Chapter 15
Let it Slip
SARAH
When I climbed up into Jamie’s truck, I had every intention of sticking my earbuds in and ignoring him for the duration of the ride. I may have lost my opportunity to practice my talk and pitches, but I still had my podcast and a travel pillow for the six-hour trip.
I’d gotten very into true crime podcasts in the last year. Probably because I identified with women murderers whenever I looked at Jamie.
As I pulled these out though, Sam clamored in behind me, while Jamie dealt with his bag in the back. I was right that he’d been ready to go to this conference whether or not he’d run into me. I admired his drive.
“Hey, I’m sorry for…” Sam began, but trailed off. The poor guy didn’t know what he was apologizing for. He just knew things were uncomfortable.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” I kept my eyes on the rearview, where I could see Jamie in the back, re-latching the box. His head was tilted down, so I couldn’t see his face.
“Things haven’t been great between Jamie and me for a while,” I said, surprising myself with my candor.
“Oh.”
I sensed Sam wanted to ask more or provide some kind of comfort, but Jamie appeared, the whole truck swaying as he filled the space next to me.
He leaned over the console and stuffed his coat under my seat without so much as an excuse me.
I angled my knees out of his way, holding in a breath as the scent of his soap hit me again.
That, along with the broad expanse of his back within inches of me, sent an unwanted tingling over my skin, reminding me of that moment outside my car.
I hadn’t been this close to Jamie this much in… I couldn’t remember how long.
But I also hadn’t been close to any man in a long time, save for an attempted kiss with a man I’d tried dating this summer that ended in tears. His, since I turned away so fast after our lackluster kiss I cracked his nose. It was bad. I gave up after that.
As Jamie sat back up, I told my stupid hormones to remember whose side they were on.
“Everything fit?” I asked, plastering on the cheer.
Jamie just grunted as he cranked on the radio. Clearly he didn’t want to talk either. A chipper Christmas pop song filled the cab.
He reached for the tuner, but I beat him to it, cranking up the volume.
“Love this one,” I said. I knew I was being juvenile, but I needed some wins.
“Me too!” said Sam from the back.
“I want the weather,” Jamie grumbled.
Sam started whistling along.
“We could use a little music for the ride, though, don’t you think?”
Jamie shot me a glare.
I smiled blandly.
Jamie left the radio on.
I suspected, when he turned it up himself after Sam pointed out some horses in a field, that he realized it was also a good way to try to drown out Sam’s friendly chatter.
By the time we reached the highway, I finally started relaxing. He’d just thrown me back there, that was all. Jamie being gentle and kind for a split second didn’t mean he cared about me. I definitely didn’t care about him.
I leaned up against the window, as far away from my grumpy boss as I could get, and focused on thinking about what was ahead of us. I reminded myself I was excited about this conference.
Besides meeting the heads of a few organizations doing some great work I’d love to be a part of, I was also going to be recruiting for Heartbreaker Trades, which I was on the founding board for.
We were a growing collective of women in male-dominated trades, and we were just getting started.
Right now, we were offering support, camaraderie, and resources like connections to legal firms and job opportunities at women-friendly companies.
But we had big plans for the next arm of the collective: education.
Our long-term vision was to open online learning, and eventually, a trades college specifically for women.
Several, over the next few years. Until then, we were hoping to encourage more women to apply for teaching jobs at trade schools to build experience, which was what my talk was going to touch on.
On the radio, the music ended, and after the weather—clear for the next couple of days with a storm rolling across the East Coast Monday night—it was apparently time for an entertainment news segment.
A movie actress had been fired from her network after engaging in some risqué behavior in Vegas.
I liked that actress—she always starred in the most saccharine movies and TV shows, but whenever I’d heard her in interviews, I could tell she had more depth than people gave her credit for. Now, as her voice streamed through the speakers, I grinned.
Yes I made a sex tape. Am I ashamed? Why should I be? Is he? Are you, for asking me that?
Jamie reached for the dial. “No!” I said, clapping a hand over his before thinking better of it.
Jamie’s eyes darted to mine. The feel of his skin against my palm momentarily distracted me—as did the heat traveling up my arm.
He pulled his hand away.
“I want to hear this,” I said.
If people want to give me [bleep] for being human, so be it. I say we only live once. Sex is fun between consenting adults. Be the starring role in the film. Center yourself, for once.
That was the end of the clip—the radio switched over to “The Christmas Song.”
