Truck Stop Tryst

by Daniels, Krissy

  Rocky’s hands pressed against my butt, holding me in place. “You promised. You can’t break a promise.” He pushed, inching me back to my place behind Tucker. “It’s only the Ferris wheel.”

  “Fine.” I threw up my hands in protest. “But this is it. Then you can ride all the creaky metal death traps you want. I’m going back to look at the sweet little bunnies and baby pigs.”

  Tucker chuckled in front of me, his shoulders bobbing. If Rocky hadn’t secured a tight hold on my pinky finger, I would’ve swatted his uncle in the back of the head.

  Like the gentleman he was, when our turn came, Tucker helped me into the seat, then stepped to the side, smiling wide, having way too much fun at my expense. Rocky settled next to me. The young man manning the controls, who couldn’t have been older than seventeen—which was way too young in my opinion to be operating the giant wheel—slammed the metal bar into place.

  The wheel creaked and lurched, pulling us forward, then stopped to load more passengers. The process was slow, and my stomach dropped lower in my abdomen with every ascent and pause. Rocky rattled on and on about his roller coaster ride with Tucker, all the while wiggling in his seat, rocking the tin contraption. I white-knuckled the bar and pretended I could hear what the little munchkin was saying.

  By the time we’d reached the top, I’d relaxed enough to enjoy my surroundings. The view simply took my breath away. Past the fairgrounds and highways, I had a clear perspective of the vast mountain ranges surrounding us. I’d never felt so small and insignificant in my life.

  When I found the courage to look down, I found Tucker immediately. He blended well with the general population—jeans, boots, and plaid flannel, but he didn’t get lost in the crowd. His stature, his brilliant smile, his aura, they parted the crowd, and every person around him seemed to fade and blur into the background.

  By the time the ride was over, my cheeks hurt from smiling.

  Hours later, after we’d shuffled through throngs of people to find a seat on the worn wooden bleachers of the stadium, I watched my first rodeo. I had also sampled my first corn dog, elephant ear, and buffalo burger.

  And for the first time, and I prayed to God it would be my last, I used a porta-potty.

  An hour after the sun had set, Rocky finally, finally, ran out of steam. With his nephew on his shoulders, Tucker held my hand and helped me navigate the terrain of the dark parking lot, leading us safely back to his Jeep.

  I opened my door and was about to climb in, as Tucker buckled the sleepy boy into his car seat. I watched in awe, jealous of the ease in which he accomplished such common tasks. I knew nothing about taking care of another human being. I hadn’t considered car seats, diaper bags, cribs, or strollers. I hadn’t considered doctor’s appointments, or maternity clothes, bottles, or bedtime stories.

  From the moment I had discovered I’d be a mother, I had not put any thought or planning into anything other than revenge. After that, I had been sent away, and then my thoughts were consumed with returning home to Dad, the man who took care of everything, or at least had a staff that would take care of everything. I was screwed. I was jobless, pregnant, without a home, without my only parent, and one hundred percent without a fucking clue.

  “Hey. Whoa. Aida. What is it?” Tucker’s thick arms closed around me, tucking me against his dusty shirt.

  Oh, crap. Tears. Out of nowhere. I was not a crybaby. I hated seeing women cry. Yet, there I was, bawling into Tucker’s chest.

  Without questioning, hushing, or giving me the good old, there, there, he held me tight and let me leak my unchecked emotions. When I peeled my face off his chest, he reached into his glovebox and pulled out a mini box of tissues, then proceeded to dab my face and wipe my nose.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He helped me into my seat. “I remember my first fair like it was yesterday. I cried when it was time to leave, too. It’s a lot to take in—the cows, the sheep, the quilts, and giant squash. Overwhelming for a newbie.” He winked before closing my door.

  When we pulled out of the fairgrounds and hit the highway, I turned around to look at Rocky. His neck was bent in an awkward position, his jaw slack, and drool glistened on his chin. So sweet and innocent in his sleep. So vulnerable.

  “I’m scared,” I confessed, settling into my seat. “Okay, not scared. Terrified.”

  Tucker shot me a curious glance.

