Mr. McHunky (The Hotties of Saddle Creek #2)
Chapter 1
chapter
one
Emory
I’m sure I’ve been in worse situations and gotten out of them all by myself just fine, but at the moment, nothing comes to mind. I mean, at least I’m not in a bad part of town. At least I assume I’m not. I glance around the dark scenery surrounding me and it’s mostly just Texas countryside.
Okay, I can’t actually see anything because it’s dark and it’s raining in heavy sheets. I’ve already determined that Lola needs a tow. When your tire explodes in a blowout, that’s generally the only option unless you have a workable spare. Which I had until recently.
Long story.
In any case, I think I’m near some small Texas town in the hill country, Saddle something.
I’ve already gone live on my channel, BeyondEmoryBoards , to show my viewers what happens in the real world. I preach self-sufficiency as a woman and I live by it as well.
Of course, I had to learn to do that the hard way. Perhaps most women don’t have such situations that force them to grow up way too young and figure out how to make it in the world without a loving and supportive—anyone—standing behind them.
My channel actually started as just me doing make-up and hair tutorials. As a big girl, I’m a body positivity influencer, so showing how to make the most of a minimal wardrobe and make it flattering on a plus-size body is what I’m all about. But what makes me stand out is the fact that I also teach women they can be glamorous, pretty, feminine, and anything they want to be in addition to being a bad ass.
It’s mostly car maintenance that I do since I live in my restored VW van, Lola. Me and Rosie, she’s my Maltipoo, drive all around exploring the country—okay so far mostly just the south because I’m not so sure my roughing-it skills would cut it in the frozen north. Especially during winter.
I’m originally from Georgia. Some podunk town south of Atlanta that basically had a series of bait shops and pawn shops and an alarming number of bail bondsmen. So, as soon as I got Lola up and running, I hit the road and I’ve been doing it ever since.
It was a rough life initially since I didn’t have a consistent job. I’d work for a while in random towns and eventually my social media accounts caught the attention of some big sponsors and now I make more than enough to keep me and Rosie on the road and keep Lola working.
But she’s an old girl that I helped restore myself, so having breakdowns and needing parts and repairs are nothing new to me.
After standing out in the torrential downpour and getting soaked to the bone, I realized I couldn’t fix the tire and called for a local tow truck. So now I’m sitting on a pile of towels, waiting for the wrecker to appear.
I reach over and scratch Rosie between her ears. “We’ll get ourselves towed to an RV park where we can plug in for the night, then I’ll order the replacement tire. It’s unlikely I can get what we need out in the middle of nowhere. What do you think?”
She tilts her head, her big brown eyes full of adoration. Rosie has taught me everything I never knew about love. She loves me no matter what. And we have a deal; I feed and take care of her and she continues to be my partner in crime.
Lights shine in my rearview mirror, indicating an approaching vehicle. I tuck my wet, blonde locks behind my ears and hope I don’t look too much like a drowned rat.
The knock on my window scares the tar out of me despite the fact that I knew someone was coming up. Even in the dark and the rain I can tell the man is big and built.
He flips on a flashlight. The shaft of light is aimed downward so as not to blind me, but it does reveal the ridiculously hot man standing at my window. My first thought is: who the hell can look that hot wearing a standard yellow rain slicker?
Evidently Mr. Tow-Truck here can. Good grief. My eyes are wide and my mouth is probably agape as I catalog his features. I can only hope I’m not drooling.
I’m assuming he has dark hair, but only because of the dark scruff on his face. I can’t really see his hair because of the bright yellow hood. He’s got one of those model faces. You know the guys who are in cologne or watch ads and they have perfectly sculpted faces, pronounced cheekbones and an aquiline. He’s got a scar bisecting one brow and a tiny hoop through the other. Those brows frame a striking set of blue-green eyes with thick black lashes. He’s scowling and his lips are moving.
That seems to jar me out of my stupor.
I roll down the window. “Sorry. My brain must’ve melted in the rain. You the tow?”
He nods. “What’s the problem with the van?” His voice is husky and low.
“Blowout on the front right tire.”
He steps away from my window to walk to the front of my van. Clearly, not believing my own assessment.
“Did you see that, Rosie? He thinks he has to mansplain things to me. I know what I’m talking about,” I heckle the last thing out the window. The rain pelts me in the face.
He doesn’t say anything as he walks back past me and goes to his truck to drive it around to my front.
I grab a ball cap from the passenger seat and cram it on my head. At least it’ll keep the rain out of my eyes.
He’s back outside already getting the front of Lola hooked up. I open the door and hop down, marching myself up beside him.
“I know what a blowout is, “ I say.
He glances at me, then nods to his truck. “Get in the truck.”
I glare at him. “I can ride in Lola during the tow. This is a flatbed truck.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake. Look lady, it’s raining, unless you hadn’t noticed.” He gestures to the sky. “You can’t ride in your vehicle during a tow. It’s against our policy. Now get your pretty ass in the truck. So I can finish and get out of this damn monsoon.”
There’s a sharp bark and Rosie bolts past me and jumps up into the opened tow truck door.
“Rosie, no,” I say, running after her. I swear I hear the hot grump behind me chuckle. Jerk . It’s not until I’m seated in the passenger side of the tow truck holding my wet dog that I realize the man said ‘pretty ass’ not just ‘ass.’
I’m not sure why that matters or why my head is pointing out the distinction. It was likely a slip of the tongue.
The confines of the truck are clean and tidy. The scent of yummy man surrounds me. Probably his cologne or even his soap. Men’s products always smell better than women’s. Why do the people in charge of making soaps and whatnot for ladies insist on us smelling like a field of flowers?
The door opens and once he’s inside with the door closed, he pulls off his wet raincoat and tosses it into the narrow space behind the bench seat.
I’m met with muscular arms covered in ink. I try not to stare, but he’s wearing a black tank, so his shoulders and full arms are bare. I’ve always had a thing for men’s shoulders and necks.
This one is rude, but he sure is pretty.
“I need to go to the nearest campsite where I can plug in for the night,” I say.
He doesn’t even bother looking at me. “Have to pick up my sister first.”