Chapter 5
Jamison
That was pretty bad. Claire drove me the four minutes it took to get from her dad’s house to Monroe’s and not a single word was spoken.
The silence didn’t bother me much — I’m used to living with only my thoughts — but she was clearly uncomfortable.
I, however, was uncomfortable for a different reason.
Who is this girl? And why when I saw her sitting on that step was I flushed with such an unfamiliar feeling?
I could see her as I approached her house and the way she so casually pulled her long, loose waves on top of her head hypnotized me. Not to mention the way her shorts bunched when she stood, revealing her tan, toned thighs.
When she came to the window I could tell she was looking at her reflection.
What she didn’t realize was that while she was looking at herself, I was looking at her too.
She was stunning. Sweaty — but stunning.
Her long eyelashes hooded her honey-colored eyes, and specs of freckles dusted just across the bridge of her nose.
Her face was flushed and glistening, and I suddenly didn’t hate the blazing heat.
When I lowered the window, the shock on her face was impossible to miss.
She was not expecting me. And I definitely wasn’t expecting her.
When Zeke asked me earlier to drive the Maverick back to the owner, I couldn’t grab the keys fast enough.
At that point, everyone knew my obsession with it.
I personally went over the hotrod inside and out at least three times, making sure everything was as it should be.
And it is. That car is fucking perfect. Rebuilt 302 CID V-8 engine, original undercarriage, chrome bumpers, high back Grabber black vinyl seats.
It’s strong, resilient, special. The fact that someone could so easily throw it away completely blows my mind.
I followed Claire’s eyes as they trailed from my face down to my hands suddenly clutching the steering wheel as if it would fly away.
Was she judging my tattoos? She wouldn’t be the first. Not that I give a shit what anyone else thinks.
Only for some reason, I kind of do care what she thinks. What the hell is that about?
I got out of the car and she started talking, rambling really, but all I noticed was how her full lips moved and the way she smelled sweet but mild. Like vanilla? Holy shit, something’s wrong with me.
Thank God I’ve mastered the art of masking my emotions so she couldn’t see the betrayal I felt by my thoughts.
I answered with clipped responses, only expanding when I explained why I was there in place of Zeke.
When I offered her the keys, I caught her looking at my tattoos again.
Only it wasn’t judgment that I saw in her eyes. I think it was more like admiration.
It was only when she asked my name that I felt the immediate urge to know hers — to label the anomaly that was somehow clouding my thoughts.
I am not one to ever notice women. I mean, I notice them obviously, but I couldn't care less about approaching them. From what I’ve experienced, relationships lead to nothing but absolute misery.
Love is the last thing I’m looking for. The last thing I’m capable of.
“Claire.”
I needed a cigarette immediately. I tried to head out, knowing I could probably smoke at least once in the time it would take to get back to Monroe’s, but she insisted on driving me.
Honestly, as bad as I needed the nicotine relief, it was fucking hot out, and I could tell Claire was embarrassed by the amount of times she’d asked.
Maybe she really was just nice, or maybe this was her charity work for the day, but either way, I put us both out of our misery and agreed to the ride.
And now we’re here. Parked in front of the garage, still sitting in silence.
I don’t typically do small talk but I wish she would say something?
Anything? Finally, she thanks me for bringing the car, and I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
She looks at me expectantly, but I only nod because apparently, my voice box isn’t working anymore.
I clear my throat and eventually convince my mouth to open.
“I appreciate the ride back.”
I unhook my seatbelt and open the door but pause getting out just long enough to look back at her one more time.
She’s already watching me, bringing her eyes to meet mine.
The moment feels heated, and I can’t tell if it’s the sudden gust of warmth from the open door or something else.
Either way, I shake the feeling. Nothing is happening, not with her or anyone else. Besides, I’ll never see her again.
I leave the car, shut the door behind me, and walk into work without looking back.