Give Us a Chance (2 page)

I watch her off in the distance, leaning over her workbench. Shit, she turns me on. Those perky breasts. That tight ass. That long, dark silky hair. I've never seen it down. She always has it in a ponytail, but in my dreams, she always has it down. Falling over my chest as she rides me, her breasts hovering just inches from my face, her—

"Hey, Jake." I turn and see Dan walking by. He was on my crew for the Victorian.

"Hey." I wave at him but he's already gone.

Shit. I hope he didn't notice me staring at Ivy, but I'm sure he did. I'm so damn obvious about it. But whenever I'm around her, I can't stop staring at her. Nash is right. I'm pathetic. I come here at least twice a week to see her, but then don't talk to her. Instead, I eat lunch with my brother and his girlfriend, like a third wheel.

This isn't me. I'm not that guy. I'm Jake Wheeler. Mr. Confident. I go up to the hottest girl in the bar and buy her a drink and convince her to go home with me. I have girls like Tracy sending me naughty texts during lunch, telling me what she wants to do to me later tonight.

So why the hell am I letting this girl intimidate me? I straighten up and smooth out my leather jacket and casually walk over to her. She doesn't notice me there. Her head is down, her eyes focused on the carving she's making in the wood. It's a picture of two kids, a boy and a girl, sharing a book. How the hell does she do that? How does she make a picture from a piece of wood?

I haven't even said a word to her and my heart's already beating faster. I feel nervous, and I'm never nervous. Even when I was doing all those interviews on TV last fall, I never got nervous.

"Hey, Ivy," I say, trying to sound cool and relaxed.

"No," she says, keeping her head down as she picks up a piece of sandpaper.

"No what?"

"No, I'm not going out with you."

Shit. How did she know that's why I came over here?

"I didn't ask," I say.

"No, but you were about to." She leans down more, lightly sanding the edge of the book in her picture, creating the look of pages. Damn, that's incredible. I'm seriously amazed by her talent.

"I was just coming over to say hello," I tell her. "We haven't talked since the Victorian. How have you been?"

"Good." She flips her ponytail to her other shoulder, exposing her neck. I'd love to run my lips down that neck. Down that smooth, perfect skin. My eyes shift down to her t-shirt, a red v-neck that fits close to her body.

"Was that it?" She catches me staring at her breasts and stands up, looking annoyed with me. That's just great. I've been here less than a minute and already screwed this up.

"Good? That's all you have to say?"

She sets the sandpaper down and crosses her arms over her chest. "What do you want to know?"

"How was your Christmas?"

She's staring at me like that's the lamest question ever asked. Considering Christmas was weeks ago, it
is
a lame question, but it's the first thing that popped in my head.

"Let me guess," I say, since she hasn't answered. "It was good."

She starts to smile, but then quickly shuts it down. "Yeah." She shrugs. "Actually, that's a lie. It sucked. But it's like that every year so..." Her voice trails off and when she sees the questioning look on my face, she explains, "My mom died at Christmas. It was years ago, but still."

"Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." I rake my hand through my hair, which I tend to do when I'm nervous or uncomfortable.

"It's okay. You didn't know." She smiles slightly, but then it disappears again. "Well, I need to get back to work."

Why is she always telling me to get lost? I know she doesn't have a boyfriend. I need to try this again, using a different approach. Nash and Callie are right. My usual techniques aren't going to work this time.

"So do you like to eat?" I ask.

It's such a strange question that she laughs a little. "Yeah. Why?"

"Let's go out tonight. It's on me."

"I told you I'm not going out with you."

"It's not a date. It's just two people eating dinner. You said you like to eat, right?"

"And if I were to say yes, which I'm not, where would you take me?"

I pause to think. "A little place just down the street from here."

"Titiana's? The Mexican place?"

"No."

"Marco's Italian?"

I shake my head. "No. This place serves American food."

"Just tell me."

"It's a little place called..." I pause for dramatic effect. "Burger King."

She bursts out laughing, which is what I was hoping for. I wanted to hear her laugh. I like her laugh. "Burger King? That's where you'd take a girl on a date?"

