Overachiever (Slumming It Book 2) Read online

  By the time I have our stuff secured and wrapped with a tarp in the bed of my truck, she reemerges wearing shorts and a tee shirt. Shivering against the early morning air that’ll be hot and humid soon enough, she tosses a smaller bag in the passenger side floorboard.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “I need to stop at the gas station but I thought we’d swing by the coffee shop too so you’ll be more fun.”

  A smile barely touches the corners of her mouth. “Sold. I’ll even buy you a donut.”

  Thin light illuminates the horizon by the time we get on the road. The amount of snacks that end up piled between us on the seat makes it look like we have a bunch of kids along.

  I’ll have to remember to feed Remee coffee in the future because she peps up and the drive becomes much more fun. There’s little traffic, which was the goal of leaving so early.

  “Passenger DJ’s,” I point out, and she connects her phone to my radio, choosing an upbeat playlist.

  It seems odd to be alone with her like this and I wonder if she feels the same way. Most of the time, we’re together in our friend group, but this summer it’s just the two of us. Well, along with the others in our crew of all men. No doubt those assholes will be all over her.

  “Do you know you’re the only woman on the crew?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I saw that. It means I get my own room.”

  “You know I’ve worked on construction crews before. Guys can be disrespectful assholes.” That’s an understatement. “If anyone bothers you, let me know.”

  Her sideways glance is filled with surprise. “Are you worried about me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good, because I can handle them.” After a pause, she smiles at me. “But thanks. That’s sweet.”

  “I just want you to know I have your back.”

  “Same goes for you.”

  “This is going to be great. Turn the music up,” I tell her.

  Most of the trip is fun. We get lost once and end up having to turn around when the GPS leads us astray, but it doesn’t take us long to get ourselves back on track. Remee takes a turn driving, and we swap back with only a couple of hours to go.

  She dozes off in the passenger seat, and I can’t resist sneaking a few looks at her while she won’t notice. She really is beautiful. Her brown hair falls to her shoulders in soft waves, and her slightly parted lips urge me to kiss them. To see if they feel as soft as they look.

  The traffic thickens, and I have to pay attention and stop creeping on her before she catches me. The GPS advises me we’re only a few miles from our exit when Remee wakes up.

  “About time you stopped snoring. We’re almost there.”

  “I don’t snore.” With a yawn, she sits up and slips on her shoes.

  It’s late when we finally turn into a parking lot where a long, two story building waits. The rooms are accessed directly from the parking lot like most cheap motels, and a high fence surrounds a small kidney shaped pool where a couple of people loiter.

  “Not exactly five star,” Remee chuckles as we park outside of the glass lobby doors.

  “If there’s a man in there dressed up as his mother, we’re out of here.” We head inside, and a bored clerk gives us a nod as we approach and explain who we are.

  “Here you go. You’re in room one twenty,” he says, handing Remee a key card. “And you’re in one thirty-three.”

  “Has the other guy in my room already picked up his key?” I ask.

  “Yes, you two are the last of the group reservations to show up.” He goes on to explain where the ice machine is located and gestures toward an adjacent room. “Continental breakfast is served in the dining room from six to nine. Anything else you need?”

  “Wifi?” Remee says.

  “Password is written on the side of the TV.”

  “Thank you.”

  Just outside the lobby doors, Remee pauses and takes a deep breath. “I can smell the ocean on the wind.” A tired smile creeps across her face. “Tomorrow after the orientation and lunch…”

  “It’s our first stop,” I promise. “Your room is right here. Let’s get your stuff unloaded before I park in front of mine.”

  The room isn’t as bad as I expect it to be. Dated and a bit run down, but clean. The air conditioner hums into action when she turns it on to cut through the humid air. After sticking her head in the bathroom, she sits on the edge of one of the beds.

  “Not too bad.”

  “Are you going to be okay by yourself here?” I ask, hesitating in the doorway.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Okay, I’m going to go. See you in the morning.” Pausing again, I look at the locks on the door. “Make sure you turn the deadbolt.”

