Fourth Attempt

1. Wren

Chapter 1

Wren

I climbed from my old Chevy Lumina, the muggy atmosphere immediately prickling my skin with the need to sweat. Early July, and wicked summer weather already haunted Massachusetts, causing flowers and maple leaves alike to droop.

Attempting to fill my lungs with the swamp-like air and yanking my bag over my shoulder, I slammed the squeaky driver door shut and took a quick perusal of the half-built monstrosity on the lot behind me.

The daily noise of power tools and nail guns didn’t bother me. The fact the condo building would eventually rise higher than my third-floor apartment in the old Victorian house and cut off my view of the Merrimac River?

Yeah. I wasn’t happy about that fact, but I was in no place financially to move.

One good thing about the construction that started up a few weeks ago? Countless muscled men to fuel my imagination and give me something to fantasize about since real life working the night shift at a pharmacy sucked.

But because of work and college courses, I also had no time or emotional capacity to get involved, no matter how much I yearned for someone to hold me. Support me. Encourage me when my energy ran low—like it always seemed to do.

So, I simply focused on the best part I couldn’t keep my eyes off of.

The driver of the new silver F-250 with Harper’s Construction painted on its side.

Blake Harper in all his six-foot-plus glory climbed from the cab a stone’s toss away, and same as always when I caught a glimpse of the man, I swallowed a moan and a rush of drool.

The size of his pristine work boots suggested he was no small boy where it counted. His tight jeans hugged him in all the right places, leaving nothing to the imagination, and implied the same thing his feet hinted at.

Perspiration beaded between my breasts as I allowed myself to linger beneath the scorching sun in order to soak in the sight of physical perfection.

His navy button-down with the construction logo over his thick left pec hadn’t yet been dirtied from the day’s work and still appeared starched to perfection. I doubted he laundered his own clothes, but with the money he came from, why would he? The sleeves were rolled to his elbow, his thick, muscular forearms the type I dreamed of having wrapped around me, comforting and erasing all the burdens from my mind.

Light brown hair that appeared too carefully mussed topped his tall form, and blond highlights on the tips glinting in the sun made my fingers ache to grasp and hold on tight. Slashed eyebrows, a clean-shaven, sharp jawline, and cheekbones to die for made him runway worthy and the leading man in my dreams. Full lips with a perfect bow suggested he knew how to use his mouth to d**g a woman with sensual kisses I’d never truly experienced and absolutely ached for. Dark blue eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes—

His focus landed on me, stealing my thoughts and breath.

Blake was a damn magnetic field stronger than any science fiction tractor beam. A wave of electrical current reached out across the short distance between us, attempting to snag hold of me. Ensnare me. Make me powerless…

I couldn’t move beneath his perusal.

His gaze caressed over me like X-ray vision, allowing him to peer through the wrinkled pharmacy uniform hiding my boyish figure I’d always hated. I could feel his appraisal like erotic feathering fingertips beneath my clothing. Shivers slid over my heated skin.

Damp panties? Check.

Tight n*****s aching for teeth? Double check.

Our gazes once more connected—his slow, cocky smile snapped me back to reality even though my pulse continued to thrum in my neck. Those midnight blues stated he knew how the mere sight of him affected my body.

My chin lifted as I attempted to sniff down my nose at him. The arrogant a*s was so not my type, I told myself, even if he did look like a Greek god.

According to social media, Blake had his pick of women and wasn’t shy about flashing those pictures to brag. He liked them tall and graceful, blonde from a bottle, and with enough makeup caked on their faces to keep Sephora in business.

The opposite of me.

A true playboy bachelor, he also never got photographed with a woman more than once.

Not that I stalked him or anything. I wasn’t interested in his life even if he did make my body purr. And I definitely wasn’t looking for a romp in the sheets that would leave me swooning over a man who refused to be tied down. Blake would be just like all of Mom’s boyfriends who’d been in and out of our lives as fast as a synodic day.

Nope. Nuh uh.

I’d had more than enough of those types during my childhood—except for the rich part. Trusting a man to actually stick around and make all my happily-ever-after dreams come true wasn’t going to happen no matter how pretty or wealthy he was.

Without returning Blake’s knowing smile, I spun and trudged up the exterior stairs to my apartment, a small one-bedroom on the third floor/attic of a house that had seen better days. I yanked open the wooden door that had swelled with the humidity, but the scent of fresh coffee along with a blast of AC in my face eased the growl of annoyance rising in my chest.