“Damn,” Sam said. “She’s really going all in.”
“Good for her,” I said, wishing I’d heard the whole thing.
Wishing more that Jamie hadn’t tried to turn it off so I wouldn’t have accidentally held his hand.
I hazarded a glance at him now. But his giant hands were back on the steering wheel, his eyes trained hard on the road.
He was uncomfortable; that much was obvious.
But was it because of the actresses’ words on the radio? Or me touching him?
“Sam,” Jamie barked. “Tell us about your work in Central America.”
Sam, bless him, eagerly complied.
I sat back, telling myself even though my skin still burned where we’d touched, that nothing had happened between Jamie and I just now. Again.
The next few hours passed surprisingly quickly. Sam and I chatted a bit about our holiday plans. He and Cora were spending it with their parents, who lived in Greenville, the next town over from Quince Valley.
Jamie was quiet, one hand wrapped around the steering wheel, the other resting on his thick thigh.
I’d forgotten how nice his hands were. Long fingers, roughly padded but with neatly trimmed nails.
His thumb tapped a rhythm against the expanse of his quad muscle.
It was so subtle I’d have missed it if I wasn’t continually sneaking views.
Stupid man with nice hands. I looked away and at my stiffness, stretched, arching my back.
“How about you?” Sam asked me.
“I’m staying home,” I said. “Too much to do.” Like packing up for a new job, if all went well.
“What about your family?”
“My sisters and my one sister’s girls are going to Florida to see my mom.”
“You won’t be lonely?”
I smiled. Could Sam get any sweeter? Jamie, meanwhile, kept his eyes on the road, ignoring us completely.
“I’ll miss them,” I admitted. “Especially my nieces. One of them wants to be a carpenter.” I couldn’t help smiling. I’d been Mae’s age when I decided that’s what I wanted to be, too.
I thought about how I’d made my decision to follow in my dad’s footsteps. I’d overheard Mom telling someone that the company she worked for—a construction outfit like Reilly—was always looking for skilled men.
“Why not women?” I’d asked.
“We don’t do jobs like that,” she’d said, like it was silly I’d asked.
I loved my mom, but she never believed in me the way Dad had. No one did when I was young. When I got my first apprenticeship, I’d cried. Not that it wasn’t the happiest day of my life, but because I’d missed my dad. He was the only person I wanted to celebrate with.
This job did let me spend time on the job site. My current office away from Reilly was at the hotel, and the sound of echoing hammers and calls from working people was music to my ears. One day, I’d love to have my own workshop again, even if it was just to let Mae play in it.
“Did she get into that club?” Jamie asked. “The one you talked about in the videos?”
I blinked, staring at him. There was no way.
“You know about those?”
My first thought wasn’t happiness. I’d started those videos during a rough patch in my marriage.
I’d looked… unwell, at least in the early ones.
I’d been kind of gaunt, with dark circles under my eyes.
Not that I really cared at the time. They’d been to help Mae, though they ended up becoming a form of therapy for me.
For some reason I didn’t mind Seamus seeing them, which was why I’d jokingly brought them up after the interview.
But Jamie?
Outside, snow-covered fields whizzed by as fast as my newly quickened pulse.
I was embarrassed.
“Seamus showed them to me,” Jamie said. “After your interview.” He shifted in his seat, looking like he was sorry he’d said anything.
He glanced over at me, but I forced myself to keep my eyes trained forward. Which was how I saw the car in front of us suddenly slowing.
“Jamie!” I said.
I wasn’t too alarmed—we were far enough back to stop, but he wasn’t watching the road.
He was watching me.
“The car!” I exclaimed. Now I was alarmed.
Jamie snapped his eyes forward and slammed on the brakes. But at the same time, his hand shot out toward me, spreading across my torso.
I sucked in a breath as he pressed his hand against me. His fingers splayed between my breasts; his thumb grazing the button of my jeans.
I don’t think I’d have noticed if he slammed into the car in front of us.
We came to a stop.
“Black ice?” Sam said from the back. I’d fully forgotten he was there.
Jamie had, too, clearly, because he yanked his hand back, gripping the steering wheel tight. His eyes locked briefly on mine, and that heat didn’t go anywhere.
He’d protected me.
He’d touched me.
I forced myself to look out the window at the snow-covered trees. To think of ice and cold and corporate conferences. Anything but my boss and the feeling of his hand on my body.