Page 5 of Truck Up
It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to resist the urge to moan or gasp sharply. My mom cannot witness the profound effect this man has on me.
Or Vicki Lynn, for that matter. If she even remotely suspects the affair between Christian and me, the entire county will know by sundown.
I focus on the paper he tossed in front of me and take mental note of my stock and imagine the vibrant colors of the arrangement. They will be bright and lively, just like Grams.
“How many arrangements do you want?” I ask, proud that my voice remains steady.
Christian shrugs. “How many do you think we need to decorate the community center?”
I stare into his eyes, though I can’t see them. His jaw tightens, and my face warms. “The party will be in the main room, correct?”
He gives me a single nod.
I quickly estimate the number of tables, and it’s a considerable amount. Far too many for a birthday party, but Grams is beloved by all. Even die-hard Koch supporters.
“That’s a lot of tables for seating. And I imagine there will be a lot of guests.”
“Should be.” His voice is low, almost a whisper.
“How about we reserve the larger arrangements for the serving tables and entrance and use smaller, single flower vases on the dining tables? That will keep the cost reasonable while still maintaining an elegant appearance.”
“I don’t care about the cost,” he says, sounding almost offended.
“If we’re going to serve him, might as well take everything we can get,” Mom interjects, her tone dismissive.
I shoot my mom a withering glare. “Do you mind? I’ve got this.”
She huffs and scurries over to Vicki Lynn, who’s picking out the roses for her arrangements.
With Mom out of earshot, Christian leans down on his elbows, bringing his face close to mine. “Do whatever you think is best. I trust you.”
Then he tosses another piece of paper onto the counter. This one is a small, torn strip, as if he wrote the note on the edge of a larger sheet and tore it off. When I read the words, my heart plummets. I can’t breathe, and every inch of my body ignites like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.
I need to taste you, to fuck you, to be inside of you. Preferably right now.
I stare at the note for far too long before finally moving my hand and swiping it off the counter.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” I whisper.
“Take a break.” His gravelly voice hits me square between the legs. “We can be quick.”
I snort. “Yeah right. There’s never anything quick about you.”
His lips curve into a slight smile, a fleeting expression that no one else would notice because Christian Mutter rarely smiles. Except for me.
“But it’ll be pleasurable,” he whispers.
“Let me get this order together for you.” The words tumble out in a rush, a little too loudly. When I glance around, only Darlene is watching me. She has a knowing smile on her face, as if she’s privy to the secret between Christian and me.
I swallow back a groan and quickly calculate the cost of Christian's order, swiping his card. The sooner I get him out of here, the better.
If Darlene suspects anything between Christian and me, I can at least trust her to keep it to herself. Unlike most people in this county, she can keep a secret.
When I hand Christian his card, along with a receipt, he deliberately brushes his fingers against my wrist and down my hand. A shiver, intense and involuntary, courses through my entire body. I shake it off, pretending it’s a sudden chill, and pray that no one is watching me.
“Meet me at our place,” he says as he slides his card back into his wallet. He’s so calm, so collected, that it makes me even more nervous. I don’t know how he does that.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’ve got a lot of work.”