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

by Jamie Schlosser

  Without missing a beat or glancing my way, she nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  She was doing that thing again, her aloofness driving me crazy. The one-word responses. The lack of eye contact.

  She was avoiding me. But why?

  Frustration bubbled up inside me and the need to get under her skin was almost uncontrollable. I needed a reaction out of her that was anything other than indifference.

  I’d prefer a scowl over an impassive expression. I wouldn’t wither under her glare—I’d bask in it, if she would just look at me. Like a dog waiting for scraps under the table, I’d take anything she was willing to throw my way.

  When did I become such a masochist?

  I wanted to get her attention. Taunt and tease her. Stir the pot a little. Instead of giving in to that desire, I behaved myself and tried to focus on the task at hand.

  I came to Tolson with a plan. No women, no partying, and no fighting. But nothing could’ve prepared me for Mackenna.

  She made me want to get into the best kind of trouble.

  The kind of trouble I knew I wouldn’t regret.

  And if the way her laugh affected me was any indication, I was completely and utterly fucked.

  Around noon, Grandma brought out an overloaded tray of ham sandwiches, potato chips, bottled water, lemonade, and snack cakes.

  Setting it on the patio table in the shade, she stood back and admired the house with a satisfied sigh. “You two are doing one hell of a job. The heat’s supposed to get pretty bad today. Might not be a bad idea to pack it up soon.”

  We thanked her before sitting down for an awkward lunch.

  Mackenna noisily ripped open her bag of chips before munching away, still ignoring me. Crossing her legs and shifting away from me, everything about her body language screamed don’t talk to me.

  My eyes roamed over her face, her hair, her body. I didn’t even try to hide the fact that I was checking her out.

  The apples of her cheeks had a sun-kissed glow, making her appear younger, more innocent. I could tell she wasn’t wearing makeup, but her eyelashes were long and dark, just like her hair. With the rat’s nest on top of her head, it was obvious she hadn’t gone out of her way to look good.

  But she did look good.

  At first glance, she was beautiful. But the longer I looked at her, the more gorgeous she became.

  And even though she was trying like hell to hide it, something told me her inner beauty outshone her good looks. Because anyone who would sacrifice their time to knit blankets for an old lady was worth getting to know.

  “So why did you agree to do this?” I asked, breaking the silence. “Painting the house, I mean. Grandma said you offered to do it for free, which was really nice by the way.”

  She shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Menial tasks help to clear my head. I’m a songwriter, and sometimes my thoughts get blocked up.” She gestured toward her head. “Writer’s block stinks. And I like doing things like this.”

  “Things like knitting,” I supplied, and she nodded before reaching for the bottled water. She unscrewed the cap, then took a big gulp. I watched the way her lips wrapped around it, the way her throat constricted as she swallowed.

  It was like this girl had a live wire that went straight to my dick. Every little thing she did turned me on. I was so caught up in staring, I jumped a little when she continued talking.

  “Knitting, driving, taking a shower…” Picking at the label on the bottle, she kept her eyes downcast. “I seem to get my best ideas when I’m doing those things. Although it kind of sucks when it happens in the car or the shower, because I can’t actually write it down.”

  Her lips tilted up on one side. Not quite a smile, but at least she wasn’t frowning.

  This was the most information I’d gotten out of her yet, and I was so greedy for more. Trying to ignore the mental image of her in the shower, I continued asking questions.

  “Was it one of your songs you were thinking about earlier?”

  She didn’t look up as she answered. “Yeah.”

  “What kind of songs do you write?”

  That seemed to get her interest, because her face brightened a bit and she glanced my way. “Pop punk, actually. I tried country, but my style wasn’t a good fit. And I’m a pretty shitty performer, so it’s best for me to stay behind the scenes.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “It’s true,” she said with certainty.

  “You written anything I’ve heard before?”

  Fiddling with the plastic cap, she grinned down at her hands. That not-quite-a-smile grew wider. “Maybe. You know The Princess and the Pariah?”

