Mom Handed Us One Lease, So I Handed My Stepbrother My Bed novel · Chapter 22 of 24

Chapter 22: The Workbench

I sat on his workbench in his leather apron and nothing else, with the rain drumming on the tin roof.

It was a Saturday afternoon in January.

The garage on Alamo Street was dark except for the one clamp light swung down over the bench.

Cedar shavings lay curled on the concrete in pale drifts.

The whole place smelled of resin and cut wood and wet pavement.

Jakob stood in front of me with a plane in his hand, and he had not put it down.

"Show me," I said. "What does it do?"

"It makes a board flat."

"Show me on this."

He laid the plane on the cedar top of the bench.

The wood was smooth and honey-colored under my thighs.

It had been planed down by a hundred years of other men, and it was still faintly warm from the work lamp.

He looked at me for a while.

I sat with my knees apart, my bare feet swinging, and the apron strings tied in a bow at my back.

"You can't stand there and look all day," I said.

"I can."

"Kothmann," I said.

"Saldana."

"Come here and do something about it."

He stepped between my knees.

For once I was nearly his height, sitting on the bench, and I put both hands on his face and kissed him.

He tasted of coffee and sawdust.

He kissed me slowly and thoroughly, with his big scarred hands flat on the wood on either side of my hips.

"Your hands," I said into his mouth. "I want your hands."

He put them on me.

They were rough from stone and cedar, and they slid up my bare thighs and under the apron.

He found me wet.

He gave a short, rough laugh.

"No underwear. You came down the street like this?"

"I wore a coat," I said.

"The whole way?"

"The whole way," I said.

"Jesus, Maricela."

He pushed two fingers into me and I gasped.

He moved them, deep and slow, and with his thumb he rubbed my clit.

I held on to his shoulders and watched his face.

His pale eyes were dark in the work light, and the muscle in his jaw was jumping.

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