Sidecar Crush (Bootleg Springs Book 2)

by Claire Kingsley

  His head tilted to the side, and he shifted something in front of him. The muscles in his back and arms flexed as he worked. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but the way he moved was mesmerizing. The hammer clinked against metal. He paused, seeming to look at what he was working on, then hammered again a few times. Reaching up, he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm.

  I knocked again, louder this time, my head sticking through the door. Jameson glanced over his shoulder, wearing safety goggles that looked like sunglasses.

  “Oh, hey there,” he said.

  I’d been hoping to hear him call me darlin’ again—it was so cute when he did—but he just licked his lips and took off his glasses.

  “Hey. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but you said I could stop by sometime.”

  “Course,” he said. “Come on in.”

  The air was warm inside the workshop, so I shrugged off my cardigan and draped it over my arm. I was wearing a tank top underneath with my favorite pair of cut-off jeans and low-top sneakers. Jameson’s eyes drifted down, then snapped back up to my face.

  There was something in his expression—a hesitance. His brow furrowed slightly and the space between us felt charged with electricity. I wasn’t sure if he didn’t want me here, or if he was just surprised I’d come.

  “I’m sorry, I should have texted you first. I’m sure you’re busy.”

  “No, it’s all right.” He put down the large pair of tongs, then slipped off the glove. “Can I show you around?”

  “I’d love that.”

  He led me into the workshop and showed me the different pieces of equipment, explaining a bit about what they were used for. The forge that heated pieces of scrap metal. The anvil where he shaped them. He had shelves with hunks of metal, large and small—some smooth and shiny, others pitted with rust. Boxes and bins held smaller pieces—old tools and gears.

  “Is this what you’re working on?” I asked, pointing to a large piece in the center of an open area.

  “Sure is,” he said.

  I walked around it, gazing at the shape. From the back, it was difficult to tell what it was. But from the front, I could see more. It was a woman, or perhaps an angel. She had the beginnings of wings on her back, but they drooped low, hanging toward the ground. Her head was bent, and she gripped what looked like bars. She was huge, standing at least ten feet high.

  “She looks like she’s in a cage,” I said.

  “Yeah, she is,” he said. “Or she will be, when she’s finished.”

  I started to ask who she was, but stopped, biting my lower lip. I felt silly for even thinking it, but I suddenly had the craziest notion that she was me.

  Of course, that was ridiculous. Jameson wouldn’t make a larger than life sculpture of a woman based on me—especially one with angel wings. Who was I? Just his friend. Maybe he had someone else in his life who’d inspired this. For all I knew, she could be his mother. Or a woman he loved that I knew nothing about. As much as I hated that idea, I had to admit it could be true.

  But there was something about her that felt familiar. She felt personal. Like I understood exactly what she was feeling. She wasn’t finished, but I could feel the anguish of her captivity. Her desire to be free.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, finally.

  “Thank you,” he said, and exhaled a breath like he was relieved to hear me say that. “I still have a lot of work to do before she’s finished.”

  “She looks so real,” I said, moving around to look at her from another angle. “So… alive.”

  Jameson gazed at me. I could see him from the corner of my eye. “I hope so. That’s what I’m going for. Idea is for her to look more so by the time she’s done.”

  “I’m sure she will,” I said. “She already looks amazing.”

  “Thanks.”

  The tension between us was still there, and I wondered if I should leave. After all, I’d interrupted him while he was working.

  “So…” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck, then put his hands in his pockets behind the leather apron. “I was going to head out in a bit to go scrap hunting. If you aren’t busy, would you like to join me?”

  “Scrap hunting?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I mostly use scrap metal. People dump things out in the woods sometimes. I take my four-wheeler out on the trails and see what I can find.”

  I met his eyes and smiled. “I’d love to come. But am I dressed okay?”

  His eyes flicked up and down. “Yeah, you’re fine. Might get a little dirty, though.”

  “That’s okay.”

  He took off his apron and hung it on a hook, then led me out to the side of the barn. He had a four-wheeler with a small trailer attached behind it.

  “I don’t go real fast when I’m pulling the trailer.” He grabbed two helmets and handed one to me. “But we’ll wear ’em anyway.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I put on the helmet. It covered my whole face, but it was lighter than I expected. Jameson got on, straddling the seat, and I climbed on behind him.

  “Hold on,” he said.

  I put my arms around his waist while he started the engine. His body was warm. The four-wheeler lurched forward, and I held on tighter, gripping his shirt with my fists.

  “You’re all right,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

  We drove forward and turned behind his house, heading for the woods. I scooted closer so I could hold on. My body pressed against his and my hands rested on the ridges of his abs. It made me wonder what he’d look like with his shirt off. Reminded me of the Fourth of July when we’d done the obstacle course. He’d come out of the lake dripping wet, his shirt plastered to his lean, muscular body.

  I’d pointedly ignored the way he’d made me feel that day, reminding myself repeatedly that Jameson and I were just friends.

