Sidecar Crush

“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 know 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.