Page 7 of Truck Me
I furrow my brows right back. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Why would I do that?”
Exacerbated, I let out a long sigh and rub the bridge of my nose. “To fix it. That’s my job.”
“Garret fixes everything when it breaks.” Rayne pipes in. “Grandma calls him Mr. Fix-It.”
“Oh.” Charlotte’s shoulders slump a bit and her expression softens. It makes her look younger and innocent and far sexier than I have any right to notice. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Dunno. You seemed set on coming here, so I let you.” Rayne turns her attention back to the tablet in front of her. She’s watching one of her girlie movies that she’s made me watch with her a time or two. They’re awful. She doesn’t seem to love them either, but she asked me, so I endured them.
I fight to hide the smile tugging at my lips. Rayne always has a way of making me smile even when I’m in the worst of moods. Which seems like all the time these days.
I grab one of the rolling baskets and pull it up to the washing machine in question. It’s still filled with Charlotte’s clothes, so I open it up and start digging them out.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte’s high-pitched voice causes me to flinch.
My scowl deepens when I look over my shoulder at her. “What does it look like?”
She huffs and pushes to her feet. She glides across the room—her high-heeled shoes clanking with every step—like the beauty queen that she is. Her hips sway back and forth as she places one foot in front of the other. If it weren’t for the sound of her shoes, I’d say she was floating. It’s effortless and has my dick hardening in my jeans.
“I don’t need you getting your greasy hands all over my delicates.” She grabs the article I’m holding, and when I look down, I realize it’s a satin nightgown—soft, smooth, and pale pink. My mind instantly pictures her in it. Wet, a little see-through, and clinging to her gentle curves like second skin.
I swallow hard and try to think about anything else except what her pert nipples would look like. Despite the draft coming from the front door, I suddenly feel overheated because I’m not sure anything will wipe that image from my mind. I unzip my coat and fan it out.
“My hands aren’t greasy.” I continue to remove her clothes from the washing machine, doing my best to avoid looking at what I’m pulling out.
“Let me do this.” She grabs at a pair of shorts at the same time I do and our hands touch. A spark lights up my insides, and my dick thickens even more. She pulls away almost as quickly as she reached for the shorts. The way she rubs her hands together, I have to wonder if she felt that spark too.
I want to look at her. See if her expression gives anything away, but I stay focused on my task. The sooner I get this done the sooner I can get the hell out of here.
I make the mistake of looking at the shorts in my hand. They’re tiny and look like they’d barely cover her ass. Fuck, I want to see her in these and nothing but these. I flip them over and growl. Princess is scrolled across the back in sparkly big letters.
How fitting.
“Do you really need shorts that say you’re a princess? Don’t you have like a dozen tiara’s or something?”
“Don’t be an ass.” She grabs them from me and tosses them in the basket.
“I’m not. Just stating a fact.” I turn my attention back to unloading the washer, doing my best to avoid looking at her. She’s pissed and it shows in the intense way she’s glaring at me. A pissed off Charlotte is far sexier than the softer version I saw earlier.
I pull a few more items out and have to swallow my groan. This appears to be a load full of her underwear and other delicates. And by others, I mean sexy negligees and nighties. How many of these things does this woman have?
The next one I pull out is a shimmery silver negligee. It’s so short, I doubt it covers her ass. It’s made from a combination of satin and lace with the cups for the breast being mostly lace. I bet it looks fucking amazing with her curves.
My breath gets caught in my chest and I’m forced to clear my throat. I make the mistake of looking up at her, and she’s watching me. She huffs and grabs the negligee from my hand.
“I can get these out of your way.” She pushes the basket toward me, forcing me to step back. I don’t fight her. I let her finish unloading them, if for no other reason than to have a moment to get my dick under control. Her undergarments are sexy as fuck and causing my imagination to run wild.
“There. All done.” She pulls the basket out of the way and places it on the opposite side of the center table where, thankfully, I can’t see it anymore.
I turn my attention to the washing machine, doing my best to pretend she’s not here. Unfortunately, my body is fully aware of hers. How? I don’t fucking know. I haven’t seen Charlotte Weber since her sister’s funeral over ten years ago.
Carol’s death was hard on her family. Hell, it hit our entire community hard. Her parents, Lois and Jim, have found ways to move past the loss, but from what they say, Charlotte never did. It’s why she rarely came home. It was as if Lois and Jim lost two daughters that day.
I understand Charlotte’s need for distance. The sisters had been close. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I lost one of my brothers like that. Knowing me, I’d retreat further into myself.
I may have gotten to know Carol some before her death, but Charlotte and I weren’t close. Why my body is suddenly acting like hers is a toy it desperately wants to play with is beyond me.