“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
With a smirk and a head shake, she responded, “Oh, nothing. It’s just that those Triple T boys get a little overzealous when it comes to the ladies in their life.”
“Triple T boys?” I asked.
She lifted her hand and raised three fingers one at a time while ticking off the names, “Tango, Tito, Tucker.”
Charlie laughed. “Corny.”
Slade shrugged. “I know. Corny. But cute. And accurate.” She challenged me to argue with a raised eyebrow.
I wasted no time reminding her, “I’m not his lady.”
“You’re not?” She smirked.
“No. I hardly know him.”
Slade stared down at me wearing a crooked smile like she knew a secret and wanted to share, or like she was waiting for the lightbulb over my head to blink because I’d just realized the solution to a major life crisis.
I huffed, done with the conversation, and, more accurately, not willing to admit I was giddy over the fact that Tito had possibly defended my honor.
Maybe he liked me.
Or maybe that’s how he was built.
He would’ve done the same for Slade or Margie.
I made my way back to the dining room. Back to work. Waitress mode: on. Pathetic girl with a crush mode: off.
The drunk bunch had left three stacks of money on the table.
I felt the weight of Tito’s stare as I shoved the folded bills into my apron. The tip had to be close to a hundred dollars. For a table I hadn’t even served. I wondered what he’d said to scare them off. Shameful, really, how much the gesture thrilled me.
I avoided Tito for as long as I could, ten minutes at least.
When I approached to clear his table, he turned his head to stare out the window. Only, when I followed his gaze, he wasn’t staring out the window at all. He was looking at me through the reflection in the glass. Our eyes met, he looked away, and I pretended the exchange hadn’t happened.
I didn’t ask if he was done eating. I didn’t ask if he wanted a drink refill. I didn’t ask if he wanted the bill. I mumbled, “Thank you,” trusting he knew what the gratitude was for, and carried his dishes to the kitchen.
When I returned, he was gone.
When my shift ended, he was outside, waiting for me.
I waited outside for Tuuli. Grateful for the cool air and dark sky. Gave me room to think and time to clear the shit in my head. I’d tried to go home. I had. Only, I couldn’t, in good conscience, sit in my safe apartment, while Tuuli rode the bus, surrounded by God knows what kind of riffraff.
I tried to talk myself out of waiting for her. Then I realized I was going to hell anyway, so what difference would it make if I committed a few more sins? I’d pulled my car around back, where I knew she’d exit, and I waited.
Fuck. She was still a kid. Every time she was near, I struggled to keep my hands off, reminded myself she was off limits. Yet, I woke every morning anxious to see her face, aching to hear that sweet, soft voice.
The back door opened. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. She came outside, turned, and locked the door. Charlie would be inside closing up the place, and it irritated me that he hadn’t come out to see her safely to the bus stop.
Then again, maybe Charlie didn’t know she took the bus. I only knew because I’d obsessively watched since the night Tango had carried her out of the bloody motel room where I’d killed the last surviving member of the Markovic Cartel. The night she had tried to defend Aida from Rafael Turner, a man twice her size, putting her own life on the line.
I’d have a talk with Charlie. Tomorrow.
For the time being, I would see her safely home.
Tuuli searched for something in her purse and hadn’t noticed my car yet. I opened the door and stepped into the cold night air, blowing a low whistle to catch her attention.
The timid little bunny looked up, and swear to Christ, when she smiled, my knees buckled. Thank fuck I’d stayed behind my door.
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
Whatever she’d been looking for was forgotten and she made her way to my car. I jogged around to the passenger door and pulled it open.
When her breast brushed against my arm, I damn near groaned out loud. She was a baby, making me nothing more than a pedo pervert. Fuck.
Under Voltolini’s command, I had tortured, dismembered, and disposed of pedophiles. I’d agreed to help Tucker and Aida take more of them down. Yet there I sat, pining over a child myself.
I had to shake this kid.
And I would. After I saw her safely home.
I turned up the heat and the stereo and made my way out of The Truck Stop parking lot. Tiamat’s “Love in Chains” belted through the speakers and I chuckled. Fitting.
