Chapter 11 #2
“I can try.” I don’t know as much about trucks as I should.
Anson’s helped with the small stuff, and his brother, Bo, took over their father’s shop and handles anything catastrophic.
I can check my oil and change a tire. Jump a dead battery in a pinch.
But beyond that, I leave it to the experts.
I feel around for where I think I might find a fuse box but fail.
“What does it look like?” I glance back over my shoulder and see where Anson’s eye is caught on something on the console. He looks startled when he hears my voice and moves his elbow to sweep the papers onto the floorboards.
“What was that?” I narrow my gaze.
“What was what?” He tries and fails to straighten his face, feigning innocence.
“Whatever it was you were looking at and then knocked to the floor so I wouldn’t see.”
“I don’t think I knocked anything to the floor. Did I?” He sets the fuses down and makes a show of looking at the floorboards.
I sit up, forgetting our circumstances and need to get off this mountain, too curious about what would make him lie.
“That. Right there.” I point to the small card that’s on the floor.
I tilt my head as I look at it and see the silhouette of a naked woman, leaning back against the floor with a foot kicked up in the air.
I recognize the logo, and my stomach turns.
There’s handwriting on it. “Let me see it.” I hold my hand out for the card, and he still hesitates.
“I’m not gonna let this go, so we might as well get it over with. ”
He finally relents, bending down to pick it up and handing it to me. The handwriting looks feminine with swirls and hearts over the i’s. There’s a half-smudged lipstick kiss in the corner. It’s so cliché it would be hilarious if it wasn’t confirming a long-held suspicion of mine.
Chris—come see me again in the fall. We can fuck on the truck instead of in it next time.
XOXO TA
My hand shakes as I read it. Anger and frustration boil under the surface and threaten to make my tears gain steam again.
The humiliation burns hot on my skin. It was the strip club one of the MCs owned in the town Chris visited.
The one he claimed he didn’t know existed.
Even though there were photos on his friends’ social media that blatantly showed him in the background.
“I should have gone to the beach.” I toss the card back to the floor where it belongs.
“Won’t argue with that.” Anson’s eyes fall to the paper and then back to me; he looks like he’s about to say something when he changes course back to the problem at hand.
The hail, which I’ve all but forgotten, is finally starting to let up, but the rain is still pounding down on the truck as the wind whips around us. “Here. Let me see if I can find it.”
Anson scoots to the middle of the bench, our legs almost brushing, and I shift to the side, pressing against the door of the truck to give him space as he bends down over my lap to feel for the fuse.
His body weight presses against my thighs, and I can feel his chest rise and fall with the effort of finding the panel.
I should have gone to the beach, and I should have slept with Anson back then.
I should have listened to Hazel. Instead, I stayed with a man who’d rather go running around fucking random people he met on the road. In his precious truck, no less.
I hear a grunt of approval as Anson finds the panel he was looking for, but he struggles to manipulate it with his wrapped hand.
He pulls back up, and I mourn the loss of the heat of his body against mine.
I’m still freezing from how cold the rain was outside, and the heater in the car hasn’t helped to take much of the chill off.
He moves to unwrap it, and I put my hand over his to still him.
“I’ve got it. Just let me have it. I can get it.” I hold my hand out for the fuse, and he drops it into my palm.
“Should be the one right there.” He points to the one he wants me to switch, and I nod. As I work to free the old one and slip the new one back in, my bare thigh brushes against his jeans, and the close quarters remind me of the one time Chris and I made out in this truck.
“You know the worst part?” I start oversharing before I can stop myself as I work the new fuse in and then go to close the panel.
Anson listens—a captive party to my rant.
“The one time I tried to make out with Chris in this piece of shit, he stopped me midway through shimmying out of my clothes and told me we needed to go home. That he didn’t want to mess up the leather on the seats by scratching it with his belt or my jewelry and then fretted about what we could do to the finish.
He was so obsessed with keeping his car and bike in perfect condition.
I always wondered if he loved them more than me.
Now I know he did.” I glance back down at the card on the floor as I throw my weight back against the bench in a huff and turn on the windshield wipers.