  Things were different now—for me, at least. I was no longer engaged to someone else. But I hadn’t told him about leaving Kelvin. Scarlett might have, but I wasn’t sure. I’d meant to bring it up today, thinking I’d rather talk to him in person than send him a text. But now that I was with him, it felt awkward. Like it would show on my face that at least part of the reason I’d broken off my engagement was him.

  Because that was the truth, and I felt it more keenly than ever, with the warmth of his body against mine. Even if Jameson and I hadn’t reconnected the way we had, I wouldn’t have married Kelvin. But Jameson and I had reconnected, and I had to admit, I had a bit of a crush on my friend.

  Okay, it was more than a bit of a crush. I was crushing on him hard.

  But god, how could I not? He was far and away the sweetest man I’d ever met. A perfect gentleman. Fun, and easy to talk to. And sexy—god, so sexy. I shifted my grip on his waist, just to feel the lines of his body.

  Jameson was gorgeous. I’d always thought so, although I’d been very adept at stifling my attraction to him. When we were younger, I’d certainly noticed. He had those brilliant blue eyes and that shy smile that melted me inside. As a teenager, I’d secretly wished for him to like me. Maybe even kiss me. But he never had, and I’d always assumed it was because he didn’t see me that way. We were just friends.

  I was sure that was still the case, now. And the last thing I wanted to do was ruin what we had together. If I said too much, or let him see what I felt, I risked our whole friendship. And that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. Not now, at least. Everything in my life was in chaos, but Jameson was solid. He was sure, and true, and I couldn’t lose him.

  So for now, I hugged him tight, relishing the physical contact—loving that I had an excuse to keep my arms around him. I hoped we’d drive a long way, so I wouldn’t have to let go.

  We crossed into the woods, bumping along the trail. It was pleasantly warm, even in the shade of the trees. Jameson leaned to the side as we turned a corner, and I moved with him, still holding his waist.

  The land sloped up and we kept climbing. I didn’t kn
ow if he had a destination in mind, or if he was just driving. I assumed he’d know how to get us home. He probably knew these trails like the back of his hand—certainly drove as if he did.

  We came to a clearing and he slowed, finally bringing the four-wheeler to a stop.

  Reluctantly, I let go and we both stood to take our helmets off, then put them on the seat. Jameson’s had left his hair messy, but it looked so adorable, I didn’t say anything.

  “Trail gets narrow up ahead, so I reckon we should walk a bit,” he said. “But there’s a spot up there I’ve been meaning to scope out.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  His mouth twitched in a grin. It was so tempting to step closer to him. Maybe slip my arms around his waist again—but standing face to face. What would he do?

  I looked away. He’d probably pull back and wonder what the hell I was doing. But that shy smile of his was so adorable. I wanted to kiss those sweet lips. Feel his stubble against my face.

  “You comin’?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sorry.” I took a few quick steps to catch up with him. “Whose land is this? Does it belong to anyone?”

  “Old Jefferson Waverly owns it now—been in his family for generations. He doesn’t mind if I come out here, especially if I’m hauling stuff people dumped.”

  The trail did narrow, so much that I had to walk behind him. He glanced back at me a few times, as if making sure I was still there. Each time he gave me that little grin just before turning ahead again. It made my heart want to burst.

  He stopped so suddenly, I almost ran into him.

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said.

  Just past him, almost overgrown with plants, was a very old car. From what little I could see, it looked like it could have been from the fifties. Who knew how long it had been sitting out here.

  Jameson pulled away some of the brush and ran his hand along the side. “Will you look at this…”

  “How did this even get up here?”

  “Not sure,” he said, moving more plants off the hood. “I think there might have been a dirt road that came up here, long time ago. It’d be overgrown now.”

  I took slow steps along the old car. It was mottled with rust and dirt, but parts of it seemed to be in decent shape, considering.

  “What will you do with it?” I asked.

  He pulled a piece of ivy off the front fender and caressed the smooth metal. “I’ll pull apart whatever I can and bring it back to my shop. It’ll take a bunch of trips, but there’s so much here I can use.”

  “You’ll sculpt with it?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, and I couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm in his voice. He sounded like a kid at Christmas. “This is a great find. Poor thing’s been sitting up here for who knows how long, abandoned—its useful life long over. But I’ll take it back with me and make it into something new. Something beautiful.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “That’s… that’s amazing.”

  He met my eyes. “It’s my favorite thing to do—take something no one wanted and give it new life.”

  “Do you know what you’ll make with this?”

  He ran his hand along the metal again. “A lot of things, I reckon. I’ll have to see what I can bring back, and what it looks like in the shop.”

  We started uncovering the old car—pulling back plants and vines and dusting off dirt. It was impossible to tell what its original color might have been. There was a lot of dirt and rust. Some of the metal had holes where rust had eaten through, but much of it was still smooth and strong.

  Jameson stood next to me and our arms touched as we brushed dirt off the side door. It made my heart beat faster.

  A branch snapped, and something rustled in the brush off to our right. Suddenly Jameson’s arms were around me. He yanked me toward the back end of the car and pulled me down into the bushes.

  “What—”

  “Shh.” He gently touched my lips.

