Commanding Casey

by Nicolina Martin

  “Seems you got an attitude that needs correcting.”

  I cough as I stub the tip of my boot into something hard and bend down to fetch my tool as a thrill runs through me. “Did you wanna learn something today, or not?” I hand him the wrench, slapping it into his palm.

  He holds it up and then spins it between his fingers, giving it a twirl, an impressive feat with the gloves on. “Hit me with your wisdom.”

  “You’d need another kind of hit,” I mutter.

  “Is that a challenge I hear?”

  I give him a glare and redirect the spotlight so that it shines into the generator. “Unscrew that for me.” I point, and then gesture to the wrench.

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “No. I’m sticking to the subject. Jeez, Cole.”

  He gives me a crooked smile and then puts the wrench to use. “Let’s do this then. Every day comes to an end.”

  My heart somersaults and I have to force the images out of my head: images of him and me together, me tied up, spanked, oh, fuck. A word, a look, and I’m hooked again. It takes every ounce of energy to focus on the task, but finally we get into a rhythm of work, and me giving the orders for once, which a part of me finds highly satisfying.

  “There.” I smack the side of the generator. “This bitch should be as new by lunch. We just gotta attach those two, and then put the side panel back.”

  “Machine zero. Hooper one.”

  “Keagan one, you mean,” I say and raise my eyebrows.

  Cole pulls off a glove and digs around in his bag, pulling up a thermos, wiggling it. “The invincible team Hooper/Keagan is in dire need of coffee.”

  I try to find my wristwatch beneath my jacket sleeve. “Isn’t it a little late for that? We worked past coffee break.”

  Unfazed, Cole twists off the top of the thermos and the lid before he pours the steaming black content into the top that also serves as a cup. “I worked past coffee. You had a long-ass breakfast, slouching in the cantina, chatting up old Jack.”

  “Hey.” I slap his arm. “You told me to go sit. I could have kept working.”

  His eyes glint. “But you obeyed. Like a good girl.” He holds up the cup, circling it under my nose. My mouth waters from the scent. “Good girls get rewards. Did you want some?”

  I groan and take the cup, sipping on the steaming content before I hand it back. “You fucking tease, Cole.” Brushing some snow off the tarp onto the ground, I then plop down, sitting back on my heels.

  Cole swallows some coffee. “No wonder you’re always cold. You can’t sit on the fucking ground.”

  “I’m not always cold. Do you mean to say you’re standing up like four hours on end?”

  He shrugs. “That’s what real stamina looks like. I told you, you can’t be weak, working here.”

  I sigh. “What the fuck? I thought we were past that?”

  “You will always be a woman, and I stand by my word. This is not a place for women.”

  “Because men are pigs who can’t keep their hands to themselves?”

  “Ouch.”

  My cheeks grow hotter. “Oh, I... didn’t mean that.” I clear my throat. “I meant the dick that—”

  “So not all hands need to be kept to themselves?”

  My heart speeds up. “Ehm. Work. We can finish this before lunch. Then I’ve got stuff...” I scramble to my feet and brush the snow off my butt, “...to do.”

  Cole laughs, and it’s a heartbreakingly beautiful sound that I’ve missed terribly. “I’ll let you off the hook,” he says.

  I turn toward the soon reassembled generator. “I didn’t know I was on one.”

  He doesn’t answer and I turn to peek at him.

  “You’re playing with fire, Casey.”

  My gut clenches. But not with fear. Not at all. “Yeah?” I say, keeping my voice light. “Where’s the heat then? I fail to see any.”

  Cole steps forward, well into my personal space, towering over me as he holds my gaze. White clouds puff out of our mouths with every breath, temporarily mingling with each other before they dissipate.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, transfixed by his dark eyes.

  “You have a big mouth, little one.”

  I swallow hard, then I attempt a shrug, shivers running through me as I think about what he has done to me, where he has touched me, how he’s made me feel. His mouth on my pussy. His fingers inside me.

  “So?”

  His eyes glint, then he looks over my shoulder and takes a step back. “Let’s get this beast running.”

