Love Under Construction (Love By Design Book 1) Read online

  “I want a fruit cup.”

  “No way, Taylor Jane, those make you crabby and sick a second time. I’m not hauling you out of the girl’s restroom again.” I told her letting her pout it out. I hadn’t spent all last night with her in the bathroom to start all over again.

  She leaned into Kristen, resting her head against her. Kristen put an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder and I felt… something akin to jealously I wasn’t used to.

  “My stomach isn’t in the mood for a full meal.” She rubbed her middle tenderly, and I was sure vomiting at whatever time it was this morning made it achy.

  I didn’t like how this was making me grumpy and protective, so I picked up the menu to read it over and avoid eye contact with her. Best to just do what had to be done.

  “I’m ordering you pancakes. No arguments.” We practically grew up eating here at the diner, so I already knew what we were getting. After ten years, nothing really ever changed.

  “And bacon, don’t forget the food of the gods,” Damien quipped as he perused the menu himself.

  “Bacon Waster.” Taylor Jane mumbled to Kristen who nodded in agreement. I would never understand women.

  “Bacon will grease up your stomach and the pancakes will absorb the alcohol.” I reiterated.

  “Please, all of you shut up and stop talking about food.” She rested her head on the table, and Kristen leaned over to rub her back.

  “Smile, T-Rex,” Damien quipped.

  “Don’t tell me to smile. You’re not the one hungover.” She scowled.

  “You’ll eat the pancakes and bacon without complaint, understood?” The look I gave her stopped her arguments, but not her pertinent mouth.

  “You’re not the boss of me.” She could say that to the table all she wanted, but I knew I wanted to be the boss of her, or at least her smiles. Our friendship was solid enough we operated on autopilot and when she weakly pushed her coffee cup in my direction, I knew what to do to make my girl feel better.

  My girl…

  Fuck a duck…

  18

  Taylor Jane

  “I’m going to have the gumbo.” My smile faltered as Jeremy Dolan, the school soccer legend and prince lookalike ordered.

  He passed his menu back to the waitress, Joyce, smacking his lips in a hungry manner. Her name shined on her silver name tag and she clicked her pen twice. Her eyes darted around the diner, waiting for me to order. My stomach churned, wondering how much seafood was actually in gumbo. I wanted to impress Jeremy and look sophisticated for an almost sixteen-year-old.

  “What about you, hon?” Her toothy grin was surrounded by bright lipsticks and a small spot of it had caught her top tooth.

  Cautiously, I handed her my menu back, mumbling, “Same, please.”

  She pocketed her notepad in the pocket of her skirt, walking away. I wondered if hives happened automatically, or if I would have until the end of the date. I felt an itch crawling up my arm fairly certainly hives had no consideration for teenage desires.

  “I’m so glad you finally said yes to going out with me.” Jeremy seized my hands, squeezing the nervous tick out of them. His hands felt sweaty and I slipped my colder ones from his grasp. He was a nice looking guy, tall and thin with shaggy hair and bushy red gold eyebrows to match. Some of the girls in my class swore he looked like the younger royal Prince of England, but it was his dull blue eyes that set him apart.

  I should have stayed with Kristen instead of going on this date. I wanted to be with my friends. I wanted my best friend to finally notice me. Now I was here in our favorite hangout spot with someone I had no business trying to date. I knew nothing about soccer, but I faked it, and now Jeremy was a sweaty palm away from asking me to prom. Just great. That jealously thing didn’t work like it did in the movies.

  I tried smiling, but I was sure it came out more like a lemony duck face squishing my lips together and nodding.

  “Hey!”

  I knew that voice, turning in my seat toward the door.

  “Oh, Christ….” My date mumbled a few things, arranging his silverware as Kristen and Damien made a grand entrance to sit down with us. Damien wrapped his arm around Jeremy’s shoulders all friendly like, and Jeremy pushed him off, joking and talking about sports. It was common knowledge that soccer and football players did not generally get along. I thought it was a guy thing I would never understand.

  I leaned over in the booth we were all sitting at when another two couples joined us, squeezing in. I grabbed Kristen by her sleeve. “What are you doing here?”

