Chapter 33: The First Steps
The truck’s tires hummed against the asphalt, a steady drone beneath the classic rock sputtering from the radio. Caleb kept his eyes on the road, his hands loose on the wheel. The silence beside him had thickened over the last few miles.
Ian cleared his throat, fidgeting with the window control before letting it be. “So, the lads on the Brentwood site,” he began, his voice carefully casual. “They’ve been talking.”
“Yeah?” Caleb said, a faint smile playing on his lips. “About pour ratios or the football?”
“About Sandi.”
Caleb nodded slowly, as if he’d been expecting it. “Right.”
“She’s been showing up on Saturday mornings,” Ian continued, shifting in his seat. “Finding reasons. Delivery schedules, budget queries. Wearing those tight jeans… and a t-shirt. With no bra, Cal. It’s pretty fucking obvious.”
“I know what she wears, Ian.”
“It’s just… she looks fucking amazing, mate. But she also looks… available. And it’s becoming a topic. A distraction.”
Caleb took a long, slow breath, then let it out. The countryside blurred past. “I know what you’re saying. That she looks ‘available’.” He turned his head just enough to catch Ian’s uneasy glance. “So let me suggest something. You, or any of the others who’ve got the balls, should try it on with her.”
Ian choked on a laugh that died quickly. “You’re taking the piss.”
“I’m not.” Caleb’s voice was level, deadly serious. “You’d all have my blessing. No matter how far it goes. So don’t hold back. Just tell me what she says, and how well it goes for you.”
The cab filled with a stunned silence. Ian stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. “You’re serious.”
“Never more.” Caleb returned his gaze to the highway, the double yellow lines streaming toward him. “Think about it.”
The smell of garlic and rosemary greeted Caleb when he pushed the front door open. Sandi was at the stove, her auburn hair tied up in a messy knot, tendrils stuck to her neck in the steam. She glanced over her shoulder, her hazel eyes warming. “Hey. Long one?”
“Usual.” He dropped his keys in the bowl and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. He breathed her in—soap, simmering tomatoes, her. For a moment, he just held on.
She leaned back into him. “What is it?”
“Talked to Ian today. In the truck.”
She stilled. “Oh?”
“The men are talking about you. About your Saturday morning site visits.”
He felt her heartbeat quicken against his forearms. “And?”
“And I told him,” Caleb said, his lips close to her ear, his voice a low murmur in the quiet kitchen, “that any of them with the courage should try it on with you. That they had my blessing, no matter how far it went.”
Sandi turned slowly in his arms. Her face was flushed, from the heat or from his words, he couldn’t tell. He saw the conflict there, the bright spark of excitement warring with twenty years of conditioned guilt. “You said that? To Ian?”
“I did.” He cupped her face. “We’re a team, Sandi. This is the team we are now. Tell me I’m wrong.”
She searched his eyes. “You’re not wrong.” The words were a whisper, then stronger. “I need it, Caleb. I lie awake thinking about it. The attention. The… the raw fucking thrill of it. It’s like a hunger. And I…” She swallowed. “I’ve reconciled to it. To being unfaithful to you. Because the awful, beautiful truth is that getting that excess, that different sex from other men… it’s the only thing that’s making me feel completely alive. And that life is what I’m bringing back to us. To you.”
It was the most honest, the most devastating thing she’d ever said to him. It carved a hollow in his chest and filled it with a fierce, possessive love. She was sacrificing a myth—the myth of monolithic fidelity—to save the reality of their marriage.
“You have my approval,” he said, his thumb stroking her cheek. “My full, complete, enthusiastic approval.”
A tear escaped, tracking through the fine dust of flour on her skin. “You mean that? Really?”
“I mean it.” He kissed her, softly at first, then deeper, tasting the promise of wine on her tongue. When they broke apart, both were breathless. “So we have a plan,” he said, his forehead resting against hers.
“A plan,” she echoed, a slow, wicked smile spreading.
“You keep visiting the sites on Saturdays. Jeans, t-shirts, no bra. You flirt, you tease, you draw them in. And when one of them finally propositions you, you look him right in the eye and you tell him you want him to fuck you.”
She let out a shaky, aroused breath. “Okay.”
“But,” Caleb said, his voice firm, “you tell him he has to ask me. For permission.”
Sandi blinked. “He won’t dare.”
“I know he won’t,” Caleb said, a plan crystallizing with perfect clarity. “So when that doesn’t work, we change the tactic. We escalate. You stop wearing jeans.”
A slowunderstanding dawned in her eyes. “What do I wear?”
“Very short skirts,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl. “So short that when you lean over a plan table, or climb into the cab of a loader, there’s no question left in their minds. No room for doubt. Only an invitation so blatant, it’ll make a brave man out of a coward.”
Her hips pressed against his, and he could feel the heat of her through his work pants. The agreement was sealed not with a handshake, but with the hard, urgent proof of their mutual need. The discussion was over. The game was on.