Tuuli turned, eyes bright. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Which way am I going?” I asked, pausing at the intersection.
“1415 Apricot Lane.”
I turned the volume up a notch, discouraging conversation, and drove into the night toward Tuuli’s home, where I would drop her off, then head to a local bar and drink her out of my system.
When I pulled in front of her house, she twisted in her seat to face me, turned the volume down, and stared at me long and hard.
Damn, how I wanted to stare back, get lost in those wild blue eyes, let her see the real me. Instead, I said, “What?”
My guts twisted at the hurt on her face. Her brows drew tight before she dropped her gaze to the console between us. Good. I couldn’t let her see how she affected me.
“Nothing,” she mumbled. “Um. I just…” She shook her head and reached for the door handle. “Thank you. That’s all.” She slipped out, closed the door, and ran to the gate leading to the house. With one hand on the picket fence, she glanced at me over her shoulder.
I hated being the reason for that sad expression. Hated myself for wanting to be the reason for her smile. So, I drove away before seeing her safely inside. I drove away before getting out of the car and acting on my urges.
EVERY NIGHT FOR A week straight, Tito came for dinner at The Stop right before closing time. He would wait in his booth for my shift to end, offer to drive me home, and refuse to take no for an answer.
I didn’t understand why, but I didn’t question his motives, either. I liked that he drove me home. I appreciated that he never invited himself inside. Not that I would’ve allowed him in, but I liked that he didn’t ask. Because if he asked, I would have to say no, even though I wanted to say yes. I wanted to ask him in so badly my chest ached.
I couldn’t invite him in because the house on Apricot Lane was not actually my home.
One week had passed. One week of warm rides in a hot car next to a ridiculously hot guy, rather than long walks home, alone, with no coat.
Sunday had come too soon, but not soon enough. I sat in my usual spot in the same pew I always occupied. I straightened the hem of my skirt and admired the silky sage and pink print. I usually wore my work uniform to church, seeing as I had to head straight to The Stop after the service ended. But I’d been given a rare Sunday off, and I took advantage, wearing my new dress and heels. I’d even taken time to put on mascara, blush, and lip gloss.
The worship band played their last song, a gritty rock version of “Amazing Grace,” and Pastor Davies gave his benediction. For some reason, the guilt that usually accompanied his sendoff didn’t settle on me as it had in the past. For some reason, I didn’t feel the need to rush out ahead of everyone else. Maybe because leaving meant going home alone, which meant hanging up my new clothes and most likely not having an occasion to wear them again for a long time.
When I made my way outdoors, I stopped at the top of the stairs and raised my face to the sun. Warm tingles danced across my cheeks. The sky was clear save a few puffs of white. The breeze had a chilly bite to it, but all in all, I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day. Spring was coming. I loved spring.
I started down the steps and nearly tripped over my feet when I saw the tall figure across the street leaning against a tree. Black shoes, black running pants, black sweatshirt. He had one foot propped against the bark, both hands tucked in his pocket.
His face wasn’t hidden. He’d been waiting. Watching.
For me.
I was so thankful for my new dress.
Tito didn’t smile. His slow perusal up and down the small stretch of my body, however, seemed to express that he liked my outfit, too. His gaze landed on my face. His chest rose and fell. He looked away. Shook his head. Pushed off the tree and jogged across the street, stopping at the sidewalk.
I met him where he stood. “Hi.”
He looked over my shoulder, then jerked his chin toward the church. “Why?”
I waited for him to say more. He didn’t.
“Why do I come to church?” I asked, confused.
Tito nodded.
“I don’t know. I like it. I’m happy when I’m here.”
“That the only reason?”
Oddly, I was compelled to speak from the heart rather than cower at his sharp tone.
I started toward the bus stop. “Here, I’m reminded that I’m loved. That I have a Father who loves me. I’m reminded that life isn’t about me.” I sucked in a breath and stopped, turning to face him. “I come to church because I’m learning that no matter my past, no matter my sins, how big or small, I’m forgiven, and in God’s eyes at least, I’m clean. There’s hope for a better life, for a better me.”