  “Saving your candy ass, sweetheart.” She looked windblown, rosy cheeked and in good spirits with her nemesis, so basically unlike her typically self.

  Rolling my eyes, I told her how I really felt, only more polite while fielding a sheepish look from Jeremy, who was caught up talking sports with the guys. “Right, and you only came for the cherry tarts they make here.”

  “Pfft. Whatever.” Kristen joked around and the waitress brought our gumbo, bread for the table, and a pitcher of water because all high school kids on a budget from their parents asked for the “water deluxe.”

  “Anything else?” Joyce, our now happy waitress, must have been calculating her tip with the automatic 18 percent upgrade because our party was now eight instead of two. A chorus of voices asked for specials and desserts while she scribbled like wildfire in her notepad and moved additional silverware over from an empty nearby table.

  “Thanks.” I nudged Kristen, who nudged me back.

  “Like you really wanted to date the fire crotch over there.” She pointed a bright red painted fingernail at poor Jeremy.

  “Maybe I did.” Shrugging, I lied with a smile and took a small spoonful of my soup, blowing on the steam. So far so good. No fish taste and no fish parts I could see, so I took a second bite, letting the flavors swish in my mouth. It was spicy, but the menu said it would be, and I kept eating it because I was hungry.

  Joyce brought back another round of food, but I wasn’t feeling the greatest. My lips felt funny and rubbery like I might start talking and the words wouldn’t match my face. Kristen was debating some paper we had to write in history class with Damien and Becky Myers. My throat felt weird like I might choke on the bread I ate, so I gulped another mouthful of cold water. Water should flush everything out, right?

  “Hey, where’s Hunter?” Damien asked, looking around.

  “I don’t know. He’s your cousin.” Kristen snapped back aiming her fork at him.

  “Yeah, and he drove us here, wench. Wasn’t he parking the truck?”

  Kristen shook her head and the last thing I wanted was Hunter seeing me about to toss my gumbo back up in the diner like the fire scene from Carrie. I did not feel well right now and I needed to get out of there. Maybe call my dad for a ride or hide out in the bathroom until my stomach settled down.

  “Be right back.” I tapped Becky to move from the seat and let me up, which she did, giving me a dirty look. I bet she would love nothing more than to tell everyone at school I was the next puke monster with the shortest dating life in New Paltz.

  “You gonna finish your gumbo?” Jeremy yelled out, and I waved him off to have it. I was going to be the cheapest date ever if this all came back up. Sometimes, I could be an idiot.

  Getting to the bathroom was of no use because when I got to the back of the diner and pulled on the door handle it clicked, locking me out.

  “No fair!” I hit the door and the door shouted back.

  “Just hold your horses!” It was Joyce, our waitress, and I couldn’t hold anything. Groaning and holding my stomach, I stepped toward the back exit that led to the rear parking lot and the dumpsters out back. Perfect.

  I busted through those doors and looked around for a safe spot to hurl with whatever was left of my dignity intact if that was humanly possible at this point. Staggering, I bumped up against the passenger side of a trunk parked by the fences and the dumpster. It stunk, but it provided the cover I needed t
o do what had to be done.

  “Oh God, help me.” Whining into the night, I leaned over and my stomach emptied itself out, splashing against the ground.

  “Not God, sweetheart, just me, Taylor Jane.” Strong arms wrapped around my middle.

  I smelled the vomit first, but it was slowly buffered by Hunter’s woodsy scent as if he’d been in woodshop cutting and sanding wood all day and then showered in some musky guy scent his aunt thought appropriate for boys his age.

  “I am so sorry.” I cried between hurls.

  “What did you eat? Cause I don’t want to order that.” Hunter pulled my hair back, saving it from the mess. “Your face is bright red and puffy. Taylor Jane, honey, what did you eat?” he asked again, giving me a none too gentle shake.

  “Gumbo.” My body did a full reaction cramp after I said it. I would never eat it again and I definitely wouldn’t eat it if it killed me.

  “Taylor Jane, the gumbo has seafood in it.”