They work now. Thank God. Because the look Anson is giving me currently makes me want to race down the mountain.
It’s a mix of pity and worry written all over him, something I can’t stand to see at the moment.
“I should have decked him when I had the chance.”
“What do you mean?” My eyes snap to his.
“He threatened me that week. That if I went through with going with you to the beach, he’d make sure I could never go again. Or some bullshit like that. Tuned him out halfway through.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t want to give his threats any air to breathe. He was boasting in front of a bunch of his guys at the bar. Trying to look like a hard-ass. I would have dealt with it if he’d actually tried anything.”
“I’m sorry he did that. He’s a child.”
“You don’t need to apologize for him. The only thing you’re guilty of is giving him more chances than he deserved.”
“Should I apologize for his truck, then? For ruining everything tonight.” I sigh.
“What’s wrong with tonight?”
“You’re hurt. We got stuck in this storm. Guess it proves your point about this being a bad spot for the hayride, but it’s not much of a consolation when you’re cut up and soaked.” I frown as I look at his hand again.
“I don’t mind being stuck. Or soaked. Minus the fact it’s a little fucking cold.” He grins.
“The heater can’t keep up, I guess. It’s not a good sign for the winter. So you were right about that.” I frown at the dash and then look down at my dress. It’s still plastered to me. Drying slowly at the hem. “And about the dress not being great for the work.”
“Dress did fine with the hay. Just didn’t expect the rain. So we were both right, and I’m not exactly complaining about the view.” Anson’s eyes rake over my body and my stomach flutters at how brazen he is.
“Me either.” I roll my lip between my teeth as I give myself permission to stare at the man in front of me.
His shirt is just as plastered to his body as mine, and his jeans are practically painted on his thighs.
“Would be nice to be warmer. I can get us back now, I think.” I tear my eyes away and take the wheel, determined to drive down this hill and back across the ranch to the inn where Anson left his truck.
“I think we’d better wait another few minutes.” He glances out the windshield to where the rain’s still pounding away on the hood and lashing the glass with each gust of wind. “But you could come here.”
I look over at him to make sure I heard the invitation and didn’t imagine it. My skin feels hot and this cab seems to have shrunk in size in the last few minutes. But he leans back and pats his thigh like nothing is amiss.
“Come sit in my lap. So you don’t catch your death.”
“What about yours?”
“Well, this’ll take care of both of us. Because if I have to keep looking at you in that dress…” He clears his throat and lifts his eyes back to meet mine before he averts them completely.
I slide across the bench in slow motion until I’m within reach, and he wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me close.
My back is plastered against his side, and I already feel warmer with our proximity.
Whether it’s truly the body heat or me suddenly flushing with thoughts of wanting him is anyone’s guess.
“Better?” I ask.
“Better.” His voice is quieter when he answers, and he moves to let go of me, but I put my arm over his, sliding my palm down his forearm.
He tenses at first but then relaxes into my touch.
We sit in that familiar silence for a long moment before I notice how wet the seat is from where the rain pooled off of my body. Chris would hate it.
“So much for not getting the leather wet,” I muse. His head cranes to look in the same direction, and a rough laugh tumbles out of his chest.
“Fuck.” He shakes his head. “That’s not what I thought you meant.”
“Oh.” I laugh nervously, but I feel my stomach flip at the implication, and my heart beats half a second faster in my chest at the thought of what we could do in here.
Where his hands could wander. “No. Not what I meant,” I murmur.
Trying to tell myself we have to go slow.
Boundaries and expectations require plans, and tonight wasn’t planned.
“It should be though.” His thumb drifts up from my waist, skating over my sternum upward to where my neckline dips. “In this dress. With all the work you’ve put in. You deserve something for the trouble.”
“Now?” I ask because the last thing I want is to be confused about what he’s saying and take this too far. He leans down, closing what little gap is left between us and speaks.
“I can talk you through it. All you have to do is lift the hem of that dress.”
“You don’t want us to…” I let the words fade on my lips. Even now I’m nervous to say too much too soon.
“I don’t want to get between you and your revenge. I just want to be a part of it.”