Page 76 of The Overtime Persuasive

CHAPTER 17

LIAM

Squirrels are terrible project managers.

Thomas sits at the edge of the garage, eating the peanuts I left on the driveway while I do all the work. Every few seconds, he rises onto his back legs, studies my progress, then returns to his snack without offering a single useful suggestion.

“You could at least pretend to be invested,” I growl while Thomas rotates a peanut between his paws.

It's taken me most of the morning, but Thomas’s new abode is coming along nicely. I pick up the small wooden roof and line it up with the sides of what will soon be his very own squirrel box. Eva sent me the plans after our walk, along with three DIY videos, an article about the best location to put your box, and one warning that the entrance hole needs to face away from prevailing winds.

I have no idea when providing winter housing for a squirrel became one of my responsibilities. Yet, here I am.

The box is made from cedar with a sloped roof, a round entrance, and a hinged side panel for easy cleaning by the human-in-charge, who is me. Honestly, It’s better constructed than most of the furniture I owned in my early twenties.

“You should be grateful,” I say to my furry buddy, who fiddles with a half-eaten peanut as he watches me drive in the next screw. “I don’t do this for everyone.”

Thomas then stuffs half the peanut into his mouth.

“Eva’s cat has toys and unlimited access to her apartment. I can’t do that for you, you’re barely domesticated.”

Thomas pauses.

“In fact, you’re feral, dude.”

His tail flicks, and he turns his back on me.

“Wow, that wasn’t an insult,” I say, looking toward the house. “Pretty sure Mitch doesn't act like this.”

I don’t know why I’m comparing the personalities of a wild squirrel and my possible girlfriend’s cat.

Possible girlfriend. Did I really just think that?

Eva and I haven’t talked about what we’re doing beyond agreeing that whatever is happening with us is, in fact, something. Something means I kiss her whenever we get a moment alone. Something also means she texts me pictures of Mitch occupying her pillow and sends me updates about the contest.

There’s also a version of something where I keep finding reasons to stop at Side B, even when I don’t have a shift, a box to assemble, or a leaking radiator to fix.

We’re not official but we’re not not official, ya feel me? Yeah, I’m confused too.

I set the roof in place and inspect my work. “Look at that, Thomas. You have real estate.”

My phone alarm goes off, the sound startling Thomas and making him shoot toward the nearest tree. He stops halfway up the trunk, clinging to the bark as he looks back at me.

LEAVE FOR BIRDCAGE IN FORTY-FIVE

Another home game tonight, and I still need to shower, change, eat, and convince my body that crouching over a workbench for two hours was an excellent pregame decision.

My phone buzzes again before I can put it down.

Lucy

Hey, Hot Lips. You bringing your girlfriend tonight?

I stare at the message. Hot Lips as a nickname is going to be a problem. Lucy will keep using it until she finds something worse, and once she tells Sawyer, I’ll have to change my name and move to another country.

But, I can ignore that part. It’s the other word that gets me.

Girlfriend.