Page 19 of Truck Stop Tempest
Tito stared at me. Blinked. Opened his mouth to speak. Changed his mind. He thumbed through the wad of cash he held, then mumbled, “You don’t have a phone?”
“I do. Or, did.”
His shoulders bunched. “Let me guess. You left it in Rockypoint?”
My brother had smashed my cell in a fit of alcohol-induced rage, but I wasn’t ready to discuss my brother with anyone. “Yes. I’ll get one soon. Saving up for it.”
“Almost there?” he asked, dropping money on the table.
I laughed. “Yeah. Almost there.”
His hand landed on my lower back while he guided me outside. “So, you’re saving for a car and a phone. Anything else?”
Pretty much everything a girl needed to live on her own. “That’s about it.”
We made it halfway down the block when Tito stopped. “You’re limping.”
My attempt at ignoring the pain and hiding my misery had failed. “Blister. New shoes.”
“Fuck.” His eyes sliced to mine. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
A lie formed on the back of my tongue. Before the fabrication left my lips, he turned his back to me and said, “Hop on.”
“What?”
He squatted. “I’ll carry you…it’s only a block. Hop on.”
“A piggyback?”
“Yeah. Get on.” He wiggled his fingers behind his butt.
Oh, Lord. Well, options were limited. Die of embarrassment or suffer for vanity. I’d never had a high threshold for pain, so I hopped up, wrapped my arms around his thick neck, squeezed my thighs around his trim waist, and prayed my skirt was covering my backside. Like I weighed nothing more than a rag doll, he tucked his arms under my legs and scooted me higher.
“We good?” he asked.
“All good.” I laughed into the thick, black cotton covering his head.
Two blocks later, we reached our destination—a tall building with a security entrance. Tito crouched. I slid to my feet.
“What is this place?” I asked, slipping out of my heels while admiring the mammoth steel and glass construction, but mostly admiring his strong fingers while they punched a sequence of numbers on the keypad.
The door eased open and he stepped aside, allowing me entrance first.
“You’ll see.” Once again, his hand rested at the small of my back, a small gesture that made me feel larger than life. He guided me toward a set of elevators, typed numbers into another keypad, and pressed the large “P.”
The elevator doors opened into a foyer, empty except for two large planters filled with lush green foliage. A steel-plated door opened into a grand, open, airy, living space. We entered a state-of-the-art kitchen with stainless steel appliances and black granite everything else. A wall-to-wall window with a slider door opened onto an enormous deck that seemed to stretch over Lake Willow.
“Whose home is this?” I asked, taking in the barren, pristine surroundings.
Tito leaned his shoulder against the polished cement column that separated the kitchen space from the living area. “It could be mine. All I gotta do is sign on the dotted line.”
“Yeah, right.” I laughed. “This is the penthouse. It has to cost well over a mil.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he mumbled, “Closer to two. Your point?”
“Guess I don’t have one. It’s just…I don’t even know what you do for a living.” I gestured to the gorgeous staircase, floating white steps with a polished steel banister. “And you’re showing me a ridiculously lavish home, with a view of…well…everything, and I guess I’m just surprised. Why did you bring me here? I don’t understand.”
The brooding man shrugged away from the column and walked to the window, pressing his forehead to the glass. “I guess I wanted to see it through someone else’s eyes before I made my decision.”