  “Can’t wait to get out of here?”

  “Something like that,” he mutters and picks up a wrench.

  Something has changed between us. Again. I know it.

  We work in silence. Cole spends more time glancing at me than he spends working, but I work faster alone anyway. He’s handy when we put the heavy lid back, though. I screw the last bolts in place, put down the screwdriver and clap my hands together a few times, trying to get some circulation back. Cole puts the tools back in the toolbox and looks around us.

  “Done?”

  “Mm-hmm. I’ll let the electrician know he can take over. Let’s go. I’m hungry as all hell.”

  “You’re not alone,” says Cole, and my cheeks heat up. The double entendre doesn’t pass me unnoticed. We’re so fucked.

  We enter the cantina together. As if we’re workmates. The moment I set foot in there, I turn everything off. We might have had a few kind of friendly hours, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it was only temporary. I hang up my jacket and rush off to get a tray.

  My usual table is empty. It has become mine during the weeks that have passed. No one ever sits by me. Most people have a hard time breaking their habits. I have taken one bite when I feel a presence behind my back. I look over my shoulder and there stands Cole. He cocks his head. A barely there gesture, but easy enough to interpret.

  ‘Come.’

  My heart makes an unhealthy leap and I look in the direction he indicated. His table. The other guys have begun shoving in food. There’s a tray by an empty chair. And there is one free spot. I’m too stunned to move.

  “Slow as always,” he says and crosses his arms over his chest.

  I scowl, but stand and take my tray, breaking my habit, increasingly apprehensive. What’s this trickery? Moving over to the empty spot, more than one pair of eyes in the room fixate on me and I’m extremely uncomfortable as I put my tray on the table and pull out the chair, expecting them to start laughing and mocking me for thinking I can sit with them. Cole eats, pretending as if he doesn’t notice my inner struggle.

  When I finally sit, he looks up, meeting my gaze, then he nods at the other four people by the table.

  “Beanie, Sam, Carter, Haden. Guys, Casey.”

  They murmur their hellos and curiosity radiates off them. My back is burning from the whole room staring at me.

  “Hi, all.” I force my hand to be steady as I eat. Cole goes back to ignoring me. The other follows his cue.

  “Where did you go, Hooper?” asks Carter.

  “Had to sort out an incident. Caught Dover with his finger in the jar.”

  That’s really clever. It can mean stealing. No one needs to know I’m the jar.

  “Never liked the fucker,” says the guy called Haden.

  And that’s that. Sam talks longingly about white-hot beaches in the Caribbean. Beanie will fly home to Las Vegas in a couple of weeks.

  “You gonna gamble away four months of pay again?” asks Haden.

  Beanie blushes and shrugs.

  “He’ll be back soon enough,” says Cole and laughs.

  I’m silent, awed by the growing feeling of being accepted. Then my heart sinks. Is it only a pity party? Does he feel guilty on behalf of the crew? Will I be back to the usual ignore Casey-game after this?

  Guess I’ll live and see.

  Cole doesn’t exactly ignore me, it’s more as if I’m just one of the guys. It’s l
ike back at home. I’m not defined by my gender, and it’s an amazingly liberating feeling to experience it again. I finish eating quicker than the others and decide not to push my luck.

  “See you guys. I’ll go check in with Max.” I take my tray and go shove it in the rack, pretending like everything hasn’t suddenly been turned upside down.

  The rest of the day I finally get that pneumatic drill fixed. Except now no one uses it. I guess Max will have to reassign people, losing three of his men in one day. I fight off the stupid guilty feeling. It’s just like after I reported Alex for assault. I feel guilty. As if I did something to instigate it. I’m distracted and frustrated, and by the end of the day my insides crawl. I don’t know where I stand with Cole, or with anyone for that matter, and all I do in the cantina is snatch up a couple of bread buns and then I flee to my trailer, feeling as if something is chasing me, like someone is watching me from the shadows.

