Page 6 of A Quick Pit Stop

I’m speechless. I’ve never seen anyone come fromgivinga blowjob. I didn’t even know that was a thing.

“Huh,” is all I can manage.

“Yeah.” He stretches his arms over his head, and I notice a sliver of tanned skin between his shirt and jeans. He’s got a happy trail, a dusting of hair leading down to where he just made a mess of himself. “So. Feel better?”

“Hard not to,” I mutter.

“Good. I aim to please.” He goes to the sink and washes his hands. “Well, this was fun. Definitely something I’ll remember for a long, long time. I might have to pull over and jerk off again later, just thinking about how your cock tasted.” He catches my eye in the mirror. “Too bad you’re straight.”

The words land somewhere in my stomach, heavy as a stone. I should be relieved, right? This was a one-time thing. A pit stop. A wild detour on my road trip to nowhere. I got my rocks off. End of story.

So why am I not?

Why does the thought of never seeing this guy again feel like a waste?

4

RYAN

Fuck. This is not what I had planned.

The sun beats down on the asphalt as I walk back to my truck on legs that feel a little less steady than I’d like to admit. I’ve had my share of guys. Hell, I’ve had my share of straight guys. But none of them hit me like this one. He’s gorgeous, yeah. Tall, dark, brooding. Way more attractive than he has any right to be. And that cock...fuck. Hung like a bull. I can’t think about it without getting hard again.

But it wasn’t just the physical. There was something in those whiskey-colored eyes when he looked at me. A hunger that went beyond getting his dick wet.

I shouldn’t have stayed. He was on the verge of walking away, and I knew it. But something in me—something selfish and greedy—needed to see it through. Needed to have him.

Now I’m sitting in my truck, the hot leather sticking to my skin, dealing with the fucking consequences. Why do I do this to myself? There are tons of guys out there I could hook up with and grab a beer with afterward. Guys I might actually see again. But no. I have to chase the unattainable ones. The oneswho’ll take a blowjob at a rest stop and then drive home to their girlfriends and their white picket fences.

I’m twenty-six. You’d think I’d know better. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now. That straight guys are a game I’m never gonna win. That their curiosity ends the second they bust.

I slam the heel of my hand against the steering wheel. I’m a fucking idiot.

I got worked up. Hopeful. Because he looked at me. Notthroughme, like most guys do. He actually saw me. And I let myself imagine it. Those rough hands shoving me against the side of this truck. Pinning me. That deep voice telling me to shut up and take it. Bending me over the hood and using me the way he used my throat. And after, not pulling away. Not zipping up and leaving.Staying.His chest against my back, his breath on my neck, his arms around me, holding me. Maybe even kissing me.

My jeans are getting tight again. I need to get the fuck out of here before I do something really stupid, like walk back in there just to get another whiff of him.

I jam the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life, the same rumble that usually calms me down. Right now, it grates on my nerves. I grip the wheel, ready to pull out, ready to put this whole thing behind me and gun it down the highway.

A knock on my window.

I flinch. It’s him. One hand on the roof of my truck, leaning down to look at me through the glass, that stupidly handsome face squinting in the sun.

What the hell is he doing?

My heart does a dumb little flip.

I roll the window down. The heat rushes in. He’s standing there, all broad shoulders and clenched jaw, with those damn eyes and that mess of dark hair I want to run my fingers through.

“What’s up?” I lean back in my seat and put on my best unbothered face. Like I wasn’t having a full-blown mental breakdown over him a second ago. “Miss me already?”

“My car won’t start.”

And my heart sinks again. Of course, it’s something practical. Something that has nothing to do with me or what we just did.

“What’s it doing?” I ask, keeping my voice flat. Back to business. I’m a mechanic. I know cars.

“I turn the key, it clicks a bunch of times, and nothing happens.”