  “Of course,” I replied. They were one of the most popular bands right now. It was almost impossible to turn on the radio and not hear something from them.

  “I co-wrote ‘If Only’ with them.”

  I nearly dropped my lemonade. “You did not.”

  “Yep, I did,” she confirmed. “It’s the only reason I was able to afford this.” She tipped her head to the little beige house. “It isn’t much, but I like it.”

  Impressed, I let out a whistle. “You’re really talented.”

  She shook her head. “I just got a lucky break.”

  “Talented,” I insisted, not liking the fact that she downplayed her abilities. “And a home-owner. That’s pretty amazing for someone as young as you. What are you, twenty?”

  “Twenty-one.” Her smile morphed into a smirk and my heart hammered in my chest. “What about you? From the pictures Beverly has, I thought you were a tween.”

  I barked out a laugh. “I’ll be twenty in August.”

  “Nineteen? That’s young. You might as well be a tween,” she deadpanned with a playful glint in her eye.

  She was teasing me. Maybe even flirting?

  Leaning forward on my elbows, I looked her in the eye and shot her the grin that always seemed to work with the ladies. “Baby, there’s nothing tween about me.”

  I could see the exact moment she shut me out again. Her eyes darted away, her expression going back to impassive. Silence settled between us again, and I internally cursed myself for coming on too strong. I should’ve known my usual tactics wouldn’t work with her.

  Taking a large bite of her sandwich, Mackenna made it clear the conversation was over.

  Damn.

  Finishing off my food, I watched Mackenna while she watched everything else: the trees, the house, the rabbit that hopped across Ernie’s yard.

  Had I been wrong about her flirting with me? Things were going so well and then she just totally clammed up.

  “Mack.”

  “Hmm?” She still played with the cap on her water bottle, twisting it on then off again.

  “Why won’t you look at me?”

  She huffed. “Why don’t you ever wear a shirt?”

  Relaxing back in the chair, I gave a mock frown. “Do you have a problem with my body? Body-shaming isn’t cool, you know. I could have serious insecurity issues.”

  Finally, she glanced over at me with an apologetic expression. “No, your body is fine.”

  Deliberately flexing my pecs, I grinned. “You think I’m fine?”

  I needed to stop egging her on, but I couldn’t help it. I’d just spent the last eight months of my life pretending to be something I wasn’t, and I just wanted to be myself with Mackenna.

  Her teeth closed over her bottom lip, and I swear she was trying to bite back a smile. Just when I thought I might be winning her over, she sighed and looked back at the house.

  “Well.” She stood up. “Ready to get back to it, or do you want to call it a day?”

  “I’m up for whatever you want,” I said, disappointed that our conversation was coming to an end.

  Pursing her lips, she surveyed the cloudless sky. “Maybe just a little longer. I don’t mind the heat, but my skin burns pretty easily.”

  “Let’s do the north side of the house,” I suggested as we cleaned up our paper plates.
“We should have some shade there for at least another hour.”

  Mackenna walked ahead of me, and when she bent down to pick up her bucket I got an instant hard-on. The shorts she had on weren’t tight, but they barely made it past her ass cheeks. They were worn and frayed. Perfect for painting on a hot day.

  Also perfect for giving me a boner.

  There was a tiny hole in the fabric, and I caught sight of dark purple panties—the same dark purple she had on her cute-as-fuck toes.

  Her tank top left little to the imagination. When she stretched to reach higher on the house it rode up, showing a sliver of smooth, creamy skin on her flat stomach. The racer back revealed a couple freckles on her left shoulder blade, and my hands itched to move the material aside to see if she had a tan line.

  Fuck me.

  My loose gym shorts started to tent, and I attempted to hide it by turning away to pour more paint into the already-full tray.

  “So, what else do you do with your time?” I asked, hoping some innocent conversation would calm me down.

