It was a relief to head for the southern side of the house—which, considering the floor plan, was practically in the next county. Setting to work, he began hefting six-foot-by-four-foot sections of particleboard and locking them in place against the framers. He used a hammer instead of a nail gun because he was just that flavor of old school—and because even with the manual stuff he was one of the fastest carpenters around.

The sound of a pair of Harleys coming down the dirt drive brought his head up.

Eddie and Adrian pulled their bikes in together and dismounted in sync, removing their leather jackets and their black sunglasses in the same rhythm too. As they approached the house, they came gunning in his direction and Jim groaned: Adrian was looking at him with a whole lot of what-the-hell-happened-with-the-hottie on his pierced face.

Which meant the guy had noticed that Blue Dress disappeared about the same time Jim did.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What?”

Jim shook his head at the guy next to him and refocused on what he was doing. Positioning one of the sheets against the frame, he held it with his hip, unhooked his hammer from his belt, got a nail, and pounded. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat—

“Have fun last night?” Adrian said as he came up.

Jim just kept on pounding.

“Ah, come on, I don’t need all the details—but you could spare me a few.” Adrian glanced at his roommate. “Back me up, would ya?”

Eddie just walked by and knocked his shoulder into Jim, which was his version of a good morning. Without being asked, he took over bracing the particleboard, which freed Jim up to hammer twice as fast. They were a great team, although Adrian balanced out the pace. He was less than industrious, preferring to spend his time fucking around and running his mouth. It was a wonder he hadn’t gotten fired in the four weeks he’d been on the site.

Ad leaned against a naked doorjamb and rolled his eyes. “You aren’t going to tell me whether you got a birthday present or not?”

“Nope.” Jim positioned a nail and creamed the head of it. Two hits and the top was flush with the board and then he got another fresh shot at imagining Adrian’s face on a target.

“You suck.”

Yes, he certainly had last night—not that it was any business of that friendly neighborhood gum-flapping motherfucker with a metal fetish.