  “I will. Don’t worry about me. Go meet your new roomie,” she teases. Once I hear the clicking of locks sliding into place, I grab my stuff from the truck and unlock my door down the hall.

  Exhausted, my only thought is to fall into bed, but just inside I’m met with a squalling sound that makes me drop my suitcase and jump back in the dark.

  What the fuck was that?

  It sounds like a dying moose.

  A light flips on and a guy laughs from the far bed. “Sorry, man. It’s my white noise machine. Whale songs. I was just going to bed.”

  That helps him sleep? I’ve heard haunted house soundtracks that are less disturbing. “Sorry if I woke you. I’m going to crash as soon as I get my truck unloaded. It’s been a long drive. I’m Owen, by the way.”

  “Weston. Nice to meet you.”

  The bed squeals under Weston’s not insignificant weight as he lies back down. “Nice to meet you too.”

  By the time I have my stuff inside, he’s asleep and the whale sounds have shifted to the screech of seagulls. Seriously, at what beach in hell was this recorded? After brushing my teeth and changing clothes, I grab my headphones, suddenly sorry I didn’t spring for a noise cancelling model. Whatever, I can sleep through almost anything.

  Almost.

  With music in my ears partially blocking out the sounds of Satan’s aquarium, I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow. Until a noise so horrible I can’t believe it came from a human being jars me awake. My first thought is thunder. A clap of thunder probably startled me. Until it comes again, and I swear I feel the hairs on my arms rattle. No, not thunder. Weston. Snoring.

  Christ in pajamas, that guy needs a doctor.

  A quick check of my phone tells me it’s almost morning, though way earlier than I want to be up. I’m tempted to go to Remee’s room and see if I can crash on her extra bed, but I don’t want to wake her.

  The roar of the wildebeest across from me continues, competing with the marine wildlife, and I can’t take anymore. Throwing my clothes on in the dark, I grab my phone and step outside. The sky is just beginning to show traces of light around its edges. My thought when I stepped out was just to take a walk and kill some time, but the sight of the empty lounge chairs by the pool changes my mind. I stretch out on one, tuck my headphones back in my ears, and lie back to grab another hour or two of sleep. I’m not sure what I’ll do tonight, but I know there’s no way I’m rooming with that guy. I could’ve reasoned with him over the ocean noises, but short of wrapping a pillow around his head, I’m not sure there’s an answer to the snoring.

  I’m back to sleep in seconds until the brightness of the sun manages to permeate my eyelids enough to wake me again. The plastic chair squeaks as I turn my head to the side, and I damn near piss myself when I open my eyes to see two dark ones looking back into mine.

  A kid, maybe four or five years old, stands inches away, staring at me like he can see my soul and it looks tasty to him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares until I shield my eyes with my hand.

  “Hey kid. Are you lost or something?”

  He shakes his head. “Bird pooped on you.”

  His words don’t regi
ster the first time since it wasn’t what I expected as an answer. “What?”

  His small finger extends to point at my shoulder. “Bird pooped on you.”

  As my vision adjusts to the brightness, it’s clear he’s right. A large, nasty white splatter, dotted with purple, covers my shoulder and runs down the front of my shirt.

  Perfect.

  Amazing end to a stellar night.

  “You should sleep inside in a bed like me,” the kid says as I get to my feet.

  “Good idea, buddy.” His head bobs up when a woman calls for him from a nearby doorway, and he ambles off.

  Weston is visible through the window of the tiny dining room when I pass the front of the building. At least I’ll have the room to myself to clean up and get ready.

  On top of being the world’s loudest sleeper, Weston is a slob. The bathroom is damp with a soaked towel lying on the floor and another wadded up in the corner. I’m lucky he’s saved me a towel, I guess, and there’s no shortage of hot water to wash off the bird shit.

  I hate birds. Squawky, flappy little bastards.

