There are certain obsessions best left alone. After having lived in Alaska for the past couple of years, I should know this better than most. I had chased my obsession with tracking down my father who’d up and left my two older brothers, mom, and me when I was nine, only to learn that being a commercial fisherman is comparable to the seventh circle of hell, and that my Southwestern roots didn’t prepare me for the often cold and rainy months up north.
I’ve been back home to Southern California for six weeks, but it only took the first minute for my neighbor Ace Bosse, to take full residency in my thoughts. I knew my curiosity and interest in her was a stone best left unturned. After all, I’m living with my mom for the summer, and I didn’t come alone. Landon and Jameson—two of my best friends who I met while living in Alaska—followed me down to The Golden State. I’d wanted to get a place of our own in San Diego, near campus where I’m enrolled to begin my junior year of college. My comfort level for digressing and going from independent-living to sleeping in my childhood bedroom was less than enticing, but when my uncle said he had a rental we could use for half the price and twice the size of anything we could find, I swallowed my pride and we moved in with my mom who also happens to be best friends with Ace’s mom, Muriel.
That’s just one of the many landmines presented when it comes to my blonde-haired, brown-eyed neighbor. The first issue—maybe what should be considered the biggest issue—is that she has a boyfriend. I loathed the guy before I knew of his existence, and then even more once I met the ass-wipe. He’s a douche dressed in khakis and polo shirts.
“I’d tell you that I’m sorry I can’t go with you today, but that would be a lie,” Jameson says as he slides on a pair of flip-flops.
I place my cereal bowl in the dishwasher so my hands are free to flip him off. Jameson laughs.
“It was fate,” he continues. “I told you I’d never go on a commercial fishing boat or a building site again. Done. Finito. And apparently, college agrees with me, because they said today was the last day to go sign things. But … I’m sure you’re going to be a valuable asset to the team.” He pats my shoulder just to lay insult to injury.
“You’ve known you had to go in for weeks, you lazy bastard. This was just a convenient excuse.”
He grins. “How long is your shift?”
“Eight hours.”
Jameson winces. The weather has been hot and dry, two norms for summers here, but it doesn’t make going out in the required jeans and long-sleeved shirt any more appealing. “The good news is you’re definitely going to be scoring some brownie points. I mean, you’re volunteering to help build a house for a family in need. Mention what you’re doing when you see Ace. This is the kind of stuff that melts panties.”
I can’t help but chuckle. Jameson talks like he’s a player, but he’s not. Not even remotely. And he has set his sights on Ace’s older sister Kendall. “If it’s such a panty-melter, why aren’t you coming out this afternoon?”
“Believe me, I was considering it. I almost called my counselor and told him I had the flu, but then I opted to forego using manual labor to impress Kendall and ordered her flowers.”
“Nice. So, material shit in place of selflessness. I dig it.”
He frowns. “Don’t give me a guilt trip.”
“That wasn’t a guilt trip. Did it sound like a guilt trip?”
It was a total guilt trip.
“I’m going to finalize everything so I’m able to attend college in the fall, so I can get my degree and contribute to society.”
“You’ve got to stop quoting the brochures,” I tell him. “You sound like a putz.”
Jameson laughs. “I actually liked that one. It has an edge of sincerity to it. But really, you need to mention this to Ace.”
“So she can give me a high five?” My tone is sarcastic, bordering on annoyed. He’s been working to convince me of spending more time with my neighbor. Since I’m already warring with myself over the same desire, I don’t need his added influence.
“I’m telling you, man, she’s interested in you.”
“If she were, she wouldn’t still be dating that clown.” I have to tell him this again, because I need to hear the words myself.
“Trust me. Just, trust me.”
I shake my head. “You say that like you know something.”
“Maybe I do.”
I stare at him. Jameson is one of the most loyal and trustworthy people I’ve ever known. He very well might know something, then again, he’s also overtly confident about some of the most ridiculous things. He proved this time and time again while we worked on a commercial fishing vessel together—never learning when to stop challenging some of the senior crew members to dares and bets and card games that often left him nursing a hangover.
“I have to get going, or I’m going to be late.”
“Have fun. And if I see Ace, I’ll do you a solid and mention what you’re doing so you don’t risk sounding like a cocky asshole.” He grins. “You do that well enough on your own.”
“You’re such a dick.” I grab my metal water bottle and head outside to my Jeep. I’m not sure how exactly I got involved in this project. Ace’s mom, Muriel, is on the board and had mentioned it while she and my mom were asking me questions one afternoon about what sort of construction Jameson and I had done while living in Alaska. I’m not sure if I volunteered willingly or they coerced me into signing up, but a few days later, my mom had a schedule that Muriel had dropped by.
Initially, I dreaded the idea of participating in building a house. Like Jameson, I’d been anxious to have a summer off—even if it meant living with my mom. But in California, the homeless population is shockingly apparent. The nice weather and high cost of living create a dangerous concoction that leaves too many on the streets. The construction we’d done in Alaska was elaborate and extravagant—vacation homes for the wealthy. It seemed almost right to use the knowledge I’d earned there to give back to those who really needed it. Now, I’m actually anxious about getting outside and doing something familiar that will help others.
The drive to the build site isn’t long enough for me to block out Jameson’s suggestion to tell Ace about this. After spending most of my life not caring what others think of me, I’ve begun caring entirely too much about what she thinks of me. I want to impress her. I want her to imagine wrapping her legs around my waist half as often as I think of it.
I want her to break up with her damn boyfriend.
I have to park a block down from the build site because dumpsters and cars are lining the sidewalks around the beginning construction. I grab my leather builder gloves and tool belt, and head toward the skeleton of the house. They’ve already laid the foundation and done much of the framing. I look over the initial construction, noting details they’ve done well, and others that could use improvement.
“You here to volunteer?” I turn and face a man with a large beer gut, covered in a plaid shirt. He’s wearing an orange hard hat and is holding a clipboard. His nails are too clean, his hands free of blisters and cuts. I’m guessing he’s on the board with Muriel, because he’s certainly not here for construction.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m Max Miller.”
The man peruses his list, searching for my name. When his pencil stops over it, his face lights with a smile. “I see you have experience in construction.”
Again, I nod.
“Great. Let’s get you a hard hat, and get you started…”
His words fade as I see her.
Ace is standing in front of a large miter saw, intently listening to a man give her a brief summary of the power tool. Her rounded eyes make it apparent she’s intimidated by whatever task they’ve assigned her, but she works to hide that as she nods and smiles at her instructor.
“…we’re finishing with the framing today and tomorrow, and then we’ll start installing the windows and doors.” The man beside me continues.