I built a lookout room so I could watch my husband come home. On opening night, I found him screwing with another woman in it. novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: The Workbench

Jesse set the neon sign against my father's back wall at midnight, and the whole shop turned red.

The letters hummed and glowed over the drill press and the sawhorses.

I plugged it in myself, because he had asked me where, and I wanted to see it burn.

Hoyt's threat had ridden in the truck with us the whole way from the clubhouse.

"He meant it," Jesse said. "About how far you get."

"I know he meant it."

"Then why did you take the compressor?"

"Because it was mine, and he let me carry it out." I looked at the sign. "A man who lets you leave with your own things has decided to take something bigger."

"Then we'll watch for it."

He said we, and neither of us remarked on it.

"That was a good night's work," he said.

"I took a bar apart."

"You took your bar apart."

He stood in the red light with sawdust on his jacket and his hat in his hand.

I looked at his mouth.

I had been looking at it for a week.

"You said you're a club man," he said. "In the truck."

"I did."

"Say it again."

"You're a club man, Jesse."

"Then tell me to leave."

I stepped up to him, and I put my palm flat on his chest, over the place where his patch would sit.

His heart was going hard.

"No," I said.

He kissed me.

His hands came up and held my face, and he kissed me slow and deep, and he took his time.

I got my fingers in his jacket and pulled.

He walked me backward until my hips hit my father's workbench, and then he lifted me onto it with both hands under my thighs.

The tools rattled.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and dragged him against me.

I felt how hard he was through his jeans, thick and heavy, pressing right where I needed it.

"Fuck," I breathed.

"Yeah," he said into my neck. "That."

He pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it at the vise.

He undid my bra with one hand and looked at me, in the red light, for a long second.

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