  “I don’t know anything about taking care of a child. I don’t have a nurturing bone in my body. I’m going to ruin this kid.”

  “You’ll do fine. I’ve seen you with Rocky. He adores you.”

  “You don’t understand. I’ve never held a baby. I don’t know how to change a diaper. And breastfeeding?” A shiver ran through me. “Ouch and eww.”

  “Where is Rafael now?” he asked without a lick of judgment in his tone.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. Dad handled the situation.”

  “But he’s the father of your child. That has to count for something.”

  “It should, you’re right. But he’s gone now.”

  “Did you love him?”

  The air we shared seemed to thicken. “Does it matter?”

  “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

  “I’m an open book, Cowboy,” I said, throwing his words back at him. “What you see is what you get.”

  Falling in love was a fool’s luxury. Loving someone meant trusting them. Trust in another human being was a crap shoot. I’d trusted a handful of men in my lifetime. My father, because trusting Dad meant survival. Tango, who had never lied to me, even when the truth hurt like hell. And Tito, who, from the time we could speak, had helped me lie my way out of countless sticky situations, most of which he had helped me get into in the first place.

  Was Tucker trustworthy? I studied his profile. Strong jaw, the straight blade of his nose, a full mouth that curled up in one corner in a devilish semi-smirk, like he knew the world’s best secret and couldn’t wait to tell everyone.

  Good manners.

  Great with kids.

  Killer right hook.

  Too good to be true.

  I knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving. Yeah, he seemed trustworthy enough, but Tucker Slade was hiding something dark behind that country boy facade.

  I knew it in my bones.

  Damn if that knowledge wasn’t giving me a lady-boner.

  Damn, I couldn’t wait to get home and take care of my boner. I carried Rocky into the house and handed the little tyke off to his dad like a hot potato. Waving over my shoulder, I let myself out, jogged down the porch steps, and headed to my car.

  Much to my surprise, Aida had waited, arms crossed, hip propped against my Jeep. With her dark makeup, black sweater, leggings, and moto boots, the girl looked one hundred percent kick-ass-and-take-names-later trouble.

  Thank fuck it was dark. Thank double-fuck my jacket covered my crotch.

  “Hey,” she said as I approached, flashing those enormous, liquid chocolate eyes up at me.

  “Everything all right?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I just wanted to say thanks.” She pushed off my car and stepped closer.

  “So, you had fun, despite the dirt.” I brushed a smudge of dust off her cheek with my thumb.

  Her head tilted into my touch. “Dirty isn’t so bad.”

  Not yet ready to lose the skin to skin connection, I rubbed at another smear that wasn’t there. “Everyone needs to get dirty occasionally.”

  Aida closed her eyes and stepped away. “Want to come down for a drink, or a shower maybe?”

  God, how I wanted to say yes. “I can’t tonight.” I followed her to the back of the house and down the cement steps to her door. “Maybe next time?”

  “Sure.” She shoved her key into the lock.

  I fought the urge to brush her hair to the side and plant a kiss on her neck. Instead, I adjusted my swelling cock and said, “
I’m glad you came with us.”

  “I really did have fun.” Aida turned and lifted on her toes, landing a kiss on my cheek. “Don’t get to do that very often. Have fun, I mean.”

  Fuck. That was sweet. “Now, why did you have to go and do a thing like that?”

  “Like what?” she asked with a grin full of sin and mockery.

  Little vixen knew exactly what she was doing. “Get close. Press those breasts against me. Tease me with those lips. You’re making it awful hard for me to turn around and walk away.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Friends, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” She turned back around and opened the door before looking over her shoulder and making a tsk sound. “Damn. Whose idea was that again?”

  “Goodnight, Aida. Make sure you lock the door.”

  “Night, Tuck.”

  I listened for the lock to click, then made my way home.

  One hot shower later, my cock got his much-needed relief. After washing the fairground grime from my body, I stood naked in front of my bedroom mirror and forced myself to look at the scars on my abdomen.

  Sure, they were grotesque, jagged reminders of the wreck I’d survived. But it was what they represented, the internal damage, that left me undesirable. I traced the blemish that led up my shaft, the skin that was stretched, and pocked … and ugly. So damn ugly.

