How had this become his life? Five years ago, he’d been a solitary trucker with a murder contract and a cat. Now, he was apparently being psychoanalyzed by a hyperactive gamemaster while standing ten feet away from a corpse hidden in his truck.
And, if Tris was to be believed, adopting a baby swan. A swan who stared up at him with big blue eyes that made Walker want to slay dragons for him.
What?
No.
Absolutely not.
This was all Tris’s fault. The fact that Walker had just spent five minutes digging through his clothes to find Kota something comfortable to wear was completely unrelated. He finished grabbing the items, slipped his phone into his back pocket, then patted Cake on the head as he passed. Cake opened one eye, judged him silently, then went back to sleep.
Traitor.
He headed back to Kota at a jog. The rain chose that moment to intensify, drumming harder against the roof of the truck. Walker pulled his cap lower and picked up his pace, anyway.
Kota wrapped a towel around his waist, using another to dry his damp hair, grimacing when it stood up in wet spikes around his all head.
He jumped when there was a gentle knock at the door. “Y-Yeah?”
“It’s me,” Walker called.
Me.
There was so much implied intimacy in the short sentence. Me. As if it was inevitable, like the only “me” Kota should know was Walker. Or maybe Kota was just imagining things. One blowjob didn’t mean the older man wanted him or that it would ever happen again. That was the problem. Kota didn’t know what it meant or if it meant anything at all. And for the first time in his whole life, he actually cared about the outcome.
Kota turned the lock, then peeked around the door frame, heart knocking off-kilter when he saw Walker standing there, drenched. He could hear the rain really coming down outside.
The idea of getting cozy in Walker’s clothes only to be caught in a torrential downpour landed heavy in his belly. But therewasn’t really much to do about it. He took the clothes offered, disappointed when Walker didn’t join him inside.
“I’ll wait here,” Walker said gruffly.
Kota gave a stilted nod. “‘Kay.”
Did Walker regret it? Was he even capable of regret? Was he capable of any feelings at all? Jesus, Kota really was an absolute joke. First, he almost gets murdered by one killer and now he’s crushing on another. It had been hours. Not even a full day. Yet, there Kota was, wistfully thinking of a man who had literally just explained that he didn’t kill innocent people because they had the survival skills of a squirrel.
Squirrel.
That was what Walker had called him. A squirrel. He wasn’t wrong. His survival instincts were just as bad if not worse. No matter how many times Kota got hurt, he still kept venturing out into the road. Was it any wonder there were dozens of tread marks on his back?
Kota’s chest felt tight as he shoved his feet into black sweatpants that pooled at his ankles, then pulled on a sleeveless white t-shirt with faded lettering that fell almost to his thighs. He plucked at the fabric as he stared at himself in the large mirror. He looked like a kid playing dress-up in his father’s closet.
Not sexy at all.
He pressed the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply. It smelled like clean laundry and something that was just Walker. He shook his head at the ridiculous thought. He was every bit the gullible idiot his mother claimed he was.
He slipped his socks and shoes back on, then realized his clothes were missing. Had Walker grabbed them before he’d left earlier? Kota had been too cum-drunk to notice.
He exited the bathroom, finding Walker standing guard, but still didn’t ask.
“All yours,” he said when Walker looked at him.
He gave Kota a hard once-over that had him wanting to cover himself. Especially when Walker smirked and muttered, “Cute.”
“What?” Kota asked, glowering up at him.
“I’ll use the shower on the rig,” Walker said, like he hadn’t said anything at all.
Kota blinked at him. “There’s a shower on the rig?”