"It's not a date, remember? And what's wrong with Burger King? Flame-broiled burgers. And you get to have it your way. Extra pickles. No mustard. Whatever you want."

She laughs again. I've decided this is my approach with her. Humor. And saying the unexpected. It seems to be working.

"I can't go there," she says. "I'm vegan."

"Really? I didn't know that. So we'll go somewhere else. Where do vegans eat?"

"I'm not going out with you, Jake."

"Is it because of the jacket?" I glance down at it. "Because I have other jackets if this one offends you."

She gives me a funny look like she doesn't know what I mean.

"It's leather," I say. "I assumed if you're vegan you don't like leather?"

"Oh, um, yeah." She nods. "That's right. No leather."

I smile. "So I'll switch coats and meet you there at six."

"Sorry, but it's not happening." She turns back to her project and picks up her sandpaper and starts sanding the edge of the girl's hair.

I'll have to try again later. At least I'm getting somewhere with her. I got her to laugh, so that was a start.

"That's really good," I say, looking at the picture. "Like award-winning good. You should enter that into a contest."

She sands the girl's dress. "Thanks but there aren't contests for this type of thing."

"Well, if there were, that would definitely win. Did Nash ask you to make that?"

"The library did. They're going to hang it in the children's reading room. I really need to finish this so I'll see ya later."

"Yeah, see ya tomorrow," I tell her, because I'm coming back tomorrow. This girl has always intrigued me, and now I'm even more intrigued. There's something about her that keeps me coming back for more. Maybe it's her refusal to go out with me. She knows I like her and she knows I want to go out with her, and yet she refuses.

I was starting to think it was a lost cause, but that all changed today. I saw that twitch in her lip as she tried not to smile. And then she actually did. And she laughed. Twice. Other girls I meet smile and laugh from the moment I meet them. It's constant back-and-forth flirting that ends with sex. But getting Ivy to even glance my way has been nearly impossible. And yet today, I got a smile and a laugh. That's serious progress. This might go somewhere after all.

CHAPTER TWO

Ivy

Jake starts walking away. I should thank him. I never have and it's always bothered me that I haven't.

"Jake?"

He stops and turns around. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say thank you for giving me credit on the Victorian and for mentioning my name on TV. You didn't have to do that."

"It's
your
work. You deserved the credit." He smiles. "See ya later."

I nod, and go back to my sanding. I hope he couldn't tell how breathless I was. Why does he always make me react this way? Why can't I keep control of myself better? Whenever Jake gets near me, my heart decides to take off like it's running some kind of race.

Jake is hot. Extremely hot. But his hotness is no reason to react this way. Working in construction, I'm around hot guys all the time and I'm always able to control myself around them. So why can't I do that with Jake? It's infuriating, which is why I avoid him. I'm not getting involved with him. Or any guy. I'm taking a break from guys after my break-up with Ryker last year. Even if I wasn't on a guy hiatus, I still wouldn't go out with Jake. I'm not looking for a one-night stand, and that's all Jake wants. I've dated guys like him in the past and I'm over it. At 23, I want a guy who isn't just using me for sex.

After dating Ryker, who was the last in a long string of cheating assholes I've dated, I decided I'm never letting a guy treat me like shit ever again.

Ryker was an ass. A selfish, egotistical ass. He was in a band, but never made enough money to support himself so he made me pay whenever we went out. When he got evicted from his apartment, he moved into mine without even asking. But I'd always had this dream of dating a hot rocker, which is why I kept him around. And he kept
me
around because I paid for everything. The only nice thing he ever did for me was write me a song, but it wasn't even a good song.

We broke up after I came home one night and found Ryker in my bed with not one, not two, but THREE other women. I kicked all four of them out, threw the few possessions Ryker had out the window, and never spoke to him again. After that, I needed a break from guys. I know it's not fair to assume all guys are like Ryker, but ever since our breakup, I haven't been able to trust a guy. And I've upped my standards about a million percent. No more bad boys. No more assholes. No more choosing a guy based solely on looks. And no more players.

