "Guess you'll have to work around it."

He rubbed the back of his neck briefly before typing something into his phone. When he was done, he looked up at me, that easy smile on his face again. "We'll make it work, but Micah, the set designer, is going to have a coronary."

I frowned. "Set designer?" When he nodded, I continued. "I didn't know reality shows had set designers. I guess I thought those were just for sitcoms or whatever." Max's soft grin did something to me and my stomach turned with butterflies.

"A common misconception," he murmured.

A knock on the trailer door startled me, distracting me from staring at Max's mouth again. Fuck. I was going to have to get myself under control. He placed a hand on my shoulder casually, my body heating at the touch and my heart rate speeding up.

"I'll get that." Max released me and opened the door. Standing outside, looking more annoyed than even I usually did, was the landscaper.

"We're done mowing the yard. Anything else?"

Max glanced at me. "We're good?" When I nodded, he focused his attention on the landscaper again. "Let me take a look before you go, just in case."

The second they were gone, my phone buzzed. I checked it and saw a text from Troy, the carpenter who was also helping with demo that day, with a request for additional supplies. With a sigh, I scrubbed a hand over my face and headed outside to find Troy and several other people from the construction crew standing in front of the house chatting.

"Sorry, boss," Troy said. "We're ready to move to the interior. But… we're going to need more asbestos suits. I didn't order enough. Didn't account for the extra crew on hand for the demo, plus the film crew will need them too. Respirators, eye protection, the whole nine."

I glanced at the time. It was barely nine and we were already stalled. Great. That's what I got for not checking behind people, I supposed. "Sure thing. I'll head to the hardware store and stock us up. Do what you can out here in the meantime."

He nodded. "Ten-four, boss."

Under normal circumstances, I'd just take my company credit card and go, but the studio was funding the supplies for their crew, and I didn't have a card to cover it. Which meant I needed Max. To locate Max. I didn't need him. Not like that. Obviously. I pressed my index finger to the spot between my eyebrows as I thought for a moment.

A few minutes later, I found Max behind the house, watching my team rip off ancient trim and rotting siding. Skirting around the camera crew, I managed to get into the production tent behind where the camera was filming without interrupting the shot. Shortly after I arrived, the director called "cut" and Max turned his focus to a monitor, watching the footage play back with the director.

"Thanks, Gideon," he murmured to the camera operator. A blond guy I hadn't noticed before sidled up to him from inside the tent then, looking just as young, eager, and fresh-faced as Max did. He looked ready to take on the world. Max turned to him and gave him a fist bump before they began a quiet conversation.

I waited patiently, trying to recall where I recognized the blond guy from. He was dressed nicely enough, in jeans and a neat polo, but he wasn't anyone I'd met so far. I was sure he was a part of the show crew, but that didn't explain why he looked so damn familiar. After waiting for an eternity, they both turned and spotted me.

Max smiled. "Perfect timing. Sterling, Jake is our foreman."

"Oh! So good to meet you finally. Max told me so much about you." He grinned and cut a glance at Max, whose cheeks were pink. I frowned, trying to parse out what was happening, but Sterling continued. "Right, Max?"

Did that mean Max had told Sterling about me? Had he told him something about me other than just the fact that we were working together? Sterling's tone certainly seemed laden with meaning. I shook my head quickly. I was starting to sound like a teenager with a crush, which I definitely wasn't.

Max rolled his eyes and laughed. " You can fuck right off, Sterling," he said without vitriol. "Jake, Sterling is our darling host. And my insufferable best friend, unfortunately."

"And don't forget, I'm your roommate for the next two months."

Max ran a hand through his hair. "How could I possibly forget?"

"Host, huh?" I thought for a moment before it dawned on me. "That's where I know you from."

Sterling noticeably brightened. "You've seen one of my shows?"

I nodded. "I think so. You were on that interior design show, right? Where neighbors swap houses and decorate a room?"

"I was! Design shows have been my bread and butter, so I'm pretty excited to expand into this realm."

Max grinned. "You watch interior design shows?"

"Hmph. Yeah. Sometimes I need inspiration." A moment passed between us, silent and heavy, and just as I was trying to figure out what it all meant, Max cleared his throat.

"Did you need something, or were you just coming to check things out? Not that I mind."

"Yeah." I rubbed the back of my neck idly. "I, uh… the team needs supplies. Asbestos removal suits, among other things. We can't let the cameras inside during demo without them."

"Yeah," Max said eventually. "That makes sense."

"I need someone to come with me to the hardware store to purchase said protection." I spoke slowly, not sure he understood.

"Oh! Yes. I can do that."

"Good. We can take my truck."

The next thing I knew, we were sliding into my truck, Max glancing in the back seat of the extended cab. I kept my truck fairly clean and tidy, so I didn't know what he was looking at, until he spoke up.

"I wouldn't have taken you for a guitar player."

Instantly, I was on the defensive. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, really. I just… I don't know. I'm surprised, that's all. I didn't really think you had hobbies."

"What, you just assumed all I do is construction and sleep?" He wasn't far from the truth.

"No," he protested. "Not at all. You're hard to read, that's all I'm saying. Private. It's fine, it's not, like, a problem or anything, I just didn't think about it." He took a deep breath. "I'm babbling. Let's start over." As he buckled up, he glanced in the back seat again. "Ooh, you play guitar?"

I couldn't help but laugh as I pulled the truck away from the curb. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do play the guitar. Why do you ask?"

"I noticed the case in your back seat." He was quiet for a moment. "My dad taught me how to play."

My eyebrows shot up. "You play?"

He nodded. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Yeah. Not really well or anything, but yeah. I have so many memories of my dad teaching me, and of him sitting in the family room just strumming or jamming by a fire in the backyard. It was really special." I didn't know what to say. His memories seemed so precious and I didn't want to intrude. Eventually, he blinked and looked at me, laughing self-consciously. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hijack the conversation. How did you learn?"

"My dad taught me, too. My granddad taught him, and I guess his granddad taught him, too. The guitar back there actually belonged to my grandfather."

"Wow."

"Yeah. It's like, when I'm playing, I don't have to worry about anything. You know? I don't have to be anyone to anyone. It's just me, the strings, and the sounds."

Max nodded. "I know exactly how you feel."

By that point, we'd arrived at the hardware store. I pulled into a space and put the truck into park. We sat in the quiet for a moment, listening to the tick of the cooling engine.

"Ready?"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and let out a slow breath. As he did, I couldn't think of anything except what it would feel like to kiss him, pressing our lips together and opening my mouth against his. It had been a long time—too long—since I'd let myself think things like that about anyone, let alone a man, and the truth of it coiled in my gut and made my body warm. Despite that, I knew I had to ignore the feelings. I couldn't let them get in the way of my work.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Yep. Let's go buy my team some protection." With a soft little laugh, he opened the truck door, and the spell was broken. I wanted to reach for him, but instead, I climbed out of the truck and led the way into the store, wishing for more.