  What girl would want to fuck this? Certainly not a woman like Aida Voltolini. Not that it mattered. She would return to New York soon. I’d be nothing but a pleasant memory. Even if she wasn’t repulsed by my defect, a big city girl could never settle into the small-town life. It wasn’t in the stars for us. But damn, when I was with her, I felt bigger than the universe.

  I settled into bed and stared through the darkness at nothing.

  Funny. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t wait to have my king-size back. Tonight, the mattress was too large. No matter how tight I wrapped the blankets around myself, or how hard I hugged the pillows, the vast, empty bed sucked me deeper into its cold, empty folds.

  I was about to give up and head for the couch when my phone dinged.

  Aida’s name didn’t pop up on the screen, but I had memorized the number the same day Tango had given it to me.

  Aida: U awake?

  Me: Am now.

  Aida: I can’t sleep.

  Me: Why?

  Aida: Indigestion.

  Me: I warned u to stop after one corn dog.

  Aida: Ha ha. The baby was hungry. I blame the baby.

  Me: Or u can admit u love fair food. It’s ok. I won’t tell a soul.

  Aida: I admit nothing.

  Me: U loved the ferris wheel.

  Aida: Meh

  Me: I saw ur face. U loved it.

  Aida: I saw ur face. U were waiting for me to freak.

  Me: I admit nothing

  Aida: Thanks again. Fun day.

  Me: Anytime, Bambi.

  Aida: I warned u about calling me Bambi. Better sleep with one eye open. Night, Cowboy.

  Me: Sweet dreams.

  Me: Bambi

  I woke the next morning with my phone still in my hand.

  “Hand it over, big guy.” I stretched my arm across the cutting board and wiggled my fingers in a give it now gesture.

  Charlie, The Truck Stop’s famed chef, continued to chop onions and merely shook his head. “Nobody touches my Bob Kramer. Not even pretty ladies. This beauty was designed for my hand and my hand only. So, don’t even bother with those fat, puppy-dog eyes.”

  “I’m not just anyone,” I said, throwing a low growl into my voice. “I can handle a blade.”

  “I’m sure you can,” he countered my growl with an impressive scowl. “But nobody touches her. Waited four-and-a-half years for this beauty. She goes home with me at night, stays in my fingers or locked up when I’m at work.”

  “Fine. Can I at least help? I’m not ready to go home yet. I need something to do.” I needed a distraction, to get the jolly blond giant out of my head. Tucker and his too-pretty smile, those impressive muscles, and that damn outdoorsy scent that followed him everywhere was doing a number on my libido, and my psyche.

  Charlie shot a glance through the service window and drew a deep breath. “Fine. But if you cut yourself, I’m not taking the blame. I’m telling boss lady you forced me.”

  He rolled his eyes, stepped in front of the magnetic knife rack, and reached for one of his store-bought chef’s knives.

  I crossed my arms. “Uh-uh. No way. I want one of the good ones. The Shuns you have hiding in that secret drawer over there.”

  His cheeks darkened three shades. Much to my surprise, he turned and popped open the hidden drawer.

  “Fine,” he harrumphed. “Grab a hairnet. They’re on the shelf behind you.”

  I did as ordered. My heart palpitated when he handed me the gorgeous blade with its charcoal and crimson wood handle. It was a little heavy in my small hand, but it would do. Sweet Jesus, it would do. God, it felt good to hold a real knife.

  “Okay, Chef. How do you want them? Sliced, diced, julienned, minced?”

  Charlie quirked a brow at me. “Chopped for chili. Half-inch. Fill that bucket.”

  I got to chopping and Charlie paused a few times to watch me work. I wasn’t as fast as he was with the onions, only because I had to keep wiping my eyes, but I kicked his ass when it came time to julienne the carrots for the chicken soup.

  Charlie was a genius in the kitchen. Prepping food, flipping burgers, dipping fries, moving fluidly from one end of the room to the other in a beautiful ballet. The man was funny. And true to chef legend, he had a dirty mouth, and an arsenal of filthy jokes. When he learned I’d grown up in the kitchens of my dad’s many restaurants, and after I dropped the f-bomb a few times, he relaxed and stopped hovering.

