The Good Guys Box Set: TRUCKER, DANCER, DROPOUT, and A Trucker Wedding

by Jamie Schlosser

  Shaking my head, I huffed out a laugh. This was definitely going to be an interesting couple of months.

  Keeping a firm hold on the towel—because the last thing I needed was for my grandma to see me in my birthday suit—I bent down to grab some jeans out of my bag.

  But when I looked inside there was bird shit. Every-fucking-where.

  Making a sound of disgust, I glared at the bird. “Tweety Poo took a dump all over my clothes.”

  “Well, you know where the washing machine is,” Grandma said, as if having all my things get crapped on was completely normal.

  Letting out a growl, I snagged a pair of underwear from one of the outer pockets that was unaffected by Sweet Pea’s literal shit storm.

  “I don’t have anything to wear,” I said, holding out the scrap of material that wasn’t going to cut it. There was no way I wanted to walk around here in only my briefs.

  “Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m leaving anyway. I’ve got a date, so I won’t be around to see you in your skivvies.”

  “A date?” I asked, my eyebrows going up. Then I remembered meeting her boyfriend last Christmas. “Oh, yeah. Your neighbor. Ernie, right?”

  Smiling, she nodded.

  I couldn’t help feeling grateful for the old man who’d made her so happy. Grandpa passed away more than fifteen years ago, and my memories of him were fuzzy but pleasant. I remembered coloring books, Matchbox cars, and the smell of cigars. He had a way of making me feel like I was ‘one of the guys’, even though I was just a little kid.

  The watch I always wore on my left wrist had been a gift from him the Christmas before he suffered the massive heart attack that took his life. It stopped working years ago, but I never broke the habit of wearing it. When he gave it to me he’d told me his dad had gotten it for him, and I was glad to have something passed on to me, even if it was an old watch.

  Over the years, I’d wondered how Grandma coped with her husband being gone and all her relatives living in different states. That was what sucked about living so far away—I always hated to think of her all alone.

  But, thanks to Ernie, I didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

  “Well, tell him I said hey.”

  “Will do. By the way…” She pointed at my chest. “What the hell are those?”

  Glancing down, I looked at the recent changes on my body. “Ah, are you referring to the tattoos or the nipple piercings?”

  “All of it.” Her eyes landed on my upper arm, then her voice got quiet. “Are those peonies?”

  Nodding, I turned a little so she could see the full picture. “Because they’re your favorite.”

  “Well I’ll be damned, Jimmy,” she said, looking misty-eyed. Then she motioned toward my chest again. “What about the piercings? Did that hurt?” Looking down at her housecoat, she added, “Maybe I should get some.”

  A rude sound escaped at the awful suggestion. “Grandma…no. God, no.”

  “Seriously. I think Ernie might like it.”

  Mortified, I ran a hand over my face. “Please stop talking.”

  I loved my grandma, and there wasn’t much we couldn’t talk about. But the subject of nipple piercings was going too far.

  She laughed and pointed at my horrified expression.

  “Boy, I really had you going. You’re white as a sheet!” Bending over to slap her knee, she let out a cackle. Sweet Pea made a sound of protest when he almost fell from her shoulder, and I cracked a grin.

  “Funny. Really funny.”

  Grandma straightened back up and adjusted the glasses on her nose. “This is going to be the best summer ever!”

  After nailing down the lyrics for the song I’d been working on for the past week, I shot off an email to my manager to let her know I should have a demo ready in a few days.

  Then I decided to head next door.

  My neighbor was the only person I saw on a regular basis. I met Beverly when her parrot escaped through an open window. Sweet Pea had flown straight to my front porch, where I was lounging on my swing. He perched on the armrest, cocked his head to the side, then pooped on my leg.

  It was love at first sight. Sort of.

  Without bothering to clean up the mess, I continued strumming my guitar and started to sing. The bird began to dance.

  As I softly let out the melody, I realized my stage fright didn’t extend to parrots. For the first time in a long time, I performed without a hint of nervousness.