  I tear off my clothes and hang them in a disorganized mess on the hooks in the hallway. The rest lands on my bed. I strip down to a T-shirt, pull on my sweatpants, and do something I haven’t done in a long while. I work out. I do squats until my thighs burn. Pushups until I shake. Sit-ups until I scream. My room has too little space to move around a lot, but these I have room for. I work myself exhausted, until I get the ugly, crawling feelings out of my system. I work past the point when Cole should be back from dinner if he has come directly.

  So nothing has changed. He’s gone with the boys. Good to know where we stand.

  I’m drenched in sweat, my T-shirt clinging to my body, a hand on the bathroom door, when I hear his feet on the steps and the front door flies open. I freeze in place. Cole opens his mouth as if to speak, his gaze traveling along my body. He slowly closes the door and locks it as the space between us gets narrower, the air thickening.

  “Hi. I’m—ehm—” I gesture to the bathroom door.

  He raises his eyebrows. “You look like you need it.”

  His voice is friendly, normal. I’m more confused than ever. “Yeah, right...” Crap. Fuck. Stupid man! I push open the bathroom door and flee inside. It doesn’t lock. I take a quick shower, acutely aware of Cole being right behind that wall. When I’m done, I sneak back to my room, clutching my sweat-drenched clothes against my chest. It takes mere minutes for the shower to clatter to life after I’ve closed the door to my room. I groan, picturing him naked in there.

  No! Not thinking about that.

  Pushing the clothes into the laundry bag, I take my book, smooth out my comforter, sit on the bed and cross my legs. I’m reading it for the third time. It’s this or the Playboy calendar.

  I jerk from the sound of knocks. “Yeah?”

  The door is pulled open and there stands Cole, white T-shirt, gray sweatpants, barefoot. He leans against the doorframe and shoves his hands in his pockets, nodding at the book before me on the bed.

  “What is that about anyway?”

  I have lost the ability to form words. Letting the book fall closed, I hold it up so he can look at the cover.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen the book. What’s so interesting about it?”

  Without waiting for my approval, he sits on the edge of the bed and leans his forearms on his thighs. I’m mesmerized by the wiry muscles beneath the dark hair, the ropey veins, his strong hands. Inhaling shakily, I then clear my throat.

  “It’s about the tribe who used to live here. Their lives, lore and... Well. I might also not have brought another book.”

  “Why did you pick that one out of all the books in the world?” He reaches for the book and I let him take it, the tips of our fingers brushing against each other. My heart stutters and I pull my hand back as if I had burnt it. Cole holds still for a moment, then he pulls the book to him and turns it over to look at its back.

  “Well, I was going here and with the pipeline plowing across holy land—”

  His head snaps up. “That how you feel?”

  My cheeks heat up. Maybe I’m on thin ice here? “Well, no... or... I mean we need the oil and all but... Maybe it could have been handled differently?”

  “What were your motives really? Choosing to go here? You oppose what we do?”

  “No. It’s not like that. My grandmother is Native American and... I just don’t know a lot about it. I thought it would mean something, going here, that I’d feel some kind of connection...” I chew on my lip, unsure if I should continue.

  “And do you?”

  I can’t interpret his look. My stomach clenches and I’m suddenly afraid that I’ve broken some secret code. Maybe I can’t tell anyone that I think it’s really freaking unethical to ravage these lands?

  I think of my dreams. Of eagles and chiefs. I shrug. “No,” I say lightly. “Nothing. It’s just ice. I don’t know how anyone could have lived here.”

  Cole cocks his head, regarding me in silence until I feel like shaking him, forcing him to say something—anything.

  His face lightens, opens into a crooked smile. “I’ve got a bunch of paperbacks. If you want to read something else?” He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug.

  I’m so relieved I could cry that he isn’t pushing it. “I’d love that. I’m... getting a bit bored...”

  He laughs and holds out his hand. “Come on.”

  I debate for an eternal moment if I should take his hand or not, but decide against it and shuffle off the bed, groaning as my strained muscles protest.