  Time flew by, and before long, there wasn’t a vegetable left to cut. I offered to debone chickens but Charlie gave me a firm hell no, and shooed me out of his domain. I finished cleaning up and headed for the employee bathroom.

  My knees wobbled and nearly gave out when I looked up to find Tucker leaning against the wall in the hallway, wearing a gray thermal that molded to his chest, and dark jeans that hugged his thick thighs. Seriously, I’d never been so out of sorts around a man. My unusual lack of grace was beginning to piss me off.

  “Have fun in there?”

  “Fuck yeah.” I said, walking past and pushing into the bathroom.

  Tucker caught the door before it closed. “I’ve never seen you smile so much.”

  “Were you watching me?”

  “Not for long. Heard you laughing, came to see what was up. Couldn’t bring myself to interrupt your fun.”

  “I like to cut things,” I whispered, wiggling my brows at him.

  “So I’ve heard.” He flashed me that ridiculously sexy smirk.

  “Need to pee, so unless you’re into that kinky shit, you might want to give me a minute.”

  Tucker winked and closed the door.

  When I came out, he was waiting. For some odd reason, I liked finding him there.

  “Go for a walk?” he asked, offering his arm.

  “Well, I had a fun-filled afternoon planned with my new vibrator, but I suppose that can wait.” I hooked my arm through his and waved to Slade as we headed toward the exit.

  “Wait.” I shouted, digging my heels into the checkered tile. “Let me tell Charlie goodbye.” I turned and scurried back into the kitchen.

  “Thanks for letting me help today, Chef.” I kissed his cheek. A little thrill ran through me at the sight of his blush. “I’ll see you tomorrow. What time do I start, five AM?”

  “Start?” he asked, planting his palms on the counter and tilting his head.

  “I got the job, right? Come on. There’s no arguing, I’m a genius with chopping. And the beauty of it is, you only have to pay me in burgers.”

  Charlie started to speak, but a lou
d crash from the dining area startled us both. Through the partition, I could see Tucker surrounded by three men. One I recognized as the guy from the parking lot who almost ran me over the other day. His friends wore the same swastika tattoos on their necks. Tucker must have knocked one of them to the ground, because with a bloodied face, the guy scrambled to get off the floor.

  “Fuck me,” I mumbled, turning to grab a knife. I picked up the Shun, then laid it back down. Wouldn’t be right to defile such beautiful steel. I yanked two slicers off the magnetic holder and pushed through the double doors.

  Tucker had managed to wrestle his attackers outside and away from the customers, and seemed to be holding his own. Another customer jumped in to help, but didn’t stand a chance against the brass knuckles that struck his temple. The jackass wearing the weapon raised his fist to strike again.

  I didn’t miss a beat. Stalking forward, I forced one blade into the dipshit’s right buttock, pulled it out, and stabbed the back of his thigh. Before he could fall to the ground, I drug the other blade across his knuckles, right along the top of the steel, opening his flesh to the bone, ensuring it would be a long time before he could strike anyone with that hand.

  Tucker took punch after punch but hadn’t fallen yet. His attackers didn’t see me coming. The larger of the three raised his fist to strike. With the tip of my blade, I opened his arm from wrist to elbow. He squealed, reminding me of the pigs at the fair, and turned to retaliate.

  He paused, no doubt thrown that a woman had cut him. I used that opportunity to sink the tip of my blade into the skin at his throat. “How about you sit this out, let it be a fair fight,” I said, nodding over my shoulder to Tucker and the remaining assailant.

  Baldy sunk to the ground, tucking his arm into himself, trying to stop the flow of blood. I wanted to watch the fight. But I didn’t dare turn my back on the douchebags I’d rendered useless.

  I smiled wide when Charlie barreled through the door with a shotgun. He fired into the air. “Get the fuck away from my restaurant,” he shouted.

  The bloodied assailants scrambled to their car, cursing, spitting, and promising our certain deaths.