Page 32 of Truck Me
“That’s what neighbors do.” A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Isn’t that what you told me, Princess?”
I place my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Okay, if that’s how you want to play it, then you’re taking all the food I decide to bring you and you’re going to like it. Is that clear?”
He glares back at me like he’s going to object, but then he nods. “Give me a couple of weeks. I’ll work on it when I can between jobs.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
We hold each other’s gazes for a moment as if neither of us knows what to do next. The tension between us is still high, and nothing either of us said has done a damn thing to dampen the attraction I know we both feel.
“Well, I better get home.” I point over my shoulder toward the door, but I don’t make a move to leave. Not yet, at least. Instead, I step toward him, press my hand on his chest as I lift up on my tiptoes and lightly kiss his cheek. “And stop calling me Princess.”
He lets out a heavy sigh, and I feel his entire body shudder.
Without another word, I turn around and leave.
Chapter 8
Complicating my already overly complicated life.
Garret
Saturday mornings are my favorite.
When I wake up, I can start my day doing whatever the fuck I want, but the best part is they’re quiet. No one is calling me to fix their broken shit, and my brothers are too busy sleeping in to take the time to bother me. Even Grams leaves me alone on Saturday mornings. I’ve got at least four hours of uninterrupted me time, and I love it.
This morning, I use the time to work on the 1965 Honda Super Hawk motorcycle I bought a few months ago. A client asked to help with some general contracting work on a home remodel in Athens County, and the owner had a garage full of classic cars. This bike was among them and caught my attention. When he told me he was looking to unload it, I jumped at the chance to make it mine. It’s definitely a fixer upper. It barely runs, the seat is worn to the point it pokes me in the ass when I sit on it, and it needs a serious paint job.
Christian could do a much better job at restoring it—and he’d gladly do it for me if I asked—but it’s a project I want to do myself.
Today’s task is to tear her apart, figure out what parts I need to hunt down and order, and make a game plan for putting her back together again.
I’m just about ready to get started when I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel outside my garage, and I groan. I’m not in the mood for company, and if it’s Charlotte again, I’m afraid of what I’ll do.
I meant it when I said nothing can happen between us. There are too many things she doesn’t know about me. I’m damaged beyond repair and am no good for her.
She has no idea how tempting she is—like a siren so beautiful and sweet she doesn’t need a damn song—and I need to fucking resist her.
A few moments later, the door cracks open and Rayne’s head pops around it. I visibly relax. My mood lifts and my frown shifts into a smile, same as it always does when she visits me.
“Hey, kid. You’re up early.”
She nods and steps through the door, shutting it behind her. She falls back against it with a frown on her face and red, puffy eyes.
“What’s wrong?” All the tension I felt a moment ago is back, and I’m rushing across the garage toward her before she has a chance to respond. When I reach her, I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, which is in complete contrast to how the sadness on her face is making me feel. I want to tear whatever made her sad to shreds. “Talk to me.”
“Grandpa’s having a bad morning.” She crumbles into my arms and cries like I’ve never seen her cry before. My chest physically aches for her.
Rayne is a tough kid, and she rarely cries. I once watched her fall from a tree she was climbing and break her leg. Not one tear. Not when she fell and not when the doctor had to reset the bone.
I hug her close, hating that she has to watch Jim’s dementia steal him away from them. “I’m so sorry, Rayne. I know this is tough. Do you wanna talk about it?”
She shakes her head and sniffs before she mumbles into my chest. “Can I just hang out with you for a bit?”
“Does your grandma know you’re here?”
“Yeah. She said it was fine as long as you didn’t mind.”
“You know you’re always welcome here.” I release her and smile. “I’m starting on that bike I bought. You wanna help?”