I toss my knife and staple gun back into the truck and slam the door, looking around the site for Jordan.
I haven’t seen her in a while. Regret starts to wind its way into my stomach. I should’ve given her some kind of direction out here. She probably doesn’t know her way around. It’s easy for people to get hurt if they aren’t trained.
Walking around the side, I see all the bags lined up as they should be, the tarps still intact, even with the wind, and the pallet of cement neatly covered. I hear voices and trail around the back, instantly spotting Jordan helping carry window inserts to the trailer, one of the guys making sure they’re covered, as well.
She’s smiling. Like crazy.
Like eyes gleaming with excitement and she’s about to bounce on the balls of her feet, for crying out loud.
Is she having fun?
Her hood has fallen down, and her ponytail hangs drenched while strands of hair stick to her face. Her shoes are soaked, her jeans are muddy, and thank Christ she’s not wearing a white T-shirt, because the raincoat is doing very little to keep the guys’ eyes off her as it is.
I look over at Dale, Bryan, and Donny who are carrying equipment to the trailer as they cast looks her way, smile, and then turn to each other, laughing at something I can’t hear.
“Hurry up,” I bark at them and they jerk to attention, carrying on.
Jordan walks over to where I stand next to the building and squats down, tucking the tarp under a beam.
“So, you’re the boss then, huh?” She looks up at me inquisitively. Something about her expression seems softer than it did earlier this morning. Happier. More at ease.
Didn’t Cole tell her I own a construction company? Does he talk about me at all?
Hurt winds its way through my gut.
“Well, he tries to be,” Dutch jokes, answering her question.
I throw him a look, but I’m tempted to smile. Bantering is our thing, but I wish the asshole wouldn’t do it at work. It undermines me, dammit.
“Shit!” Jordan suddenly exclaims.
I jerk my eyes back to her and see rainwater crashing down on her head like a waterfall. The tarp has torn away at the top of the frame and spilled all the water it had collected in its crevice. She pops up, escaping from the downpour, and reaches, trying to put it back in place.
But she can’t reach it.
Coming up behind her, I reach in front of her and grab it, holding it in place as I turn my head and jerk my chin at Dutch. He nods and walks off to retrieve the staple gun again.
Jordan lets go of the tarp and slides out from between my arms, stepping to the side and chuckling to herself.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods, wiping off her face and shaking out her jacket. “Yeah. I guess the raincoat was useless, though, huh?”
I drop my eyes to her shirt, seeing the soaked navy-blue T sticking to her body, tight and molded to every inch of her chest and stomach. A sliver of her hips and tummy peek out just below where the shirt is pasted to her. Her skin is flawless, her curves beautiful. I swallow the lump in my throat and turn quickly away.