What She Didn't Know (What She 1)

I waved at her and turned back to the robot instructions.

“I think she’s afraid I’ll try to dissect you,” Jamie whispered. “Don’t worry. I only do that to machines.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “You’re safe.” Her eyes swept across my face, touching my eyes, my nose, and lingering on my lips. “For now.”

7

I wasn’t safe with Jamie. I never had been, not since that first meeting. I felt things for her that I thought I could only feel for Lynn. I only saw J

amie occasionally, usually for a few hours at a time. Then one day, she showed up at my dorm room. I heard a knock and got up to answer the door, stopping short when I saw the signature ponytail and the grease-stained clothing.

“Jamie?” I asked, wide-eyed.

She clasped her hands together nervously.

“Are you all right?” I reached out a hand.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

I stepped to the side to let her in the room. “Is Lynn okay?” I asked.

She waved a hand in the air. “She’s fine. She’s always fine. She has to be fine. The rest of us make sure of that.”

“What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “You have to know that we step in and take on the world for her.” She shrugged. “That’s what friends are for.”

I knew her close friends did a lot to protect her. They showed up when she needed them, always.

“She’ll be back soon. I’m sure of it,” she said. “Until then, you get me.”

It wasn’t uncommon for Jamie to show up sometimes. She changed the oil in my car more often than I did. She built a deck on the back of my parents’ house last year. She was handy.

“Why are you here?” I asked. I let my eyes drag slowly down her body. Jamie and I did a lot of flirting, but we’d never taken it past that.

“Lynn said your kitchenette sink is broken. I’m here to fix it.” She threw up her hands.

I took two steps toward her. “Why are you really here, Jamie?” My voice was soft, because I knew that if I came at her too hard, she’d bolt.

“Has Lynn ever showed you her scars?” she asked on a quick blow of breath. She held my gaze as she waited for me to answer.

“What difference does that make?” I stiffened my spine.

She stepped closer, and stopped when her lips almost touched mine. “It makes all the difference,” she whispered. “Until she shows you her scars, she’ll never truly be yours.”

She was right. Lynn and I had sex on her eighteenth birthday. It was the first time for both of us. Since then, when we were close, she always insisted on turning off the lights or doing it with her shirt on. “She’s mine.” I scoffed. Of course, she was already mine.

“She’s not,” Jamie insisted. Then she clapped her hands together and said brightly, “Show me that broken sink.”

“You know the dorm has maintenance people for this sort of thing, right?”

“Who needs maintenance when you have me?” She brushed against me as she walked to the door. “Be right back. Have to get my tools.”

She came back carrying a canvas bag filled with what seemed like every tool she owned. She opened some cabinet doors and slipped beneath the sink. Every few minutes I saw her come out, grab another tool, and then go back in.

I stood and watched her. It seemed like every time I saw her, she was on her back. I knew she didn’t assume that position for many people. It made her too vulnerable. Yet she did it for me, to fix my sink.

Finally, she was done and she stood up and dusted her hands together. “All fixed,” she said. She turned to the sink and turned the water on. The sink drained the way it was supposed to. She took a minute to wash her hands. I stepped up behind her, braced my arms against the countertop on each side of her, and ran my nose up the side of her neck, taking in the scent of clean woman and machine grease. It was all Jamie and it was wonderful. I pressed my front against her back.

She froze, resting her palms on the edge of the counter. “What are you doing?” she asked. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at me.