  “I like to sew,” she replied. “I make the outfits for Beverly’s goose.”

  I peeked around the side of the house to take a closer look at the statue sitting outside the back door. The patriotic dress made me laugh. It even had a matching hat. “Are you fucking with me? You made clothes for a stone goose?”

  “Are you making fun of me?” She pinned me with narrowed eyes, making my dick stiffen even more.

  “So what if I am?” I asked, pushing those buttons, watching her react.

  Her nostrils flared. My cock jumped.

  “I make quilts, too.” She lifted her chin. “There’s nothing wrong with sewing.”

  “Yeah, if you’re sixty. Don’t you think you’re a little young to be spending your Friday nights making goose hats?” I teased. I hadn’t known Mackenna long, but it was obvious she lacked a social life. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she responded, gripping the paintbrush so hard her knuckles were white.

  Part of me knew I was going too far, but this was the longest I’d held her attention yet. She wasn’t looking away now, and those stormy eyes held me captive.

  “Tell me… what are your other hobbies?” I continued, taking a step toward her. “Bingo nights? Drinking prune juice in the morning? Shopping for the perfect Dr. Scholl’s insert?”

  “You know what?” She dropped her brush into the pan, and some of the green paint splattered onto my old sneakers, “this heat isn’t agreeing with me. I’m going home.”

  “Oh, come on,” I called after her. “Don’t go. I was just playing around. Mack? Mackenna. Mack-Mack…”

  My pleas were ignored. She walked up the steps of her front porch, threw one last scowl my way, then disappeared inside.

  Well, shit.

  So much for that truce.

  I painted for another hour by myself before I called it quits. Not only was it hot as hell, but it also wasn’t as much fun without Mackenna.

  As I sprayed out the roller and the tray, I felt bad about the way I’d teased her. Obviously she was sensitive, and I purposely provoked her.

  The idea of Mackenna being mad all day didn’t sit well with me, so I decided to go grovel for forgiveness.

  After packing away all the supplies and tools into the garage, I took a quick shower and changed into clean jeans. I almost didn’t put on a shirt—just to fuck with her—but I’d already pissed her off enough for today. Throwing on a gray sleeveless tee I went to the kitchen in search of Grandma, but found a note stuck to the fridge instead.

  Jimmy,

  I’ve got a hot date tonight. Don’t wait up.

  -Grandma

  Shaking my head in amusement, I went out the back door and mentally rehearsed the apology Mackenna deserved. Simply telling her I’m sorry and I’m not always a dick didn’t seem good enough, but it was the best I could come up with.

  My plan came to a halt when I heard a voice. Her voice.

  She was singing. The music carried through the window of her living room. Although the window was shut, it didn’t do much to muffle the sound.

  The haunting melody of ‘Burning House’ by Cam floated out on an acoustic guitar, and I sent up a silent thanks for poor insulation. Like a total creep, I stood outside and listened. Leaning against her siding, I let my head fall back and closed my eyes.

  I didn’t think it was possible to be physically affected by music. Not like this. Adrenaline rushed through my body while goosebumps spread over my skin. My chest constricted and I had to remind myself to breathe.

  Mackenna had the sweetest voice I’d ever heard.

  She wasn’t trying to sound a certain way, wasn’t conforming to what was popular. Some people tried to interject a twang or an edge in their voice when they sang, especially if the style was country or punk.

  But not Mackenna.

  Straightforward. Natural. Real.

  So fucking sweet.

  Disappointment hit me when the music stopped, but I knew I needed to move. I’d been standing here for far too long already. Just as I was about to step away from the house, she started up again.

  I recognized this song, too. It was ‘If Only’, the one she co-wrote with The Princess and the Pariah. But Mackenna’s version was so much better than the one I’d heard on the radio.

  The urge to see her was too much to resist.

  Moving stealthily, I peeked over the window sill. Facing slightly away, Mackenna was sitting in an armchair with a laptop in front of her on the coffee table. The guitar sat in her lap and her fingers played over the strings effortlessly.