  “I know.” I cried shame faced. I just knew Hunter knew I ordered it on purpose. Nothing got by him, least of all my stupidity.

  “Fuck.” Hunter didn’t curse much around me, but the word sliced between us raw and I didn’t know if he was mad at me, at the gumbo or a combination of both. Hunter pawed my body like he was looking for something and cursing when he didn’t find it. “Where’s your purse?”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Your EpiPen. Don’t you carry one?”

  Shit. No, I didn’t because I was old enough and smart enough to not eat seafood. I hadn’t had a bad a reaction since I was three. Nearly sixteen and I should have known better. While my reactions had lessoned with time, impressing a boy was the dumbest reason to try it out.

  “N-no.” Stuttering between chills and dry heaving was all I could do as my body started to shut down.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Hunter pulled me up into his arms and put me inside his truck, buckling me in.

  “H-hunter?”

  “Do you have a pen at home?”

  I shook my head no because I honestly couldn’t remember if I had one or at least one that hadn’t expired.

  “I’m taking you to the hospital. I don’t know what else to do.” Hunter shut the door, and I felt lightheaded, my breathing wheezy. I had probably thrown up everything in my stomach from the last week, but he obviously wasn’t taking chances.

  Hunter sped through traffic lights and pulled right up to the ER in record time, throwing his old truck into park. He got out and carried me inside, shouting for nurses and doctors, telling everyone in his path I was having an allergic reaction. It was a quiet night, so they brought me in quickly. Hunter never left my side, holding my hand and somehow managed to be the one despite my weak shouts to pull my jeans down so the nurse could administer a shot in my butt. It was humiliating to say the least.

  Hello, mortification, meet me, Taylor Jane Bryant, your latest victim. By the time the nurse realized how far things had gone, she’d finally shooed Hunter out of the room and pulled the curtain around my bed. Fluster colored my cheeks instead of the classic allergic swelling once the epinephrine started working. It was safe to say I learned my lesson.

  “Taylor, honey!” My dad rushed in still in his dress shirt and tie from work. He looked me over, brushing my hair back, looking on the verge of tears himself, and I didn’t think for a minute how my stupidity might affect my dad. We’d lost my mom and this wasn’t something we were prepared to go through again. Loss was an open wound for us both and too fresh for just a Band-Aid.

  I cried and Dad held me, threatening to ground me if I was ever without my EpiPen again. He was on the phone calling my allergy doctor and the pharmacy, practically buying a case of supplies. Hunter stood in the doorway, listening with a grim look on his face. I didn’t know if he was disappointed in me, angry or blaming himself for some ridiculous reason because that was just what Hunter did.

  We were there about an hour when the whole crew arrived. Kristen could be heard from down the hall and Damien was hot on her tail. They were fighting again as usual, that wasn’t new, but the socked eyeball Damien sported definitely looked new. Jeremy, Becky, and the rest of my friends were looking in with curiosity, making sure I was okay. This was not how I wanted to spend the night and I didn’t want to be the center of attention either. The swelling on my face subsided to two cheeky lumps and red skin. The more I rubbed at them to make them go away the more Hunter held my hands down, telling me to stop when everyone was in the room.

  In the chaos, I missed Hunter leaving and the nurse finally kicking everyone out saying I would be discharged tomorrow morning once the doctor came in to examine me and sign off on my paperwork. He saved me and I hadn’t been able to say thank you. I wasn’t in the habit of creating chaos to get his attention and I felt shamed because I did this at all. Risking my health was stupid.

  I owed Hunter a great many things, starting with saving my life. I knew he wouldn’t want to talk about this ever, so I figured the only thing to do was to thank him with cookies. He was a cookie lover and we could both deal with that. I knew he liked chocolate, so I’d ask his aunt what he liked best when I got out of here and once my dad let me leave the house again without constant supervision. The look on my dad’s face unquestionably said I was grounded for an indefinite length of time.

  19

  Hunter

  “Dude, what the hell are you drinking?” Damien climbed up the ladder to sit next to me on the roof’s outcropping. My cousin looked like someone was giving him the run around, and I suspected it wasn’t the town cougar, Mrs. Landry and her pipes.