  I’m not the type to dwell on a little bad luck, though, and the water washes away most of my disgruntled mood. There’s still a problem to solve. It’s doubtful that the company is going to spring for another room just because I don’t like my roommate, and I can’t afford one on my own. No person in their right mind would switch with me.

  That leaves one possibility. Rooming with Remee, if I can talk her into it. It’s not that I think she’d be uncomfortable with me, but if I had a room to myself, I sure wouldn’t want to give it up.

  After my shower, I text her to see if she’s had breakfast yet, and her reply is instant.

  Remee: No, do you want to go to the restaurant across the street for pancakes?

  Me: Hell yes. Meet you at my truck.

  If pancakes can’t make a day better then I don’t know what can.

  Chapter Three

  Remee

  Owen looks wrung out when he emerges from his room to meet me. Maybe it’s hard for him to sleep in a new place too. “Hey, you look tired. Didn’t you get any sleep?”

  “Don’t even get me started,” he warns, as we walk toward the road. “I need some coffee and sugary breakfast food to get past it and describe the trauma I’ve suffered.”

  “Uh-huh, and would this be the same level of trauma you claimed when Graham stole your last pizza roll?”

  “Way worse. Seriously, you’re going to feel so bad about making fun of me when I tell you about my night. Fortunately, I’m a nice guy and I’ll forgive you.”

  My anxiety over the day to come fades a little. Owen may get on my nerves sometimes with his endless mouth, but it’s hard not to be happy around him. He’s such a positive person. He never seems stressed out or worried, and I envy his ability to just roll with things.

  The restaurant right across from our motel advertises breakfast as their specialty, and from the amazing smell that wafts over us at the entrance, I don’t doubt the claim. A hostess seats us in a booth by a window and the waitress is right behind her to take our order. The place is far from empty, but not too busy.

  After we order, Owen leans toward me on his elbows. “Remee, you know you’re my favorite, right?”

  “I know you’re full of it.” My smile can’t be helped. “You want something.”

  “No! Okay, yes, but it’s a tiny thing, really. Infinitesimal.”

  He stops to thank the waitress who delivers our food. After she leaves, I munch on a strip of bacon. “What is it?”

  “So, I was thinking, this summer would be much more fun for you if you had a roommate. It must be horribly boring staying in that room all alone, but don’t worry. I’m willing to move in today to help.”

  He wants to room with me? “What happened?” I ask, trying to cut through his bullshit.

  “My roommate is horrible. He snores and don’t even get me started on the ocean sounds.” Owen’s flair for the dramatic is in full swing.

  “Are you maybe overreacting just a little?” How bad could the man be? It’s only been one night.

  Pleading eyes look into mine. “Remee, please, you don’t understand. The guy sounds like a motorcycle fucking a monster truck and there were whales and seagulls and a bird shit on me—

  “You aren’t making any sense.”

  He pauses at my interruption. “He’s terrible. The worst roommate ever. I’d rather sleep naked in a pile of porcupines than go back to that room. Now’s your chance to be a hero and save me, Remee. Don’t mess it up.”

  “You want to stay in my room for the whole summer?” I clarify, turning the idea over in my head.

  “Yes, thank you so much for offering. Really, Rem, you’re the best.”

  Last night wasn’t great for me either. I’ve never stayed in a motel room alone and I woke at every sound. Doors opening and closing, people laughing and talking outside. It felt creepy even with the door locked. I’d be a lot more at ease if I wasn’t alone. And all his joking aside, Owen does seem desperate to get away from the roommate. If I say no, he might want to head back home and then I’d be here alone.

  “Fine,” I relent. “I suppose I do have an extra bed.”

  “Thank you,” he sighs.

  “But you’ll have to find somewhere else to take whatever poor girls you pick up to defile. I don’t want a room full of skanky spring breakers.”

  “Defile skanks elsewhere. Got it.” His smile is wide as he digs into his pancakes.

  “We have orientation in an hour.”

  “Mmm.” He swallows a mouthful. “Are you nervous?”

