Chapter 10

Dagger's POV

**************

"I wasn't expecting you to see you today," Cal—the foreman and owner of Harris Construction—glanced at his watch, then back to me. "Especially not this early."

"This early?" I raised an eyebrow at him as I pulled my work belt from the bed of my pickup, securing the belt around my waist.

It was six in the morning on Monday. Early for some, sure, but it was on time for my job. Cal liked his guys getting started as soon as the sun was up, but that also meant we were beating the summer heat. So his comment was a little out of left-field.

"We didn't see you Friday, so I figured you weren't gonna show up today."

The fuck is that supposed to mean?

"Well, I'm here," I retorted.

Slamming the tailgate, I headed towards the house that we were remodeling. Construction hadn't been my initial career choice, but after Benny patched me up, I figured out that I was pretty good with my hands. The rest came pretty easy, especially since everything at the Cabin needed at least a little something done.

"Hey, man," Cal rested a hand on my shoulder. I came to a stop and glared down at him. However, he was unphased. Looking around, Cal lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, "My brother was addicted to some hard shit back in the day. He used to go to a group at Saint Philip's, and he got clean. They meet every Tuesday and Thursday. It might help you out, you know?"

The fuck?

"Thanks, Cal, but I'm good." Shrugging off his hand, I continued into the job site.

Already, the place was alive with the sounds of hammers, drills, and pneumatic nail guns. Sure, I could hear it from outside, but there was something about a gutted living room that amplified everything. The smell of wood and drywall drew me in, calling me to get to work.

So I did.

No one really bothered me while I worked, considering they had me on demo-ing the counters and cabinets today. Everyone seemed to leave me alone if I had a sledgehammer in my hand. Which was probably for the best. Especially considering how pent up I was from the blue balls I gave myself with Serenity yesterday.

Kissing her head? Touching her? Bad ideas. But I couldn't help myself. Not when she looked at me like she felt exactly like I did. Not when she left her scent all over my pickup. Fuck, my bed still even smelled like her.

If Conri hadn't crashed at the cabin, I would've slept on the couch. But nope. There was no escaping Serenity. I'd jerked off no less than three times last night, hoping for any kind of relief. But again...nope. Every time I closed my eyes, those big, doe-eyes stared back at me, begging me to kiss her, touch her.

I knew that the mark of the Moon Goddess was supposed to intensify everything, eventually forcing the marking to happen. At least, with wolves, that was how it happened because they both would eventually cave into their primal need for each other.

For humans, though? No clue. I wasn't even sure Serenity had this same battle going on inside her. The battle for control.

I'd messaged her last night, so she had my number. But her response was quick, short. Not that I wanted some long soliloquy, but a sign that being apart was just as hard for her as it was for me would've been nice. Because it was hard. It was like trying to keep attracting magnets away from each other.

By the time lunch rolled around, I had the kitchen completely gutted and ready for new tile. Usually, I tried to keep a more human pace, but not today. And probably not for the rest of the week. Actually, probably not until I'd marked Serenity.

Sitting on my tailgate, I ate a sandwich Benny had packed for me. It was not the prettiest thing, but at least it tasted decent. Turkey, some kind of dill sauce, tomato...I couldn't complain. Especially when I wasn't the one who made it.

My phone chimed from my pocket, so I pulled it out. My Serenity flashed on the screen and my heart skipped a beat. Calm the fuck down, Dag. It's a fucking text. Scarfing down my sandwich so I could focus, I unlocked my phone and went to the text.

S: So...do I call you my boyfriend?

Boyfriend. Such a simple term for a way more complex reality. If that was what she wanted to call me, fine. She could honestly call me whatever made her happy. If she wanted the label, then I'd give her it. Whatever she wanted, I'd give her. But I wasn't sure she completely understood that yet.

D: You can call me whatever you want. Boyfriend, lover...

D: Daddy >:)

S: I am NOT calling you daddy. Also, did you just type out an emoticon? What is this? 2006?

D: I did.

D: And I'll do it again >:)

S: Jesus. How old ARE you?

Chuckling at her message, I realized...we didn't really know how old each other was. Sure, I'd seen everything she'd been through, but I wasn't exactly counting birthdays. She was younger than me. I knew that much, but how much younger, I didn't know.

D: 28. How old are YOU?

S: ...

S: You're almost a whole decade older than me.

This was a little surprising. Especially considering the biggest age gap I'd seen mates have was only three years. But before I could reply back, Serenity sent another message.

S: Maybe I should call you Grandpa :)

I take back what I said about calling me whatever she wanted.

D: No.

S: Boo. No fun :(

D: You still never told me EXACTLY how old you were.

S: 20. My birthday is next February.

D: Fuck me.

She was a fast typer because before I had an opportunity to follow up with the fact I'd be turning twenty-nine in November, she was already sending me a comeback. One that made my cock twitch.

S: I'll think about it.

D: Say the word, and I'll leave work right now.

There was a long pause with no indication that she was even typing. She'd read it. That I could see. But no response. No attempt to respond. Fuck. Trying to salvage the situation, I quickly sent another message.

D: Or not.

But that message didn't come out right, so I sent another.

D: Not that I'm upset with that.

D: Or you.

Moon Goddess help me, why didn't any of these texts come out right?

D: Not that I'd ever BE upset with you for thinking about that sort of thing.

At this point, I was all-out talking to myself and she was reading all of the messages.

D: Because it's completely your choice. All I mean is that when you're ready, I'm ready.

D: But I wouldn't pressure you.

D: Ever.

Fuck. What a mess. Heaving a sigh, I decided there was no way to salvage the situation so I sent a final message.

D: What I MEANT to say was: Fuck me. I'll be 29 in November.

Finally, after another few minutes of waiting, just when my hope had all but gone, she answered me.

S: Sorry. Nat and Macie stole my phone while I was in the bathroom. I'll talk to you later.

Staring at the screen, I tried to process what I just read. Talk about a mood killer. Big mood killer. Did that mean Nat and Macie stole her phone before or after the "I'll think about it" message? I hadn't the slightest clue.

D: Later.

Jumping off the tailgate and putting my phone back in my pocket, I went to go find the fucking sledgehammer. The bathroom probably needed demo-ed next. And if it didn't?

Oh well.