Chapter 13

Brock

A snarky, bantery kind of relationship? How the hell was I supposed to do that? People always said I never used two words when one would do, and now she wanted to what, play fight?

I only ever played to win.

I stared at the bathroom mirror, taking in my fresh flannel shirt and clean jeans. I'd squirted on a little cologne the girl at the fragrance counter told me women liked, and my hair was wet and combed back. I was never going to get any more ready than I was, so I pushed away from the sink and walked out into the garage.

"Pretty sure it's beer o'clock," I announced. It was nearly 4 P.M. and we always left early for drinks on payday. I heard tools drop and feet scramble as the mechanics appeared from everywhere.

"Last one ready pays for the first shout!" Clinton said, tearing his overalls off to reveal jeans and a blue work shirt underneath. The others started doing the same. I think I even saw a button go clattering across the workshop floor in response, but Jamie emerged triumphant, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Whoop!" She smirked when Gary's boot got caught on his overalls, forcing the man to hop around cursing wildly before finally freeing his foot. "Gazza's first shout! I'll have a rum and Coke?—"

"But you're not ready," I told her.

"What?" She looked down as if to check if she still had her overalls on and then frowned as she looked at me. "I am too. I was second?—"

"You're not ready." As her chest puffed up, I cocked an eyebrow, but instantly regretted it. She had a baggy, old long-sleeve t-shirt on under her overalls, but Clinton at least was noticing the body underneath it.

And so was I.

"We're going out for dinner afterwards."

"I'm not dressed for going out to dinner," she said, as if she didn't look like the sexiest little thing when her hand went to her hip. "I guess we'll just have to have a counter meal like usual."

Huh, if this was banter, I could get behind that. I shrugged.

"While I definitely will take you to a restaurant as you are." I let my eyes slide slowly over the ragged pair of jeans and t-shirt like it was a fancy dress or something, just treasuring the opportunity to stare at her openly. "I know you, Jamie." I caught her gaze then and held it. "I'll pay for everyone's drinks tonight if you don't have a bag of clothes in your car to change into."

"Oh, shit just got interesting," Clinton muttered. For a moment I feared I'd mis-stepped. Jamie had everyone's attention again, but this time her eyes narrowed rather than going wide. "So where's your car, Mouse? We can take a look in the front seat and?—"

"Fine."

She strode out of the workshop, only to return with a plastic bag full of clothes. Inside, I mentally pumped a fist, that she'd remembered our date and prepared for it.

"So does this mean Mouse is buying tonight?" Ken asked with a chuckle, but when she opened her mouth to reply, I shook my head.

"Jamie's my date tonight. I was always going to fit the bill, now, babe…" I watched her jaw clench. "If you could go and make yourself even more beautiful so we can get going, that'd be great. Pretty sure everyone here has a beer with their name on it waiting for them at the pub."

She turned on her heel and marched off into the bathroom without a word.

"You're a brave man." Ken shook his head.

"Nah, Brock's got it right," Gary replied. "My missus, you pay her a compliment or do something nice and she's looking around, wondering what you did wrong. Ruffle her feathers, though." He shot the lot of us a smug smile. "She comes on hot."

"Gross," Clinton announced. "Less talk about old people sex, thanks." He puffed out his chest. "I'm keen to find Miss Right, or Miss Right Now, at the pub tonight."

"As if any woman with half a brain would take a second look at you," Ken grumped.

"It's not her brain I'm interested in…"

Their bullshit buzzed in the background, but I couldn't pay attention to them, not when I was focussed on Jamie. My girl had remembered, planned ahead for our date tonight, and that went some way to ease the ache of today.

Then she walked out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, obliterating every trace of it.

Dressed in dark jeans and a nice pair of boots, her black knitted top seemed to cling to every curve.

"Damn, Mouse…" Clinton stepped forward. "You sure about Rowdy here? If I knew you were hiding that under your?—"

Whatever he had to say, it was quickly cut off by my hand grabbing his t-shirt and twisting it until the collar was cutting into his throat. One look from me had him smiling sheepishly, even as his hands clawed at his shirt, then sucking in a breath when I let him go.

"Ready?" I stepped closer and the older guys made a sound of approval as I held out an arm for Jamie to take.

"Gonna escort me to my car?" she said with a wry smile.

"You're not driving yourself to a date with me." Her lips parted, but I knew what she was going to ask. "I'll get you home and to work again in the morning."

"Sleepover…" Clinton coughed conspicuously. "OK, cool, so now you two lovebirds have that sorted, there's a Great Northern beer with my name on it and I intend to drink it."

"A new flannel shirt?" My sister grinned as the two of us approached the bar of the pub. "Damn, Jamie, I'm not sure if you understand what this means."

"Shut up, Mills," I growled.

"That's like formal wear for my brother," she said, pointing in my direction. "Like a suit and tie. He only replaces his shirts when Mum throws away all the old ones."

"New ones are all stiff." I shrugged, my shoulders testing the seams. The fabric was too crisp, the starch making it sit weird.

"You broke out a new shirt for our fake date?" Jamie asked, putting a hand on my shoulder, rubbing the fabric and suddenly it wasn't just the shirt that was stiff. Millie watched with amusement as I just stood there and let my girl stroke me like a cat. "Just need you to know I appreciate your sacrifice." But she ended it with a pat and then turned to face Millie. "I'm shouting the first round?—"

I tore my wallet out and tossed my credit card my sister's way.

"Everything's on me tonight." A shout from behind had me turning around. "Within reason. Cut those pricks off after a couple of drinks, but…" I stared down at Jamie. "Pay for whatever Jamie wants with that."