“Sins?”
“Yeah.” I started walking again, taking it slow, because the heels, regardless of their price tag, were doing a number on my feet. “I have a past I’m not proud of.”
“You’re just a kid. How many sins could you have racked up?”
And there it was—a kid. I laughed, despite the claws tearing my heart to shreds. Of course, Tito saw me as a child. Everyone did, why wouldn’t he? I was small and slight, with a personality to match. “I’m twenty. Not a kid.”
“Wait.” Tito stepped back and scrubbed a hand over his head. “You’re twenty?”
I nodded. “I know, I look young. Nobody takes me seriously, everybody talks down to me. What’s worse? Even when I was a child, I wasn’t allowed to be.”
It hurt, knowing he thought me young and naive. It hurt enough that I felt that familiar ache in my muscles, the ache that hits right before an ugly cry. “Listen, um…I gotta go.” I stepped out of my shoes, scooped them off the ground, and took off, shouting over my shoulder, “I don’t want to miss my bus.” I ran toward the bus stop. Away from Tito. Away from the emotions he evoked.
“Wait.” He caught me halfway to my destination. I was out of breath. Tito wasn’t. He was, however, breathing heavy, from anger, judging by the burn of his glare and the tight grip of his fingers around my bicep. “Jesus Christ, Tuuli. Why the hell are you running from me?”
“I don’t want to miss my bus,” I mumbled, telling half the truth. Mostly, I ran because I didn’t want him to see me cry. Ashamed, I looked to the ground. My feet were small compared to Tito’s. They were also cold and dirty from running barefoot. Great. I ruined my pedicure.
“Look at me,” he ordered, ducking his head to catch my gaze. “Look at me, please.”
I raised my chin then my eyes to meet his, which were crinkled with worry.
“What’d I say?” he asked, voice soft, controlled.
There was hope in his haunted eyes. Beauty in his scarred face. A soft glow hidden behind the dark mask he wore. A warmth I longed to bask in.
“Why’d you run?” he repeated.
The familiar roar of the bus’s engine grew louder behind me. I was out of time, and dear Lord, I was out of my mind, with want, and fear, and unbearable urges. The rap, rap, rap in my chest beat like a final countdown, and I feared if I didn’t act, didn’t do something, I would cease to be, disappear like a fading apparition.
I dropped my shoes, gripped the sides of his hood, and pushed up on my toes, pressing my lips to the rough stubble surrounding his mouth.
I pulled away, then kissed him again.
“I like you, Tito,” I whispered before scooping my shoes off the ground and sprinting to catch the bus.
Without looking back, I found a seat, tucked my feet under my rear, closed my eyes, and pressed a trembling finger to my lips. He hadn’t kissed me back. Not really. But he hadn’t pulled away either. Funny thing was, his response didn’t matter. I had taken the initiative. Acted on impulse. Conquered fear. I had kissed a man who was dark and dirty, and the earth hadn’t opened up and swallowed me whole.
Father had been wrong.
Daddy Dearest had lied about so many things.
Adrenaline could be to blame, or perhaps the lingering tingle of his stubble on my skin, but the slow burn I suffered every time Tito was near exploded into a full-blown blaze.
Didn’t matter that he thought me a child. Didn’t matter that I’d been lying to him. Didn’t matter that we were polar opposites. I stole a taste, a kiss.
I wanted more.
I wanted more. I wanted more. Fuck me; I wanted more. She wasn’t a kid. She was legal. I sure as hell didn’t deserve that bit of good news, but I’d take it.
The timid little bunny—of legal age—came out of her hole and kissed the scary beast. A fissure in my tight chest opened wide, releasing pressure, filling me with pride, or hope, or fuck, I hadn’t a clue. She’d kissed me. I’d let her. Without reciprocation. Kissing her back would’ve soiled the beauty of the act, her act, hers to own because I could see in her frightened gaze that it took courage for her to press her lips to mine, to speak those words: I like you.
