Chapter 2
Nolan
Another day, another brat stuck in the mud because mommy and daddy didn’t teach them any fucking survival skills.
Probably shouldn’t complain.
Towing keeps the shop open just as much as fixing their foreign piece of shits do.
Not that I hate all foreign cars.
Just most.
A lot like people.
Bracing the wood planks against my broad shoulder, I unhurriedly stroll in the direction of the black Benz stuck right off the main road while fighting the urge to smile.
If The Kid was with me, he’d be rambling off its damn specs by now.
Year.
Horsepower.
Top speed.
Torque.
Weight.
Grip.
Dimensions.
Best tires.
Recommended maintenance schedule.
How the damn thing he’s never driven handles dry versus wet land.
Kid’s practically a certified genius when it comes to cars.
He credits getting it from his old man, but the truth is he didn’t.
Yeah, alright, Big K knew some shit about cars.
Afterall, he taught me when I was The Kid’s age now, and The Kid was still playing with Hot Wheels, but the shit Kipp can do? Big K wouldn’t have been able to do that without the help of a Genie and three fucking magic wishes.
May the old drunk bastard get a drop of water in hell.
But only one.
Finally arriving at the driver’s side door of the dirty vehicle, I’m both stunned and not surprised in the same grunt.
Of course, it would be daddy’s little princess.
The thought of it being the second coming of Mother Fucking Teressa never crossed my mind.
However, I can admit that I’m a little taken back by her looks.
Most of the females I cross paths with between here and Crystal Waters – the next city over where even a hunk of people who work in Death Canyon live – are carbon copies made from the same photoshop social media filtered program.
Too shiny.
Too phony.
Too squeaky clean.
At least from first glance this one appears to be made of actual flesh and blood versus injections and bottled water.
Watching her through the window, I prop the boards up and naturally wait for her to speak.
Tell me the obvious fucking problem.
Ask – or beg – for help.
Toss me a little schoolgirl pout accompanied by the typical defenseless damsel bounce that’ll make her boobs jiggle.
Instead?
She just glares.
Taps the pen gently against her full lips in a two rasps pattern.
Stares challengingly into my dark eyes while I stare back curiously into hers.
Okay.
That’s new.
And so is my cock beginning to swell over the idea of swapping places with that writing tool.
“You uh…” my gruff voice does its best to remain unstrained despite stealing a glance of her beautiful brown tits that are pouring out of her wrong season black tank top, “need help or what?”
She opts not to answer the question but to ask her own. “You here to murder me?”
I grunt again this time amused and impressed alike. “No.”
“Rob me?”
“No.”
“Rape me?”
“Fuck no.”
She purses her lips and taps the pen to them again. “What’s with the weapons?”
“They’re wood planks.” Adjusting them is followed by a thoughtless shrug. “I use ‘em for quick mud fixes.”
Her dark eyebrows shift up in question.
“Out of towners have a tendency to get stuck in the mud around here after it rains. Using these things saves us both a lot of time and hassle.”
“You charge them?”
“No.”
“They tip you?”
“No.”
“So…you do it because you’re a good Samaritan?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then why?”
“Because the sooner they get the fuck out of my town, the sooner I can go back to working on shit I actually give a fuck about.”
Once more the younger woman – who’s probably at least ten years younger than me and probably five older than The Kid – catches me off guard. Not only does she smile, it’s genuine.
Not polite.
She shows just enough teeth so that it’s clear they’re all there yet not wide enough to give me a good glance at the piece of jewelry I know is in her tongue.
Been a long time since I’ve seen this much danger wrapped in something this delicious…
It’d be best for us both to get her the hell out of here as quickly and as quietly as fucking possible.
I clear my throat and resume the line of questioning to make that happen. “How long you been stuck?”
“Never said I was stuck.”
“I just assumed.”
“Not a smart thing to do.”
“You mean like you who just assumed I was here to rape, rob, or murder you?”
“In that order.”
The urge to smirk tugs at the corner of my lips prompting me to shake my head in order to resist it. “What’s the problem?”
“My car stopped.”
“What do you mean it stopped?”
“I mean it was driving before, and now, it’s not.”
Sass.
The type that makes my palm itch and my dick twitch.
The same type of shit that The Kid gives me.
That I can’t act on.
Don’t act on.
Will never act on.
Yup.
She needs to move the fuck along.
Right.
Now.
“You run out of gas?”
“No?”
“Is that a question?”
“Was yours?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth momentarily bobs in confusion before releasing a heavy huff. “I honestly don’t know if I did!”
“How do you not know?”