"Mm… sounds like time for some top-shelf rum," Millie said, reaching for a gleaming bottle. "Pity to spoil it with Coke, but?—"

"No point in making Brock spring for anything fancy." I hated Jamie's self-effacing smile. "It all tastes the same to me. Just my usual, thanks."

"You could try the top shelf one," I said, grabbing the beers when they were poured and carrying them over to the table the guys were waiting at.

"What if I hate it?" she replied in a low voice. "No point wasting money on a fake date." She shot me an impish smile. "Better save it for a girl you're really interested in." Jamie turned around then, somehow able to walk backwards without colliding with any of the tables. "Speaking of which, we need to talk about what to do if you do meet someone who genuinely interests you."

I stared at her, hearing her words fine, just not understanding them. She took in my slight frown and then forged on.

"I mean what if you meet Mrs. Brock tonight? Maybe she's playing the pokies right now, not realising she's about to hit the jackpot." I turned to see a bunch of pensioners sitting at the poker machines. "OK, maybe not those ladies, but…" She stared into my eyes. "You might see someone across a crowded room and just connect, y'know? Like see them and think, ‘oh god, her.'"

I did know. It'd taken a whole lot longer than she thought, but it had happened. I'd come out of the office, ready to talk to someone about something and caught the moment Jamie was pestering Gary about a classic car that had been brought in. She was buzzing around him like a bee and he was tempted to swat her away, but… She wasn't a kid anymore, nor an apprentice, and somehow that freed my mind up to see it. Jamie was so fucking beautiful, and in that second I hated Gary, wanting all of that passion directed at me.

"So what should I do if I find ‘the one?'" I asked, smiling to try and keep this casual, like every iota of my being wasn't focussed on her reply.

"Y'know, amble over all big, tall, and grumpy like you always do." She set her drink down on an empty table, then widened her stance to apparently imitate me. "Maybe less grumpy, though. She doesn't know you like I do and would frankly be a little scared."

"Like this?" I asked with a grin.

"Um, no." She took a step backwards. "Oh god, I don't think I've seen all of your teeth at the same time, and frankly it's a little disconcerting. You're like a pit bull snarling at an intruder. A girl likes the idea of a guy ripping her undies off with his teeth, but not actually looking like that's the case."

I laughed despite myself and that allowed her to relax.

"Yeah, like that." She reached up and scratched her fingers through my beard. "You know, you're kinda hot for an old guy."

"Old guy?"

There was a seven year age gap between us.

"I mean with this big, thick beard and a brand new flannel shirt." I treasured the moment her hands slid down the front of my shirt, straightening the collar, then smoothing down my chest. "All these muscles…"

She had more to say, I was sure of it, but I was gratified to hear her struggle to find the words as she rubbed my chest. I wanted her struck dumb, speechless in my presence, because damn, that's the way I was around her. My throat worked, my lips moved, but nothing came out but information about the next job. I felt that same pressure now, to tell her, spill it all out, the messy tumble of need, lust, and affection that burned deep in my chest every time I saw her. Instead, I set the beers down and wrapped my hands around her wrists, my thumbs brushing against her pulse.

"Not when I'm with you," I told her. "I won't, can't look at another woman. I'm yours?—"

"For a week." She seemed to cling to that idea way too tightly. "Did you and the twins talk about this? Because Hayden said the same." My teeth locked together. "That he didn't want to disrespect me like that or something, but that's why I brought this up. It's not disrespectful. You're doing me a solid by even considering this whole idea and getting out of the way when you find someone you like is the least I can do."

"Not tonight." My arm went around her waist, pulling her in because I couldn't fucking stand it, being this far apart from her. "Not tonight, Jamie. Fake date or not, I'm not in the practise of ogling other women when I'm out with another one." I tilted my head her way. "There's no need for signs or nudges or secret winks. You'll have my entire focus this evening." I drew her a little closer, feeling her feet drag across the floor, but I didn't sense reticence. Instead, her eyes stared into mine. "And I guess you've gotta figure out how you feel about that."

She was formulating a response. I saw her throat work and her lips purse several times, but no words came out, but right when she let out a little squeak, the guys appeared beside us.

"This lovey-dovey shit?" Clinton said, waving a hand in our direction. "It's beautiful, but not enough to warrant getting between a man and his beer." He grabbed one of the glasses and then clinked it against the other guys' ones. "Cheers, boys. Here's to another week of back-breaking labour down."

I didn't get my answer, and Jamie was hardly likely to reply when the rest of the guys were standing about, so I had to communicate my intentions with my body instead. I sat down on a bar stool and rather than reach for my beer, I reached for her, slotting her in between my legs and wrapping my arms around her. My nose hovered over the back of her neck, breathing in the smell of soap and flowers, right as I felt her stiffen.

That was the problem with talking. Lips could flap and people could say a whole lot without meaning a bloody thing, but bodies? They couldn't lie. She felt me now, her sweet little arse pressed in tightly against my cock, and had incontrovertible evidence that this was more than just a favour. I ached for Jamie so fiercely it made my teeth ache, and now she knew. All there was to do was to wait to see how she'd respond to that.

"Whaddya reckon, Brock?" Ken said, turning to me, but before I could ask what the hell he meant, I felt Jamie shift. Her hips tilted back and when her arse pressed into me, my grip tightened, desperate to keep her right there. Then she had to shift again, just a slight rubbing back and forth. Ken frowned slightly, taking in my stricken expression.

"Um… yeah," I replied, then nodded sharply. "Totally agree."