24. Ginger
24
GINGER
I ’ve been sneaking around with all three men on the job, and so far, no one seems to suspect, and if they do, they’re keeping it under wraps. Honestly, I cannot keep my excitement to be near them tucked away most of the time.
We’ve found some decent nooks and corners to hide away in—for a make-out session, a quick hand job or fingering, or the occasional quickie.
The skirts I prefer come in handy.
I’ve just returned from delivering treats to the guys after checking in with the girls. A few extras are left for the guys who are out on a material run.
I pause in the doorway of the house-slash-office with the box in hand. Jackson isn’t in his office where I left him, but his spicy cologne lingers in the hallway.
A high female laugh reaches me, and my chest tightens. It’s flirty and confident.
Pressing my lips together, I shake it off. Jackson flirts about as indiscriminately as I do. I march back to the kitchen, pausing to turn and take in the beachy blonde female leaning over the counter close to Jackson. I can see down her top to the pushed-up mounds of her breasts.
The healthy glow of her tan skin gives me a small flash of envy. I’ve always been so pale that I burn in the sun, which only brings out my freckles. And the waves of her blonde hair are effortless. She’s gorgeous. Tall. Thin. Confident in a way that puts me to shame.
And the way she reaches out to touch Jackson on the arm makes my next step wobble.
I march on, slipping into the other side of the kitchen to gain access to the fridge, but when the woman meets my gaze, her bright blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes and the perfect, minimal swipe of gold, I turn to offer her one of the mini sponge cakes I brought in.
“I was just bringing the guys some treats. Did you want to try one?”
Her eyes go wide and she bites her lip as she peers inside. “Oh my God. Are these the tasty things I’ve been hearing about?”
I hold my breath, trying to slow my thumping heart. Who has been telling her about my treats?
“They are,” Jackson says, meeting my gaze with a smirk, and my blood runs cold.
“Split one with me? I can’t eat a whole one by myself. I have a half-marathon next week.”
Oh my God. I hate her. I can’t explain why, but everything about her rubs me the wrong way.
Once she lifts a cake from my box, I stow it away and try not to look at the way her shoulder touches his. Their coziness only highlights how perfect they look together. Both of them are summer embodied, bronze, blonde, and beautiful.
It makes me feel about two inches tall.
“Thank you, Ginger,” Jackson says. I have to force myself not to bristle.
“Mm.” The woman moans around a mouthful. “Yes, thank you, Ginger.”
“Sure. You’re welcome. Excuse me.” I point upstairs to my office and hustle my way up without breaking into a run. I deserve some kind of reward for that.
But my God, when I breach the top of the stairs, I can hear that woman say, “It looks like someone has a crush. You might want to be careful.”
Like I’m some little girl instead of an adult. I’m a woman with a kid, even. So what if I don’t run marathons, can’t tan, and have soft curves from my baking obsession?
My hands clench, the fury and jealousy riding me hard. I am mortified.
I walk slowly to my office and pace around the room for the next fifteen minutes.
I can’t concentrate, so I give up, stealthily descend the stairs, and slip out the back without running into anyone. Thankfully.
I take my time making my way to the sites. Everyone is busy as I meander, which is fine. I just need a distraction, so I keep myself from interrupting any of them. Until I find Sawyer in the finished kitchen of the nearly finished house. They’re staging it now, but he’s leaning over the counter with my mini cake and a fork.
His mouth purses around his first bite, and I get the best view of his eyes fluttering closed and his obvious appreciation for what I’ve made.
When his eyes open, they pierce right into me, and my breath catches. How does he do that to me every time?
I stalk forward slowly, enjoying the way he watches me, taking my every movement in, as I approach. It makes me feel like sex on legs. I lean against the counter beside him, our arms touching from shoulder to elbow—or as close as we can get to that with our size difference.
Sawyer is a big man. I love it.
He gives me one of his patent smiles—the slightest quirk at the corner of his mouth. I poke it. Something about the way he saves his full smiles for me in private gets my motor running. I want one so badly right now.
“Are you enjoying that?”
“Yes.” The grumble of his voice hits me below the belt. I want to climb him.
He doesn’t move to take another bite as I turn beside him, pressing myself into his bicep to feel more of him. Sawyer glances down at my cleavage, but it’s the only sign he gives me that he’s noticed my over-the-top flirting.
Yes, I am probably being a bit more intense than normal. Sue me. I’m feeling vulnerable and jealous, and I don’t like those kinds of feelings.
“It’s just you and me in here, you know. You won’t spontaneously combust if you give me one of those big smiles.” I bat my lashes at him, playing up the teasing.
He doesn’t give me a big smile, but his eyes are shining with humor. I’ll take that win.
Giving up his hold on the fork, Sawyer turns to me, our bodies lined up just right for him to press us together fully. My head tilts back to look at him, and he finally makes a move—albeit a small one.
That big, gentle hand reaches around to play with the ends of my red hair.
I reach across him to swipe a small dollop of the whipped cream frosting and pop my finger in my mouth. He drops his hand to the small of my back.
His intensity cranks up a notch as he watches me suck on my finger. Nostrils flare. His jaw clenches. Is he imagining my mouth on him? I hope so. I wish I could sink to my knees right here to take him.
“ Fuck, Ginger.” Sawyer tugs me closer, pressing his erection against my belly.
“You’ve read my thoughts.” That comes out breathier than I mean, but it does the trick. His gaze makes every inch of my skin heat up. “There’s a bed upstairs…”
“Naughty Elf.”
That has me laughing, my hand creeping up his chest. It’s always so easy to be near him. He doesn’t flirt the same way other men do. He’s blunt. Sweet. He doesn’t exaggerate or try to blow smoke up my ass.
I don’t need to question how he much wants me. It’s always obvious.
I could probably take him by the hand and drag him up to the master bedroom, but he’s least comfortable doing things at work. And usually, he wants to touch me instead of the other way around.
Except for the one time, when he had his hand up my skirt. Then I was able to take hold of him and stroke him for a long time. It takes so long to make him come, he won’t fuck me at work.
At least, not yet.