Dirty Daddies(41)
I hold my breath as he flicks through the images, trying to pretend I’m not nervous as he checks it out. But I am nervous. I feel like my whole fucking soul is exposed to him.
If he says it’s shit, I’ll want to cry and I know it. If he says it’s no good, I’ll have to run away and never come back, because I’ll never want to see those fields again, even though I love them.
“You did this?” he asks and his eyes burn right into mine.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“All of it?”
I sigh. “Think I called out a maintenance crew? Yes, Jack, I did all of it.”
He keeps flicking through the images. “This is incredible. You’ve done every bloody paddock.”
I shake my head. “Not every one. There’s some at the top that need fixing up, but I’ll do them. I’ll finish up next week.”
He looks between me and the phone, and he’s impressed. My heart soars as I see it. He’s definitely impressed.
“I don’t know what to say,” he says.
“You could say thanks,” I tell him, and hate the way my tone is so fucking snarky all the time.
“Thank you,” he says and I feel like a bitch. “You’ve done an amazing job. I’m blown away.” He’s still flicking through the images, and I cringe as I register how many I’ve taken. So many fucking pictures of fences and bits of wood and fields from different angles. My memory card is jammed full of them. “I’ll pay you,” he adds. “You’ve more than earned it. This is worth way more than a bit of food and lodging.”
“You don’t have to pay me,” I say, and I don’t want him to. I don’t want it to feel like they’re his fields and I was just a nobody doing him a favour.
I worked so hard because, just for these few days, it felt like they may be mine too. Like they’re a part of me now.
Like I belong in them.
I take a breath as I notice him swallow. His thumb hovers. And I know where he is. I just know it. He’s reached the end of the gallery, and the selfie I took just a few minutes ago.
His eyes flick from the phone to my open jacket and my soaked cami top. They darken when they meet mine.
“This is a dangerous game to play,” he tells me, and my heart races. I grit my teeth instinctively, because that wasn’t quite the fucking reaction I was hoping for.
“What’s a fucking dangerous game?”
He spins the handset, like I haven’t seen the picture already. But it’s worse than I thought. My top looks even lower than I remember. You can pretty much see the dark circles under my bra.
I look like a slut.
A wet, muddy, filthy little slut.
“Was this for Michael?”
“Of course it wasn’t for fucking Michael,” I sneer. “Michael doesn’t fucking want me, remember?”
“Then who?” he asks. “Who were you going to show this to?”
“No-fucking-one,” I lie.
And just like he usually is, with his calling bullshit on every fucking thing, he looks me straight in the eye, so fierce it fucking burns, and then he says it. He just fucking says it.
“If you wanted me to see your tits, Carrie, you should have just shown me your tits. No need for the theatrics. I’ve seen plenty of them in my time.”
He thinks I’m playing stupid slutty games, and I am.
He thinks I wanted him to see me, and I do.
The self-consciousness burns, and my stomach does a flip, because I do want him to see me. I want him to see me and be as impressed as he was about the fencing. I want him to look at me like he did a few minutes ago when he thought I was amazing.
“You think I took that so you could see my fucking tits?!” I hiss, like he’s well fucking off the mark.
“Didn’t you?”
I shrug. “Don’t give a shit either way. You can look if you want.”
“I wasn’t looking,” he says. “You showed me.”
“I ain’t shown you nothing. Can’t even see my fucking nipples.”
He flips the phone in my direction. “Yes, Carrie, I can see your nipples perfectly well, thank you.” His eyes go straight to my top, and they’re still poking through the fabric. I know they are. My cheeks burn. He hands back my phone, and even though I’m burning up I hate that it’s over.
Jack sips his tea like nothing’s happened, but it has. It has to me.
I’ve nothing to go on but one single second of his first reaction, because he’s been cool as fucking ice for the rest of it. But he swallowed. He swallowed and his eyes widened, just for a second. But it’s enough.
It’s enough to take a chance on.
It’s enough to take a risk on his stupid fucking comment.