  “Working out there isn’t hard enough for you?” Cole pulls back his hand and shoves his fingers through his hair, making his dark tresses stand in all directions. I look at the mess and shake my head.

  “I had pent-up frustrations,” I mutter as I follow him to his room.

  Cole holds up the curtain for me and I pass into the shadows of his room, overwhelmed by the familiar scents, my hormones running amok as my brain ruthlessly produces images of everything that passed between us here.

  “That shit Dover?”

  I look up at him, standing much too close. “No... Not Dover.”

  Cole narrows his eyes and steps closer. “Then...?”

  I don’t speak. I can’t.

  He grins and turns, breaking the moment. “Let’s see what I have then.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cole

  I drink her in. It’s as if I’m seeing her in a new light. Again. Gone is the annoying little know-it-all whom I first drove here, gone is the sexy vixen I had to get my hands on, no matter how wrong it was. Her face is open and curious as she digs through my pile of books. She picks out a book about the Civil War and Of Mice and Men.

  “Can I borrow these?” Her voice trails off as our gazes meet. Fucking hell. How am I supposed to stay away from her when everything about her invites me in? I don’t know if she knows how sensual she is: that chewing on her bottom lip, that wrinkle between her eyebrows when she focuses on something, and her dark eyes, filled with more emotion than should fit in one person.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, sure. There are more where they came from.”

  She doesn’t move.

  “Native American, huh?” I say. “You don’t look it.”

  “I didn’t know there was a look? The absence of feathers and braids?”

  “You look like... I don’t know, like a pinch of South America, some Asian.” I shrug. “Beats me.”

  “My dad’s from Jamaica. Dreads, reggae, the whole shebang. And Jamaicans come from everywhere. They’re a mix of everything. Mom’s American, but with a mixed heritage. No Asians as far as I know, though.”

  It’s as if my hands aren’t connected with my mind. I raise my arm and trace along her cheekbone with the back of my knuckle. I don’t breathe, and I don’t think she does either.

  “Well,” I say and let my arm drop. “Someone did something right.”

  She scoffs and clutches the books to her chest. “Is that a backward compliment on my looks I hear?”

  I raise an eyebrow and grin. “Maybe?”

  She widens h
er eyes. “You’re giving me whiplash, Cole.”

  I laugh and shrug. “I can’t help that you’re sensitive.”

  Casey throws up her free hand. “And there he goes again.”

  “With what?”

  “The hot and cold.”

  “You’re reading too much shit into things. I’m just lending you a couple of books.”

  “And letting me sit by your table, introducing me to your pack.”

  “Pack?”

  “Well, yeah, the other thugs who have never spoken to me in public unless they were forced to.”

  “Does it annoy you a little bit?”

  “Like fuck!”

  “I told you. You weren’t gonna get accepted here like one of the dudes. It’ll never happen, Keagan.”

  Her face falls and my chest tightens. I’m not emotionless. I feel sorry for her, but emancipation will never reach these latitudes and bigotry will prevail. There’ll be no fairytales, no one will see the light. Her presence here won’t change history. She chose the wrong place to escape to. It’s the bitter truth.

  Tightening her lips into a thin line, she then spins on her heels and stomps off.

  “Casey!”

  She stops but doesn’t turn.

  “What are you running from?”

  Her back stiffens. “I thought you didn’t ask people shit like that here.”

  “You’re not exactly ‘people.’”

  She turns, her eyes narrowing, flashing dark. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I sigh and close my eyes as I cock my head and crack my neck, then I move in on her. “It means that you are this close,” I hold up my hand, leaving a tiny distance between my thumb and my forefinger, “to getting the spanking of your life.”

  She pales, widens her eyes. “What for? What?”

  “For scaring the shit out of me this morning.”

  Her face falls. “Oh... I—”

  “So I think I have earned the fucking privilege to know who I’m beating the shit out of some asshole for.”

  Sighing, she looks at the ceiling and then back at me. She gestures behind her, toward her room before she turns and disappears inside. She doesn’t close the door, and I’m not letting her off the hook. Not this time. Not ever again.