  And my audience enjoyed it.

  When I was done, he bobbed his head while letting out a series of loud screeches, which alerted his owner to his location.

  Beverly had rushed over, apologized, and handed me a handkerchief to clean myself up when she saw the mess on my jeans.

  I’d jokingly asked her if I could have playdates with Sweet Pea, and she seemed thrilled about the idea.

  Such a sweet lady. She had a tendency to drop an F-bomb or two, but sweet nonetheless.

  So, a few times a week I went over to her house to play with my new friend. I liked to clean his cage, change his water, and give him treats while he sat on my shoulder. Sometimes I brought my guitar and he’d listen to me sing.

  Today I decided to leave my instrument at home, because my hands were achy and the tips of my fingers were numb from overuse.

  As I hopped down my front steps, my feet skidded to a stop.

  The same station wagon from earlier was parked on my street. I might not have even noticed it if it hadn’t been for the bumper balls. The car itself was hideous, with fake wood paneling along the sides. The paint job looked like it was maroon at some point, but now it was a faded murky brown.

  Grumbling about my new view, I crossed the fifteen feet between my house and Beverly’s and made my way to her backyard. I knocked on the old screen door and waited for an answer. After a minute I decided to let myself in, just like she told me to do if she wasn’t home.

  I lifted her stone goose statue and picked up the spare key she kept underneath it. Stepping inside, I listened for Sweet Pea loudly screeching obscenities.

  I did hear something loud, but it wasn’t Sweet Pea.

  Jimmy Buffet’s ‘Cheeseburger in Paradise’ blared through the house, and I followed the music to the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what I would find, but as long as it wasn’t my neighbor making out with her neighbor I was good.

  Turning the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight in front of me.

  It wasn’t Beverly. Or Ernie.

  And I most definitely wasn’t good.

  A guy wearing nothing but camo-print underwear and a peach-colored apron stood in front of the stove. He was facing away from me, and I caught sight of a large tattoo—angel wings—across the expanse of his muscular back.

  Surprised, I let out a high-pitched squeak. The sound got the stranger’s attention and he started to pivot in my direction.

  My eyes fell to his sculpted ass, the muscles flexing as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wore briefs. Not boxers or boxer-briefs—actual tighties. No guy should look good in those, but damn, he did.

  His black hair was shorter on the sides and longer on top. Some of the inky strands fell over his forehead, falling to just above his bright green eyes.

  His lips were parted in surprise, and something flipped in my stomach at the sight of his mouth. The bottom lip was twice the size of the top. Plump. Pouty.

  Dark tattoos painted his chest and he had colorful flowers down the length of his left arm. And…

  Is that a nipple piercing?

  Because of the apron, I couldn’t see his abs, but my guess was that he had a solid six-pack under there.

  I opened my mouth to say something—anything.

  I wanted to ask him what he was doing in Beverly’s house. Or apologize for walking in on him while he was naked.

  Instead, my social awkwardness presented itself full-force with the words that tumbled out of my mouth next.

  “If you tried to h
ide in the woods, at least no one would be able to see your ass.”

  His emerald eyes widened. “What?”

  Figuring he probably didn’t hear me the first time because of the loud music, I raised my voice. “Camouflage underwear. Your butt would totally blend in with the bushes.”

  Looking like he was caught between laughing and being outraged, he opened his mouth to respond.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  After Grandma left for her date, I had the house to myself. I threw all my soiled clothes into the washer, then gave Sweet Pea one last glare as he climbed on top of his cage, happily rattling a toy as if he had nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, he seemed pretty damn proud of himself.

  “Crazy-ass bird,” I muttered, then went to the kitchen to search for food in nothing but my underwear.

  I opened the freezer and grinned.

  “Hell yeah,” I whispered as I took out the pre-made hamburger patties.

  One look in the fridge and pantry told me that Grandma had stocked up on all my favorite foods. The woman was a saint. A foul-mouthed saint.