  I held my breath. We crouched low, leaves and branches all around us. Jameson was behind me, one arm locked firmly around my waist. His body was tense and with his face so close, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.

  “Jonah and I saw a bear out here a while back,” he whispered, his voice soft in my ear.

  I gasped, a surge of adrenaline making my limbs tingle. A bear? Oh my god. That wasn’t good.

  The rustling got louder, and Jameson tightened his arm around me. I tried to look, but I couldn’t see much from our hiding spot behind the car. I wanted to ask what we should do if the bear came close, but I was afraid to speak. Afraid to move.

  Something bumped on the metal roof of the car. Instinctively, I huddled closer to Jameson. But the noise wasn’t loud, like the sound of something heavy. It was more of a click.

  “I’ll take a look,” he whispered, loosening his grip on my waist, and we both rose slowly.

  I peeked over the top of the car and let out a breath that was half-sigh, half-laugh. A fat squirrel sat on the roof, staring at us with beady black eyes.

  “Well, shit.” Jameson let go of me, and we both extricated ourselves from the bushes. “Jesus. A squirrel?”

  I laughed and brushed some of the dirt off my legs. “It’s okay. Better safe than sorry?”

  He shook his head and gave the squirrel the side-eye. “Thanks for that, little buddy.”

  The squirrel scampered off, climbing a nearby tree, and disappeared from sight.

  Jameson rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Guess that was a false alarm.”

  He looked so cute, acting all bashful, I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s really fine. Are we going to bring any of this back today, or do you need to come back?”

  “I’d like to get what we can.” He seemed to relax at the change of subject. “Barring any more interruptions by forest creatures.”

  He unfastened one of the fenders and the front bumper. I helped him detach the side mirror, but we couldn’t get to the other side. He took some smaller pieces of the car that he could get without too much trouble. Then we brought everything down to the trailer.

  “This’ll do for now,” he said, stepping back to look at his haul.

  “That was fun,” I said. “Like treasure hunting.”

  “Exactly,” he said with a smile.

  We donned our helmets and got back on the four-wheeler. I scooted as close to him as I could and wrapped my arms around his waist. God, he felt so good. I let my hands splay across his abs. Pressed my thighs against the backs of his. Just so I could feel him while I had the chance.

  All too soon, we were back at his barn, and he pulled to a stop. I got up and took off my helmet, then shook out my hair.

  When I looked up, Jameson was watching me, but he quickly glanced away.

  I was feeling so many things, it was hard to keep track. I’d had such a great afternoon. But I always had a great time when I was with him. And now, unencumbered by a bad relationship, it was more difficult than ever to keep my emotions contained. He took my helmet and I wanted to launch myself at him. Throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. Take the chance.

  He put the helmet down and paused, his eyes on my face. For the briefest moment, I thought maybe he wanted to do the same. Maybe he wanted me, too. Was he wrestling with the same emotions as me? Desperate for more, but afraid of messing up a good thing? Afraid it would be a mistake?

  Please, Jameson. Do it. Step forward and meet me halfway. Then kiss me. Kiss me and tell me to stay.

  But he rubbed the back of his neck and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I can get all this into the shop.”

  “Oh, right,” I said, trying not to let the disappointment show on my face. “Are you sure you don’t want help?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Hope you had a nice time, though.”

  “I did. Thanks for saving me from the squirrel.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “Anytime.”

  We stared at each other for a moment,
and there it was again. That glimmer in his eyes. But just as soon as I thought I’d seen it, it was gone.

  “I should let you get back to work then,” I said. “Bye, Jameson.”

  “Bye, Leah Mae.”

  He smiled—that adorable shy smile I loved so much—and watched me go.

  17

  Leah Mae

  “Daddy,” I said as I got out of my car. “Look at you.”

  He smiled at me from his rocking chair on the front porch. “Hi there, sunshine.”

  “You look so much better today,” I said.

  His skin was a healthy color, his lips no longer waxy and bluish. He rocked back and forth, resting his hands on his belly.

  “I feel all right,” he said. “And it’s a beautiful day for porch-sittin’.”

  “That it is,” I said and joined him, taking a seat on the bench next to his rocking chair.

  He leaned a little so he could eye my left hand. “No ring back on that finger?”

  “You can stop checking,” I said. “It’s been almost a month. There’s no risk of me getting back together with Kelvin. Trust me.”

  He chuckled. “I know, I just like teasing you. Did you ever get him to ship your things to you?”

  I sighed. I’d been trying to get Kelvin to send me my stuff—not that I owned a lot. I’d always traveled so much, I’d never accumulated many things of my own. Most of the things in our apartment had been Kelvin’s. But I still wanted my belongings back.

  “I resorted to going around him and talking to his assistant,” I said. “I think she’ll get it done even if he wants to keep dragging his feet.”

  “Mark my words, sweetheart, he’s trying to get you to come back to him,” he said. “Holding your stuff hostage.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But it won’t work.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said with a smile. “So tell me, what’s going on between you and Jameson Bodine?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “We’re just friends.”

  “Is that so?” he asked.