  “Not about that, but in general, yeah. I’m not a handy person. I’m going to make an idiot of myself.” My concerns come spilling out.

  “I’m not exactly Bob the Builder. Everyone will be learning. It’ll be fine. Once we get the first day or two over, you’ll see.”

  I’m not the best at branching out and trying new things. Everything I do is with my ultimate career goals in mind which means I can’t screw up. I can’t afford mistakes that might affect the rest of my life.

  “Yeah, it’ll be fine.” Just because I’m out of my comfort zone doesn’t mean I can’t excel. I’ll do what I always do. Work hard.

  We have enough time before orientation to move Owen’s stuff into my room. It was a little disappointing that his roommate from hell wasn’t there since I’m curious to see what the guy is like, but it’s probably for the best. There’s no nice way of saying you don’t want to be around someone.

  Orientation is being held at the worksite which is barely a quarter of a mile away. It isn’t hard to find. One whole side of the short street bears construction in different stages of development. A couple of houses look nearly finished, while two of the lots are still being cleared.

  A man in a hard hat calls out to us and waves us over where we join a group of others standing around the frame of a house. “Good morning,” he says. “Remee Shaw?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are?” He turns to Owen.

  “Owen Wright.”

  “Great, good. I’m Jim.” He hands us both a hard hat. “You need to wear these at all times on the jobsite. We’re waiting for two more to show up, then I’ll show you around.” His gaze falls to my feet. “You’re going to want to get some more protective shoes, boots preferably. A nail could go right through those soles.”

  “Oh, okay, I will,” I sputter.

  He looks around and singles out a few others who don’t have the correct footwear, and after the last two of our crew show up, we’re treated to a lecture on how to dress. “This isn’t a day at the beach,” he says, glancing at a guy in a tank top and shorts. “You’ll want boots, jeans, clothing that can take a beating.”

  We’re led around the jobsite and introduced to a few other workers and supervisors. The two guys supervising us are Jim and Jerry. Owen instantly dubs them the J’s. Jim is straight to the point and matter of fact, while Jerry se
ems a little more laid back. One thing that’s stressed over and over again is safety and how fast they’ll kick our asses from the program if we don’t follow the regulations.

  After we’re shown around, the group is split up and we’re assigned to a builder.

  Jerry leads me and two more guys over to a man who’s drilling into a wall. “Evan, here’s your group.” A thin man, maybe in his late twenties, turns and grins at us, then puts his drill aside. Jerry gestures to each of us. “This is Morgan, Adrian, and Remee.”

  “Evan,” he says, giving us a nod. “Glad to have you.” Jerry walks away as Evan asks. “Does anyone have any experience or trade skills?”

  “Carpentry,” Morgan speaks up. “My father makes furniture for a living. Done it since I was a kid.”

  “Great, I know where to put you.”

  Evan looks at Adrian. “I worked summers with my uncle hanging drywall, doing tile, painting.”

  Damn it, I didn’t expect the others to be…qualified. What am I doing here? When his eyes fall on me, I shake my head. “Um, not really.”

  Evan’s smile is kind. “Don’t worry. I’m a good teacher.”

  By the time we’re excused and instructed to return to work the next morning, I’m not quite as nervous. Everyone seemed kind, and I’m sure I’m not the only one there who doesn’t have construction experience. After all, that’s the point of the program, isn’t it? To learn new skills while helping a good cause.

  Owen stops just outside the half built house and tugs me close to him. “Day one picture,” he says, and we both laugh at the sight of us wearing hard hats reflected in his cellphone camera.

  “Send it to me.”

  “Where to now?” Owen asks as we head toward his truck.

  “I need to find a place to buy some boots. And maybe a couple pair of jeans I can ruin judging by the state of the other guys’ clothes. You don’t have to stick with me. I can Rideshare.”

  He’s already typing on his phone. “There’s a strip mall nearby with a shoe store and a thrift shop. Let’s go. I could use some things too.” He grins and jumps into his truck. “Then we go to the beach.”