  “Lavender Lemonade.” I took another long draft of the drink and wiped sweat off my brow.

  It was sunny up on the roof and birds were circling in the distance. I sincerely hoped none of them were owls at this time of day. Taylor Jane was kind enough to call the Bird Trust at Mohonk and printed out every informational pamphlet she could. Whittaker, that asshole helped pin them up around the house as if I could miss them. Regular comedians those two, and now Damien was here, glancing in my direction as we sat in silence, up until dumbass started talking again.

  “Pussy drink?”

  “Nah, it’s good for headaches and calms my nerves up here on the roof.” I handed the premade drink bottle over to Damien, who had no qualms taking the biggest greedy ass gulp of my drink. He went for a second chug, pissing me off as he wiped his hand across his mouth like the slob I grew up with. I snatched it back like Gollum, annoyed and hoarding it. It was mine. Taylor Jane made it for me and I wasn’t sharing any more of it.

  “What was that attitude for? That shit was good.” He reached for it, and I moved the bottle from his grasp, putting it on the other side of the roof. No way in hell was I giving him my drink.

  “Go ask Taylor Jane how to make your own. This one is mine.” I swigged the rest of my purple lemonade, enjoying the cool liquid quenching my thirst. The jerk drank most of it, and she made it for me, not him. Old military rhetoric echoed in my mind. This lemonade is mine, there are many like it, but this one is mine. I wondered if I replaced that with Taylor Jane’s name how it would sound, but fuck-face sitting next to me kept talking and drew me out of my scandalous thoughts.

  “Oh, I see how it is, Gollum.” Unfortunately he also knew me pretty well. “You won’t share your precious with me?” He was laughing and I hated him. Bitter thoughts puckered my face faster than a full lemon and he was relentless in his teasing.

  I wondered if there was ever a time my cousin wasn’t trying to force a smile or laugh out of me at my own expense. My mother would have said he was a trickster and encouraged us to get along. Family was important to her and I considered these people here, Damien, Kristen, and Taylor Jane my family, but damn it, why did Damien have to be such a little shit all the time? Kristen was right, he was a demon.

  “Shut up.” I didn’t look at him, hoping he’d go away. I took my hammer and nails, attempting to fix a roof shingle that was both
ering me and as I hit the nail it bent like my waning patience.

  “Oooh, it’s like that, Hunter, eh?”

  Yes, actually it was like that because there was only one Taylor Jane and I wanted her to be mine even if I shouldn’t, even if it was unhealthy for both of us. I pulled the nail out to start again while Damien tried to be a smartass and rib on me. The temptation to push him back was huge if we weren’t sitting up here on the second story of the house at the moment. Times like this I wished Taylor Jane had the power washer again and I hadn’t locked it up at my house in the garage for safekeeping, far out of her reach.

  “You are so fucking smiling. Dude, go down there and tap that ass.”

  My smile turned into a scowl and I was ticked off that Damien wouldn’t leave well enough alone. Yeah, family or not, I would fuck him up if he touched her.

  “Shut it and go grab me those shingles for this section of the roof.” I pointed to the other side of where we were working. If he was out of my reach I wouldn’t try to maim him. He was slow getting up and I stood feeling my foot wanting to tap with impatience.

  “Hey, boys, I brought some lunch, come on down.” Taylor Jane had stuck her head outside the dormer window up here and cupped her hands over her eyes to shield out the sun. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. Cute. Perfect for tugging on, but I didn’t go there.

  “I’ll be right there. I just want to finish this line of shingles.”

  “Perfect.” Her head bobbed back inside and I waited until she was out of sight.

  “Sounds good.” Damien waved at her, too friendly in my opinion, and I smacked him in the chest, earning me an ooof sound that gave me some satisfaction.

  Rubbing his chest, he glowered. “What the fuck, man?”

  I was perversely glad my hit stung him. “I can wave at Taylor Jane, not you. Don’t do it again or you better find some damn wings up here.” I grabbed the shingles myself, ignoring Damien’s peals of laughter. I kind of hoped he tripped just enough to prairie dog the shit out of his ass as he swaggered away finding another project to tackle.