  Dropping three burgers into the pan, I switched on the ancient radio on the counter and turned the volume all the way up.

  As the burgers sizzled, I got out the buns and set them on a plate. Next, I doused them in mustard and ketchup, then went to flip the burgers over. Something popped in the pan, spraying my chest with hot grease.

  “Ow, fuck!” I hissed, stepping back from the stove. I wiped at my reddened skin with a damp dish towel, once again cursing the bird that was responsible for my lack of clothing. If I’d had a shirt on, this wouldn’t have happened.

  I spotted Grandma’s apron hanging on a hook by the kitchen doorway. I looked down at my unprotected torso, then back at the frilly fabric.

  So, that’s what those things are for.

  After mulling it over, I knew the best option was for me to wear it. Anything was better than having first-degree burns on my nipples. After tying it on I went back to my lunch, singing along to the radio.

  Once the meat was thoroughly cooked, I turned off the heat and slid the pan off the back burner. I was about to pick up the spatula when I heard a squeak behind me.

  Thinking it was that damn bird again, I started to turn around, ready to tell him not to take a dump on my food.

  Imagine my surprise when I ended up face to face with a girl. A gorgeous-as-fuck girl.

  For about three awesome seconds we made eye contact, and my gaze dropped to her full pink lips. Her black tank top hugged her body, and the color almost matched her long dark hair. Her skin was pale—creamy. This time of year, a lot of people spent time outside in the sun. Her fair complexion told me that she either didn’t have the ability to tan, or she didn’t spend a lot of time outside. Either way the look suited her, the contrast stunning.

  I noticed her eyes were focused on my chest, specifically the nipple that was peeking out from behind the apron—the girly apron that was barely covering my body.

  Then she started rambling on about my underwear.

  I didn’t have time to process what was happening because a flash of bright color flew through the room. Startled, I stumbled back, knocking my plate off the counter.

  Sweet Pea flew overhead and dropped a watery bird turd on my shoulder with an audible splat.

  He let out a squawk as he hit the kitchen window, then knocked over an old coffee tin full of pennies my grandma always kept next to the sink. Coins scattered everywhere.

  I took a step forward, attempting to catch the frantic bird, but he flew out of my reach, leaving just as fast as he came.

  My foot slipped on one of the buns and I reached out to grab on to something to keep me from falling on my ass.

  Unfortunately, the object closest to me was the flour container. I managed to stay upright, but the flour wasn’t so lucky. An explosion of white powder filled the room as it hit the floor, covering the orange and white checkered linoleum along with the pennies.

  I heard a feminine gasp and awareness hit me like a freight train.

  I was practically naked. I was wearing an apron. I almost fell over while being practically naked in that apron. I had parrot shit running down my arm.

  And a beautiful stranger was staring at me, with her perfect mouth hanging open in shock.

  This wasn’t my finest moment.

  I switched off the music and the silence that followed was deafening.

  “Who are you?” I barked, the question coming out harsher than I intended as I grabbed some paper towels and wiped at the mess on my skin.

  “Mackenna. Beverly’s neighbor,” she replied, her eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”

  “Jimmy.” When I got a blank stare, I felt the need to elaborate. “Beverly’s grandson.”

  “Oh.” She blushed, looking away. “I thought her grandkids were younger.”

  “Nope. All grown up,” I said, spreading my arms, causing her to glance back at me. I was reminded again of how exposed I was when she averted her eyes to the ceiling and bit her lip. She was obviously uncomfortable, and I couldn’t help having a little fun with the situation—anything to distract myself from the embarrassment I was feeling. “And you must be the kid who moved in next door.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked, her eyes cutting back to me.

  “The one who knits Grandma’s blankets. I take it that’s you?”

  “Yes, except I’m not a child, obviously.” Now it was her turn to spread her arms, and her breasts strained against the material of the tight shirt.

  I bit back a groan as my eyes trailed over the rest of her body. “Obviously.”