  Although I still wanted to apologize, I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt her. I promised myself one more minute—just one—then I would leave.

  That minute went by. And another.

  I couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop listening.

  She began a new song. This one was completely unfamiliar to me, but it was the best yet. The lyrics were about being lost and life not turning out the way we expected. I could definitely relate to that.

  Suddenly, as if she sensed my presence, her head turned toward the window.

  I darted to the side.

  She didn’t stop singing, so I had to assume she didn’t see me. Hoping I hadn’t been caught, I flattened myself against the side of the house and inched back toward Grandma’s, leaving the heavenly sound behind.

  Two days. With the both of us working, it only took two days to paint the house.

  I should’ve been proud of that.

  Instead, I found myself brooding over the fact that I didn’t have a reason to see Mackenna today.

  Yesterday had been worse than the day before. She barely spoke three words to me, and seemed to go out of her way to work on separate areas. She’d been more covered, too, wearing a baggy pink T-shirt and old jeans. I wasn’t sure if it was to ward off a sunburn or if she was trying to hide her body from me.

  Leaving out the part about how I spied on her while she was singing, I’d told her I was sorry for how I acted, hoping we could make amends. She’d simply told me it was fine, and that was that.

  When we were done, she stuck around to help clean up, then went inside the house to hang out with that damn parrot. While I was in the kitchen looking for something to eat, I could hear her cooing and making kissy sounds in the other room.

  It made my dick so fucking hard I thought about putting the apron back on just to hide the giant bulge in my pants.

  After the visit, she left without even saying goodbye to me, and my boner deflated along with my ego.

  This morning, I was woken up before 5:00 by Sweet Pea’s racket, just like every other morning since I’d been here. He was starting to get on my last nerve. Fortunately, he usually stopped around 7:00 and I was able to get back to sleep.

  Glancing over at the clock, I saw it was mid-morning, but made no move to get out of bed. I didn’t have shit to do today and pl
anned to spend it lazing around.

  That is, until my dad called.

  “Jimmy,” he greeted. “I heard you finished painting already. Heard it looks great.”

  A grin tugged at my lips when I thought about the awful color. “Well, Grandma’s house will be the talk of the town for a while, that’s for sure.”

  “I also heard you had a helper… a lady-friend.”

  I huffed. “I’m pretty sure Mackenna hates me, so ‘friend’ isn’t the right word. But, yeah, she helped. She was great. I couldn’t have done it without her.”

  “Uh-huh,” Dad said, reading me like a book because I rarely rambled. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

  “I already told you.” Rubbing a hand over my face, I sighed. “She hates me.”

  “Well, how about something to cheer you up?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know it’s only been a few days, but we’re impressed with you—the way you agreed to this and how hard you’ve been working.” He paused. “We want you to sign up for your fall classes.”

  That had me bolting upright. “Seriously?”

  “Now, we’re not paying for them yet,” he went on. “You still have to prove you can stay out of trouble. But it might be a good idea for you to get registered before they fill up.”

  “Thanks,” I breathed out, feeling good at his words of praise. “I brought my laptop, but Grandma doesn’t have internet. I guess I’ll have to find somewhere with Wi-Fi.”

  Dad snorted. “Maybe you can try to get Grandma up to speed with technology while you’re there.”

  “I highly doubt she’ll go for it,” I said with a smile. “I’ll try to find an internet café or something in the next town over. Daywood might have a coffee shop.”

  “Alright. I’ll let you get on that. Just wanted to tell you that you’re doing a good job.”

  “That means a lot, Dad. Thanks.”

  After we hung up, I pulled on some jeans and a black T-shirt with cut-off sleeves. It was early enough in the day that the heat hadn’t gotten too bad yet. If I left now, I had a good chance of not sweating my ass off on the way into town.

  In the kitchen, I grabbed a Twinkie for breakfast and found a new note on the fridge.