Same as every morning, I thanked the gods that some human thought up a timer so I didn’t have to stand and twiddle my thumbs while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

Two sugars and a splash of cream went into my steaming mug, and I sat at my small table beside the window overlooking the river through framed floors of the building across the street.

It wouldn’t be long before a brick exterior blocked off the peaceful view I’d enjoyed for the couple of years I’d lived there.

With a perfect scene of the toiling men below, I sipped and grieved the fact they would eventually be gone too.

The racket of building filtered through the glass, but I didn’t mind since it didn’t compare to the shithole I’d grown up in.

My attention glued to Blake and who I assumed to be his foreman, a slightly shorter, dark-haired gorgeous guy I enjoyed watching boss around the other employees when the cocky asshole wasn’t on site.

Blake held a set of rolled blueprints under one arm as the two men walked around, pointing at this or that and chatting with the carpenters. After their morning tour of the site, which lasted through my first cup of coffee, the two men headed into the trailer office alongside the road. I had to lean forward to keep them in sight until the door shut behind them.

Coming Soon the big red sign beside the office at the construction site’s entrance read, Werner’s Point, Luxury Condos.

Private parking, docks for those with boats, and balconies overlooking the river soon to be stolen from me, the website promised. Well, the owner didn’t give a s**t about the last part, but no one ever cared what happened to those who came before the new, moneymaking condo buildings sprouted up.

Sighing over losing sight of my favorite fantasy man, I retrieved a second cup of coffee and returned to my seat. My gaze once more lifted to the river lazing its way toward the Atlantic Ocean.

One day, I would be out of debt and rise above the label of w*********h from Lynn, the City of Sin, as it was called. Sure, I’d moved from where my mom had raised me—and where she still wallowed. The stink of my childhood clung to my nostrils and skin regardless of the raspberry lotion I slathered on every inch of my body after showering.

Like the river, slow and steady, I had studied my a*s off and worked my way out of that place. Daily, I thanked every god and saint imaginable that I’d been blessed with a measure of intelligence from my father since my mom had zero brains to speak of. He’d been the supposed love of my mom’s life who had lasted longer than the rest of her men.

They’d spent a whole whopping week together.

In reality, he’d been nothing more than a sperm donor, leaving Mom twenty-five years earlier without a trace of his existence other than the cleft in my chin. Beyond that single physical trait? I looked just like my mom.

Mousy brown hair that never caught the sunlight with auburn or golden glints like Blake’s thick locks. Some might appreciate my hazel-brown irises, but they hid behind glasses since contacts dried my eyes out to the point of pain.

Mom and I were both petite with a serious lack of curves, but at least I didn’t have track marks littering my arms or premature wrinkles from choosing to party rather than take care of myself.

While I didn’t respect her for falling into drugs and having dozens of boyfriends throughout my childhood, I appreciated the roof she’d kept over our heads and the food in my belly by working countless part-time jobs. She’d never once raised her hand toward me in anger, but she also never offered her arms for comfort or affection either.

She hadn’t been around that much and left me to my own devices, but at least no one had called the police on her where I’d have been tossed into the system. It was no wonder I’d become independent at an early age, determined to make more of myself than she had chosen to do.

But I also found myself touch starved.

The two guys I had dated had quickly grown tired of my neediness, my clinging onto them every chance I’d been gifted.

No one wanted a leech.

Especially one with a childhood as tarnished as mine.

Rubbing at my tired eyes beneath my glasses, I let out a heavy sigh, exhaling away thoughts of the ashes I was determined to rise above.

I swallowed down the last of my coffee and hit the shower, ready for my summer class to be over so I could crash for a few hours of sleep.

In ten months, six years of schooling would be a part of my past, and I would be a licensed pharmacist, making the pay that would eventually afford me a condo like the ones being built across the street.

I lathered up my hair, my eyes shut and mind dreaming beneath the tepid stream of water. One day, I would be debt free and finally feel a sense of satisfaction with my life.

Maybe I would get lucky and find an affectionate man who couldn’t keep his hands off me…one as hot as Blake Harper without the self-entitlement he portrayed online.

Snorting, I shut that fantasy down before the lonely little girl inside me went all heart-eyed over imagining soft kisses and warm arms to hold me tight.

Affirmations of love and acceptance—they’d all been proven false in my past, so what was the point of hoping or relying on others to fill me up with happiness?

Head set on straight and ready to get my a*s to class, I went back out into the heat, hurried down my stairs, and hopped into my piece-of-s**t car without once glancing across the street.

Regardless of my yearnings for intimacy, it was best to stay focused on the one person I could rely on to provide for my future.

Me.