Jake is a player. He has a reputation and practically all of Chicago knows it. Girls flock to him. And the ones that don't, he pursues until they eventually fall prey to his good looks and endless pick-up lines. He tried one of those lines on me last fall and I just laughed. He looked shocked that I laughed instead of swooned, and never used a line on me again.

My heart rate is slowly returning to normal now that Jake is gone. I wonder if he's done trying to ask me out. I've made it very clear it's not going to happen. But he's one of those people who doesn't back down from a challenge, which is what I am to him, so I doubt he'll give up just yet.

I hear someone talking and glance up and see Nash and Callie walk by. Nash is walking her to the door, his arm around her shoulder, a big smile on his face. The guy is head over heels in love with her. And the way he treats her? That's how I want to be treated. He's respectful, supportive, loving, caring. He'd do anything for her. Why can't I find a guy like that? I guess when I think about it, Jake has some of those qualities. When I worked for him, he was always respectful and supportive of me. And he cares about his workers. Last fall I was out sick for a week and he called and checked on me every day.

But he's still a player. And I'm done dating players.

I get back to work, but then hear Nash behind me. "How's everything going?"

"Great." I turn to face him. "I should be done with this by tomorrow."

He looks at the picture. "It's really incredible how you did that. You should enter it in a contest."

I smile. "Your brother said the same thing."

"Jake talked to you?" He slowly grins.

"Yeah. Why?"

He shrugs, that grin still on his face. "No reason. He just seemed to be in a hurry when he left the office."

"We didn't talk long."

Nash looks like he's about to ask me something but then says, "Well, I'll let you get back to work." He leaves and returns to the office.

At five I stop at the store, then head to my dad's house for dinner. My sister, Liza, has the night off so it'll be the three of us for dinner, which doesn't happen very often. Liza is 21 and still lives at home, but between school and work, she's almost never there.

"Hey, Dad," I say, walking into the house. It's a small, three bedroom house in a suburb of Chicago. I grew up in this house and used to think it was nice until I started doing home renovations and realized that this house is really tiny and run-down. I've done what I can to fix it up, replacing the trim along the floor, painting the walls, and installing laminate floors in place of the old shag carpet, but the place still needs work. The roof needs to be replaced, the outside needs to be painted, and the bathroom and kitchen need some serious updating.

"Hi, honey." My dad gets up from his recliner and helps me with the groceries I bought. "How was work?"

"It was okay. I'm still working on the picture. Should be done with it by tomorrow."

"Did you take a photo?"

"No, but I will when it's done."

My dad is also a carpenter, or he was until he hurt his back. In addition to carpentry, he used to do roofing on the weekends to make extra money. Last summer, he fell off a roof and hurt his back so badly that he can't work anymore. The doctors said they could try doing surgery but that it may not help with the pain, so my dad decided not to do it. But I think that was more due to the fact that he didn't want to pay for it. Being self-employed, he has shitty insurance that pays almost nothing, leaving us stuck with the bill. So instead of surgery, he manages his pain with medication and goes to physical therapy twice a week.

"What's for dinner?" Liza comes into the kitchen.

"Frozen pizza and bagged salad." I hold up the bag. "I went gourmet and got the Italian blend. It has purple lettuce."

"Ooh, that IS fancy." Liza takes the bag from me.

"I'll get the pizza going," my dad says, turning on the oven.

I can't cook, and neither can Liza or my dad, so we only buy foods that require little to no cooking skills.

"You need to get rid of that." Liza points at my shirt, then grabs a bowl for the salad. "That thing's so faded it barely looks red anymore. And it has a hole in the sleeve."

"It's fine," I snap, hoping she'll get my message to keep quiet. I can't afford new clothes right now. Between my apartment and helping my dad pay his bills, I'm barely making ends meet. At least this house is paid for, but I still have to help pay for the utilities and taxes and maintenance. My dad's disability checks won't cover all that, so I told him I was making more than I am so he'd let me help out.

"You can't dress nice when you work on a construction site," I say to Liza. "If I wore nice clothes they'd get ruined."