  There was nothing childish about her. She was above average height for a girl, probably about 5’7”. Toned thighs led to soft hips. Those curves gave way to the dips in her narrow waist. And those tits. My guess was a solid c-cup. Fucking perfect.

  Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, my inner gentleman was screaming at me to stop leering and estimating her bra size.

  But I couldn’t look away.

  Her nipples were hard, which probably meant she was either cold or turned on. And it wasn’t chilly in here. Grandma set her thermostat at a balmy 75 degrees, often keeping the windows cracked even though she had the air conditioning on.

  Knowing this girl could be feeling the same instant attraction I was made my dick twitch. Suddenly I was very grateful for the apron, because it was hiding the stiffy I was sporting.

  Mackenna huffed and started to turn away. “Well, this is awkward, and not what I had planned for today, so I’m just gonna go…”

  “Wait. You’re making me clean this up by myself?” I asked, stalling.

  I should’ve wanted her to leave. She was right—this was incredibly awkward. But my desire to keep talking to her outweighed the humiliation. I still didn’t know why she was here, and I wanted to find out.

  Facing away from me, she paused. “Could you at least put some clothes on? That apron is ridiculous.”

  “My wardrobe is out of commission at the moment, so this is all I’ve got,” I said. “Unless you want me to just take it off…?”

  “No.” She quickly shook her head, and I watched the long strands swish against her lower back. I didn’t get a chance to admire the way her jean shorts hugged her rounded ass because she turned around with a determined look on her face.

  “Do you really want me to stay?” she asked while boldly eyeing the apron, challenging me to say no.

  “Yes.” I didn’t hesitate.

  Pressing her lips together, she assessed the room then let out a resigned sigh. “Okay. I’ll sweep. You get mop duty.”

  Her bossy, business-like attitude made me grin. I thought about arguing—just to keep her around a little longer—but decided against it. Between my wandering eyes and forcing her to clean up my mess, I had already crossed over the threshold of rude.

  After grabbing the cleaning supplies from the closet, I handed her the broom and we got to work. As she swept the flo
ur-covered pennies into a pile, I filled a bucket with hot water.

  She stayed focused on the mess, doing her best to ignore me.

  I didn’t like it.

  “What are you doing, letting yourself into my grandma’s house anyway?” I asked, needing to know if this was going to be a regular occurrence. Partly hoping it would be. “Are you in the habit of breaking and entering?”

  “Beverly told me I could come over anytime,” she said defensively, her eyebrows furrowed. “I like Sweet Pea.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  She still wouldn’t look at me. “I take care of him, clean out his cage and stuff. But if you have a problem with me coming over, then you can do it from now on.”

  “Oh, hell no. I want nothing to do with that bird. He’s evil.”

  She stopped sweeping to glare at me. “He is not.”

  “He’s an asshole,” I stated flatly.

  “Most parrots are assholes,” she shot back.

  We were only a few feet from each other, and now that she was looking at me I noticed the unique color of her eyes. They were the color of the ocean. Not clear and blue like the Caribbean.

  Stormy.

  Gray-blue on the outside and sandy brown around the iris.

  I couldn’t help feeling like I’d seen her somewhere before. “You look a little familiar. Have we met?”

  “No.” She bent down to gather the coins and dropped them into the coffee tin, each one falling in with a clank.

  I crouched next to her to help, reaching for a few strays that had rolled under the table. “What’s your last name?”

  “Connelly,” she said warily, and suddenly it clicked.

  “I saw you in the news a few years ago. Your story was all over social media. You were that guy’s girlfriend. What’s his name… Jason or something.”

  She glanced away with a pinched expression. “Jaxon.”

  “Yeah, that’s it.” I snapped my fingers. “Jaxon’s girlfriend.”

  Her head whipped back in my direction and her eyes blazed, that storm raging in their depths. “Don’t call me that. Never call me that.”

  “Whoa. Sorry.” I held up my hands, realizing I’d struck a nerve. I didn’t remember much about her, just that everyone within a 30-mile radius had been talking about the breakup that ended with the guy freaking out and going to prison.