Page 36 of Truck Me

Another reason I need to keep my hands and mouth off her.

“Sit.” She demands.

“I’m not a dog.” I growl.

She laughs. “No, but you are a beast.”

I fall into the chair without another word while she grabs a clean cape. She drapes it over my shoulders and snaps it into place.

“You play poker with Tanner?” she asks, like the idea of that surprises her.

“No.”

“Then why did he say he’d see you at the poker game?”

“Because we both play.”

“How is that not playing with Tanner?”

“A lot of people play. We both just happen to be there.”

She chuckles. “Okay, big guy. Whatever you say.” She pats my shoulder, and I relish her touch. I also really like how she keeps calling me big guy. It makes me want to show her exactly how big I really am. “Can I ask where you play?”

“Posey’s Lounge.”

“Isn’t that the biker bar?”

“Not so much anymore. Calmed down over the past several years.”

“Oh, so I can come and watch then?”

I frown. “Why would you want to do that?”

She shrugs with a smile. “I like poker. Played all the time with friends in Chicago. It would give me something to do besides sit at home and worry about Dad.”

I shrug. “Can’t stop you from coming.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic. I might start to think you don’t like me.”

I snap my eyes up and meet hers in the mirror on the wall opposite us. She must see something in my expression that she thinks is funny. She chuckles and pats my shoulder.

Leaning down close to my ear, she says, “Relax. I’m joking. I know you like me. Everyone does.” Her teasing tone calms my inner beast, but not enough that I can relax. “So, what are we doing?”

My eyes meet hers again. “Um, cutting my hair.”

She snort-laughs. “I know. But I’ve never cut your hair before. How do you like it?”

“Shorter.”

She stares at me for a moment like she’s going to ask me more questions, but then she turns to the counter and grabs a comb instead. “Alright. I’m just going to do what I think will look best. If you hate it, it’s on you.”

“It’s just hair. How bad can it be?”

She gasps and presses her hand to her chest like she’s offended by my words. “You take that back, Garret Mutter. It’s never just hair. Our hair is a part of our personalities, an expression of who we are, and how we want others to see us.”

I grunt.

She rolls her eyes. “Such a typical country boy response.”