“Because I wasn’t paying as close attention as I probably fucking should’ve been-”
“Definitely should’ve been.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you here to help me or judge me?”
“I can do both.” This time I let my smirk be seen. “I’m very talented.”
“Is that so Mr. Ripley?”
“That’s Mr. Damon to you.”
Irritation flares in her gaze until she spots the mirth in mine. At that point, her slender shoulders slightly relax. Her heaving chest slows. And the tiny metal ball I didn’t need to see again – but fuck me because I wanted to – is toyed with in a playful fashion. It doesn’t take long for the Benz beauty to collect her composure and retort, “I need a tow.”
“You mean you need me.”
“Nah…” Her eyes sparkle with undeniable trouble. “I think you need me.”
She’s wrong.
I don’t need trouble.
I don’t want trouble.
And I damn sure shouldn’t be towing trouble into our small town instead of out.
Rearranging my hold on the planks occurs for a second time. “I think I just need a card to run for my services.”
At that, the mouthy female noticeably shifts in her seat. “Does it need to be a card, or can it be in cash?”
“You actually got cash?”
“You actually think I’m asking these questions to continue our stellar conversation?”
Ignoring the ache in my balls grows in difficulty. “You actually think you’d be the first broad to imply she’s got cash only to then try to bargain for a blowjob instead?”
“While it’s tax deadline clear you desperately need a blowjob…” the woman keeps her attention on me yet uses one hand to reach over into her black backpack, “I’m talking actual cash.” She flashes two hundred dollars bills at me. “See how it’s green and not Monopoly colored?”
“Depending on the version you played Monopolydid have green bills.”
Her head tilts to one side in obvious irritation.
What the fuck is she annoyed about?
She’s the one who crashed in my town and needs my help to get the fuck out of it.
I’m just trying to make sure I get paid in the process.
But given how hard her attitude is making me, I may just fuck around and do it for free.
Whatever it takes to get her ass fucking gone.
Miles away from me.
The Kid.
Rather than proceed to poke her the way she likes to be poked – though not the way I wanna be poking her – I clear my throat and tip my head towards my truck. “Let me grab my tablet to get this process started.”
Getting the planks put back and retrieving my device are a seamless set of actions, but keeping a steady, skeptical eye on the snarky female disrupts them.
I mean…she obviously ain’t going anywhere without some assistance.
And I’m the one here for that assistance.
But…there’s something about the way her eyes seem to always be watching her surroundings as if waiting for someone to pop out unexpectedly, not to mention how intensely she studied me every second I was in her line of sight.
Who the fuck does she think I am?
Or work for?
An annoyed groan escapes as I tuck my tablet into my possession.
No.
I don’t need those answers.
I don’t need her shit.
I need her gone, an ice-cold beer, and a long hot shower.
Pulling up the paperwork during the walk back to her allows me to keep the situation from stalling a second time. The instant I’m back in front of her window, I state, “Need a name.”
“Cash.”
“Mrs. Ripley it is.” Not smirking at her scoff is almost impossible. “This is your total for a hook up and tow to the nearest shop. Round up to the next dollar. I don’t have change.” Showing her the screen precedes me extending her the device. “Pay. Sign. Date.”
To my surprise, she completes the steps without hesitation.
“You want a copy of your receipt?” I ask at the same time I tuck the cash in my back pocket. This time the sarcastic glare successfully sparks a small smirk. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” After securing my hold on the tablet, I command, “Get out and go wait in my truck.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“What?”
“I don’t wanna ride in your truck.” The pen in her possession begins writing something on the inside of her thumb. “I wanna stay right where I am.”
“You don’t get out, I don’t tow.”
Her eyebrows immediately shift upward in question.
“I don’t tow…then your sweet tits are left here to take your chances at being a hitchhiker or a Happy Meal for the vultures.” Seeing her gaze narrow to tight slits convinces me to add. “And since you already paid me for the tow, you’d be double fucked.” There’s no resisting the wolfish grin that grows in place. “Is that shit you’re into?”
Suddenly, the woman forcefully opens the door, nailing me in the shin. Grumbles of pain are poorly swallowed prior to her announcing, “Next time I hit you in the nuts.”
Stepping back allows her the space to snatch up her bag, step out of her vehicle, and stomp over to my flatbed with my stare glued to every sway of her ass that’s being showcased in her red, skintight cheer shorts.
I need to be hit in the dick.
And the head.
Repeatedly.
Because towing this much trouble straight into the heart of our town versus out has to be the stupidest shit I’ve ever done in my entire fucking life.