“I’m glad someone is happy,” he muttered, bringing his hammer down hard enough to bury the staple in the cedar post. “Yeah, they always take and take and take, then forget about you after they get what they want.” He reached inside the leather tool belt tied around his waist and brought out another staple, but dropped it. What was wrong with him? He should be thrilled he didn’t have to listen to the old man’s monotonous stories about life before corporations began to take over the world and run the government. He’d been there, too. He paused, hammer drawn back. Sock’s stories were a lot more fun to hear, though. He was a born storyteller. Dillon frowned. The old man was still a pain in the ass, though, and he was glad he didn’t have to listen to him. Or feel Raine’s body pressed against his or imagine how it would feel to sink inside her body… “Damnation!” Why did he even think about her?
