My pulse skips as I start to walk to where he and Andrea stand at the house. I reach into my pocket and pull out my pack of Sour Patch Kids and empty a few into my palm. I stuff the bag into my pocket and pick through them, placing the yellow and green in my other pocket and pop the others in my mouth one by one with each step I take.
Looking up, I make eye contact with Tucker. He raises a hand to wave with that Labrador in work boots energy. Suddenly, it feels like my heart is auditioning for the town marching band.
Nope. We are not doing this today.
I’m supposed to be focusing on the blueprints tucked under my arm, but somehow all my focus is standing a foot away from me with a hammer and forearms that should be illegal.
“Good morning,” I say, coming to a stop next to them before popping a blue Sour Patch Kid into my mouth and dusting the sugar from my hands in front of me.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Andrea says, looking at me and then assessing me with a narrowed brow. “You look different today.”
I feel my cheeks turn red. Today’s vibe was to look like I belong here, as if I’m ready to handle anything thrown my way. I wore my oversized overalls that have years of wear, from paint splatters to wood stain. I’ve paired it with a plain white tee and a hot pink headband that matches the pink work boots my dad got me as a gift for my birthday one year.
“I’m ready to get my hands dirty so I dressed for the part.” I smile at her, before glancing at Tucker.
“Porches don’t care about your outfit,” Tucker says with a smirk.
I know he means it practically, but his words still land like a challenge. And something in his tone gets under my skin like he’s not talking about the porch at all. It feels as if he’s daring me to prove I’m more than the outfit I’m wearing. Or he just wants me to fire back.
But I don’t.
I’m here to be taken seriously. So I straighten a little and remind myself that I’m here because I can do this.
“Okay.” Andrea claps her hands. “Let’s get the porch segment started. Scottie, you’re going to start by briefly reminding us of your vision for the space. After that, you two will get started on what you need to do and pretend the cameras are not on you. Essentially, we’ll be recording all day, taking clips, and cutting them for the episode.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“I’ll get everyone ready,” Andrea says, walking to where the film crew is huddled off to the side.
Tucker moves to stand even closer to me, facing the house the same way I am.
“Are those boots made for construction?”
I look down at them before turning my head to look at him next to me. His eyes are fixed on the home, but I don’t miss the smirk on his lips. “For your information, they are very versatile. I can build a houseandpost an outfit-of-the-day in them.”
He shakes his head, laughing, as the crew comes back to mic us up for the day.
We settle into a stance as if we’ve done this together for years, even though it’s only the second day with the cameras on us.
When a member of the crew lifts Tucker’s shirt to expose his abdomen, I suck in a breath. I can’t help but take him all in again. Six foot something of broad shoulders, rough hands, and maddening muscles that make him look like a lumberjack catalog model without the beard. My body reacts to the sight in front of me, remembering my hands roaming along every ridge of muscle when I was on top of him in that hotel room. I adjust my stance, tightening my legs together because I feel it right to my fucking core. When our eyes meet, he’s caught me staring—again.
How can one look make me feel this way again?
My eyes trail up to his face. He’s got a smirk that almost tells me he can read my mind. I want to smack him for it, but the ache between my thighs stops me from feeling anything else. With our eyes locked together, I reach up to unclip the one side of my overalls, exposing my crop top to let the crew work on my mic pack. His eyes trace the movement of the crew member’s hands brushing against my skin. It’s in a professional way, but Tucker’s eyes darken, nonetheless.
“Arm’s up,” the man says so he can snake the wire through my crop top.
I lift my arms, meeting Tucker’s stare again. It’s hot and burns through my skin. He bites down on his bottom lip and I feel my body coil at the way he’s equally devouring me and the way he hates someone else is touching me under my shirt.
“All set,” the crew member says, completely oblivious to everything happening right now.
“Thank you,” I choke out.
Chancing a glance back at Tucker, his eyes never leave me.
This is fake—strictly for the cameras.
That’s what we agreed on. That’s what I repeat to myself like a mantra every time he looks at me like that—like he knows me in a way the cameras never will.