I absorbed the sweet innocence of her kiss, but more so, her confession. She liked me. I couldn’t fathom why. I wasn’t sure why I liked her, too. But I did, or I wouldn’t have been standing outside the church like a crazy stalker waiting to see her. I wouldn’t have chased her to the bus stop, or climbed in after her, or parked my ass in the seat next to hers.
I needed more Tuuli more than I needed to breathe.
She’d yet to notice that I’d followed, and I watched, silent, while she closed her eyes, touched her pink lips, and smiled. Tuuli stayed that way, lolling her head to the side to rest on the window.
When I could no longer stand the silence, I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Tuuli’s eyes met mine, wide and blue, giving the sky one hell of a run for its money. The surprise on her face faded to relief. “For what?” she whispered back.
“For upsetting you.”
She shook her head as if she couldn’t process my words. “What are you doing here?”
Stalking you. I sunk deeper into my seat. “I’m hungry. Thought I’d head downtown for a bite. Was hoping you’d join me.”
A small smirk played on her face. “This bus doesn’t head downtown, Tito.”
“Oh.” I scratched my temple and dropped my chin to my chest. Smooth one.
“But if we get off two stops down, we can walk,” she said, offering the pathetic dog a bone.
“Good. Yeah. We can walk.”
The bus reeked of body odor, exhaust, and cheap vinyl. The ride was loud, bumpy, and I’d counted three unsavory characters when I’d entered. I decided then that Tuuli would never ride the bus again.
“Why don’t you have a car?”
Rolling her head to look at me, she sighed and said, “I do. Or, I did, but it’s back in Rockypoint. Where it will stay.”
I waited for an explanation. She studied me for a moment before shaking her thoughts away and saying, “It’s a long story. I’ll get a new one soon. Saving up. Almost there.”
Rockypoint was a small town, about an hour north of Whisper Springs. I wanted to probe. I refrained. Her story. Her timeline. I assumed that, like me, there were things she needed to keep private, and she had damn good reasons for needing to do so. So, I didn’t pry.
Before the bus screeched
to a halt, Tuuli slipped her feet back into her nude-colored heels. Shamefully, I watched, admiring the arches of her small feet, the smooth curve of her calves. Her skin was pale, but flawless, like rare, opulent china. My fingers were rough and worn, but damn if I didn’t want to drag them up the length of her legs anyway.
I licked the dryness from my lips, smiling when I tasted the remnants of her lip gloss.
“This is us.” Tuuli nudged me with her elbow and pushed to stand.
I followed her off the bus and into the fresh air. We headed toward downtown Whisper Springs, the small, yet slowly expanding city nestled on the rim of Lake Willow.
My uncle owned most of the city, from real estate, to media, to hospitality and entertainment venues. Carlos Rossi was the king of Whisper Springs, making my cousin, Tango, the prince and heir. As a kid, I had stayed with my cousin every summer. Defiled three of my aunt’s dance students in Lakeside Park, and suffered my first broken arm thanks to a skiing accident on the very water we were heading toward.
“Where should we eat?” Tuuli asked, bumping my shoulder while she avoided a deep crack in the cement.
“Somewhere close. You’re not wearing a coat again.”
“I’m fine,” she said, her body tightening against a shiver.
Jesus, what did the girl have against outerwear?
“Here,” I said, pulling my sweatshirt over my head.
Tuuli stopped in her tracks. “Really, I’m fine.”
I held my hoodie toward her anyway.
“Listen. I don’t expect you to understand, but I haven’t bought myself anything new in a long time.” She looked down and smoothed her hands over the fabric at her waist. “I’ll probably never get to wear this again. It feels good to dress up, and I don’t want to cover up with a coat. I might sound stupid and immature, but I need to enjoy feeling pretty for one day.”
God, she had no clue how gorgeous she was, make-up or not, dress or not. Another personality trait I found attractive. I tugged my sweatshirt back on. Tuuli watched, smiled, and whispered, “Thank you.”
“You’re pretty every day, Bunny,” I said, then tucked her under my arm.
Truck Stop Tempest Page 4