Good with His Hands Read Free Page A

passed. He was the person who crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s. As if his occupational habits were taking over his personal life, with each passing year, Bryce grew more rigid. His DVD collection of pretentious, independent films was probably alphabetized. Most of Sean’s DVDs weren’t even in their proper cases.
    Unlike his brother, Sean lived in the moment, enjoying spontaneity. Why overplan the journey? In his experience, life offered many interesting detours.
    * * *
    O F ALL THE ways Dani could have spent Saturday afternoon, hiding in an empty office so that concerned friends couldn’t call her home line or drop by to check on her was definitely in the pathetic top five.
    Granted, she’d spent the past few hours putting herself in a strategic position to reach her goal—the youngest top seller to graduate to a flat desk fee instead of splitting commission with the brokerage—but was it really healthy to be so practical? She was a scorned bride. Shouldn’t she be finding catharsis in some kind of outrageous behavior? In her career, following the rules and setting goals worked well. In her love life? Not so much.
Tate
was the one who’d cheated, yet he was happily married while she was alone.
    When Meg had announced she was moving in with Nolan, a pharmaceutical sales rep six years her senior, after dating him only a couple of months, Dani had cautioned her exuberant friend that it was too soon. But Meg had defied conventional wisdom and seemed perfectly happy with her choice. Meanwhile, Dani had tried to do everything right with Tate—spending a year and a half getting to know him before they got engaged, being completely supportive of his needing to work out of the country—and she’d gotten screwed.
    If this were a movie, she would have taken her canceled honeymoon to Maui all by herself and fallen in love with one of Hollywood’s leading men amid a learning-to-surf montage and funny luau scene.
Well, it’s not a movie.
So she could either stay here and continue her downward spiral into feeling sorry for herself or she could call Meg. Maybe last night’s invitation for drinks still stood. Or maybe Dani should look around the area for paintball places with evening hours. She sort of liked the idea of wearing her pristine white wedding dress to a paintball battle. If nothing else, the sight would unnerve her opponents.
    She heaved a sigh. It wasn’t the bridal gown’s fault that Tate was too insecure to spend his life with a strong woman. She shouldn’t take out her rage on a seven-hundred-dollar dress. But she could totally take it out on a pitcher’s worth of margaritas.
    Resolved, she shut down her computer. There was
one
nice thing about her abysmal little apartment; it was only two adjoining parking lots away from a neighborhood bar. She could easily walk home after a few drinks. The bar was a nice place with pool tables and a Saturday happy hour she might still make if she left now. Maybe Meg could meet her there.
    Dani would call her from the car, once her cell phone was plugged in to the charger. She’d “accidentally” forgotten to charge it this morning. At least, that was the story she planned to give anyone who’d been unable to reach her. Her father had called three times alone that morning. Lord knew how many voice messages awaited her.
    When Dani had arrived at the office, she’d been wearing a three-quarter sleeved semitransparent blouse over a lace-edged red camisole and white denim skirt. But the air-conditioning didn’t run on the weekends and the day had turned into one of those humid summer previews when Mother Nature demonstrated what Atlanta had to look forward to in June, so she’d shrugged out of the blouse. Now she scooped up the discarded garment and her briefcase, suddenly eager to escape the barren office and the loneliness it represented. She could imagine how Tate would gloat if he