Chapter 8 #2
Ignoring the traitorous butterflies in my stomach, I pull my feet up onto the truck bed and survey the damage to my jumpsuit.
The bottom few inches are stained brown from the muddy water, and there’s still mud caked on in some spots. Shuffling to the front of the truck bed, I peek through the cab’s rear window into the back seat and see a gym bag. Perfect.
Going back to the tailgate, I jump down and round the truck on the driver’s side, which oh so conveniently isn’t as wet and muddy as my side of the truck was. That prick.
I manage to find enough dry clumps of grass to make it to the door unscathed, and grab the gym bag from the back seat and rummage through it, finding a t-shirt and gym shorts. Putting them to my nose, I take a quick sniff, and am relieved when they smell like laundry detergent.
I may not want to wear my wet and muddy jumpsuit, but I would have wanted to wear Blake’s sweaty gym clothes even less.
Taking a quick scan of the area, I make sure Blake is nowhere in sight, then strip out of my ruined clothes and throw his gym clothes on. The t-shirt swallows me whole, hanging down to mid thigh, and his gym shorts fall past my knees. I look ridiculous, but at least I’m not damp or muddy anymore.
He has sneakers in the bag, but just looking at them, I can tell they are way too big for me. I steal his socks instead so that I at least have something to cover my feet when I inevitably have to make the walk of shame from his truck.
Satisfied this is as good as it’s going to get, I throw the gym bag back into the rear seat, then climb into the driver’s seat and scoot over to mine.
I’m guessing Blake will be gone for a while, since I can’t see the creek he’s supposedly looking for anywhere, and what better way to waste the time than to snoop a little?
I open his glove box and damn near snort when I see a box of condoms.
What does he get up to in this truck?
At least he has leather seats, so they’re easy to clean.
Tossing the box of condoms onto the dash so they’re out of the way, I rummage through the rest of the glove box.
There’s an owner’s manual for the truck, his registration, some random tiny light bulbs, a Visa gift card that I’m half tempted to slip into my bag as payment for my heels, but ultimately nothing interesting.
I turn to the center console next, lifting the lid on the small storage compartment. Sunglasses. Mints. A mini tool kit—though, why he needs that when he has an entire tool chest in the truck bed is beyond me. Earplugs. Safety glasses. Some kind of leather work gloves. And… a photo?
It’s a candid shot of Blake, Whitney, and a third man, who must be a relative. He looks an awful lot like Blake, but a bit bulkier with curlier hair, and his face has the telltale signs of long days spent in the sun. This must be his brother, the one Blake was talking to earlier about the land.
When I was preparing to come talk to Blake about bringing me onboard, I researched his brokerage and stumbled across a company called Frenshaw Construction. I’m assuming now that it’s his brother’s business, given the subdivision they want to build.
In the photo, the three of them are huddled around a table with half a dozen beer bottles in front of them, grinning and laughing.
It causes an ache in my chest seeing them all like that. I never had any siblings growing up. Perhaps that’s why Riley and I grew so close when we were little. We were all each other had, and now she’s thousands of miles away, starting a new life for herself in Utah.
I swat a stray tear from my cheek. I hate how lonely I feel without her. After she left for Utah, I left West Virginia and moved out here in search of my own life. I’d give anything for our paths to have sent us to the same place, because I miss the fuck out of that girl.
I’d never burden her with that knowledge, though. She needs to figure out what she wants, and I’m so damn proud of her for taking a chance and setting out on her own.
After another quick glance, I carefully place the picture back into the storage space, then pile everything else back in as close to how I found it as possible.
I’ve just snapped the top shut when the driver’s side door opens and Blake climbs in.
Even with all the windows open, I hadn’t heard him approach.
He looks over at me, his eyes alight with amusement. “Planning something?”
“What? No?” I scrunch my nose at him, confused.
His eyes track down to my chest, and he smirks. “You sure?”
I look down to see my nipples are hard and clearly visible in his gym shirt. Mortified, I cross my arms over my chest. “I got chilled from my damp jumpsuit,” I say lamely. It may be July and hot as hell, but I can’t help that I run cold.
“Yeah? And what about those?” He motions his head toward the dash.
I look to where he indicates, only to see the box of condoms still sitting out in the open.
Oh, my god.
My face becomes hot, and I briefly wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment. If so, now would be a really good time for it to happen.
He leans across the center console and brushes my ponytail behind my shoulder. “If you wanted more than a foot rub, all you had to do was ask.”
My hands press into his shoulders, pushing him back to his side of the truck. “For your information, I was snooping and forgot I took them out. It had nothing to do with you.”
“Mmmm,” he hums, and the deep timbre of his voice has my damn nipples hardening even more. “You sure?”
“Positive.” I put as much firmness in my voice as I can. “Trust me, you’re not my type.”
He leans across the center console again, bringing his face close to mine. His breath is hot against my skin, and when his hand finds the back of my neck, tingles run down my spine.
I don’t stop him as his lips move to my neck, just barely ghosting over my skin. Not enough to fully feel them, but enough to send my heart racing. My head involuntarily tilts to the side, making space for him.
“So, this has no effect on you at all?” he purrs.
“None,” I breathe, even as my eyes close shut in anticipation.
He runs his nose up the length of my neck, pausing when he gets to my ear. He kisses me there, softly, his tongue darting out for just a second.
“You sure?” he asks, still close enough to feel the movement of his lips grazing my flesh as he speaks.
My breath catches and my back arches, pressing my nipples out further. “Yes,” I whisper.
He kisses me again, and I want more. I want his mouth fully on me. I want my tongue tangling with his. I want his big, rough hands on my body, on my chest, between my legs.
“Then you won’t mind me stopping there.” He pulls away abruptly.
My stomach sinks, and I open my eyes to find him back in his seat with a smug look on his face.
“Did I just find another way to rattle you, Trace?” he asks, calling me by the nickname only Riley uses.
Anger floods my system for being played like this, for letting him get to me so easily. For letting my body respond to him the way it did. But it’s quickly extinguished when I look down and see the bulge in his pants, his impressive size evident even through his jeans.
I quirk a brow at him and nod toward his crotch. “I can’t be rattled by something that’s yet to prove itself. But I doubt you’ll ever get that opportunity.”
The smirk falls from his face and his eyes blaze as he starts the truck. “Fucking pain in the ass,” he mutters under his breath.