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Shit. Now my dick was hard.
Good fucking going, Conan.
Sighing, I eased onto the brakes and down-shifted a gear, silently cursing the dumb ass who decided to move over in front of me without giving me enough space. Tightening my fingers around the steering wheel, I pressed the gas and shifted back up into the gear I’d been in.
Driving while distracted with thoughts of Fletcher was going to do me absolutely no good. But how was I expected to think of anything else when the scent of him surrounded me in this truck?
Fletcher was awake but quiet, just sitting in the passenger seat of the truck with a book open, his reading glasses perched on his nose. It was dark outside, but after I assured him a book light wouldn’t bother me in the slightest, he’d hooked his to a few pages in his book so he could comfortably read.
Seeing this muscular man hold a book in his hands with glasses on his nose, his curls a wild mess on the top of his head, was fucking perfection. And I hated that I couldn’t take a picture of him. If I could, I’d make it the background of my phone and print it out to put it on my dashboard just so I could see him in his element like this whenever I wanted.
Somehow, I knew this was the Fletcher not many other people got to see. And I selfishly wanted it all to myself.
I hit the indicator to take the upcoming exit where a truck stop was. Lightning was streaking through the sky, promising a storm was going to be rolling through soon, though it was still off by a few good miles. I didn’t want to get caught driving in it, especially out here in the Midwest. The weather out here was treacherous in tornado valley. It could flip like a switch, and something not so bad could turn horrible within seconds.
“Are we stopping?” Fletcher asked, looking up from his book. Grabbing his bookmark from between his thighs, he placed it in his book before closing it and turning off his light. “I didn’t realize how late it is.”
“We’re going to chill here for the night,” I told him as I began backing the truck into a spot between two other ones. “Storm is going to be rolling in soon, and I’d rather not be out on the road in it.”
He yawned. “This place got showers?”
“Yeah.” I’d been here a few times. It was one of the best truck stops I’d ever been to, and they kept a cook on staff overnight for truckers who rolled into the lot in the wee hours of the morning and needed a hot meal. “It’s got showers and hot food so good, you’ll feel like you just stepped into a southern woman’s home.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and throaty. “Food sounds good, but I want a shower first.”
I grabbed my log books. “Can you give me a few minutes to do these?” I asked him, already starting on them.
“Yeah. Sure. I need to get my clothes together anyway.”
I turned on the overhead light so we could both see. By the time I had my paper and electronic logs done, Fletcher was texting someone on his phone. “Everything okay?” I asked.
“Hm?” He looked up at me. “Oh, yeah, just my best friend. You remember Brent, right?”
Vaguely. So damn vaguely. I wracked my brain, trying to put a face to the name. “Was he the one sticking to you like glue at your birthday party?” I asked him, a bit of jealousy rising in me.
Fletcher flushed and avoided my gaze. “Y-yeah,” he choked out.
I frowned at him for a moment, trying to ignore the jealousy rising in my chest. I wasn’t in control of who Fletcher fucked around with, and judging by the pretty blush staining his cheeks and the way he was avoiding my gaze, he and Brent were a little bit more than just best friends.
It left a sour taste in my mouth.
“We, um, it’s not like that,” Fletcher stammered, somehow seeming to read my mind. “I just don’t do well in crowds, and Dad had invited so many people, including the whole football team, and it just—” He cut himself off, looking ashamed.
“Hey,” I rasped, striding to him. I crouched in front of him, planting my hands on his knees. He swallowed thickly, staring at his lap. “Fletcher, look at me,” I commanded. Slowly, he raised his head to meet my eyes. “Don’t ever feel ashamed of your anxiety, you hear me? Because it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Say it with me. My anxiety is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Tears shimmered in his eyes, breaking my fucking heart. God, Tyler was a dick for never opening his eyes andseeinghis son. “My anxiety is nothing to be ashamed of,” Fletcher rasped.
Unable to help myself, I stood and pressed my lips to his forehead, letting them linger for a moment. My lips tingled, and my dick plumped in my jeans. But the sound of Fletcher’s breath hitching in his throat… Christ, I hadn’t been prepared for it.
Was he just as affected as I was?
I stood to my full height and grabbed my clothes out of my bag, avoiding eye contact for a minute. “Come on. Let’s go get a shower, grab some food, and come watch a movie. Sound good?”
Fletcher nodded. I headed for the door of the truck. I needed fresh air before I did something stupid. Like kiss my best friend’s son. “Um, Conan?” he asked softly. I turned to look at him. “Thanks for understanding.”
I reached out and laid my hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it. “Don’t thank me for something that everyone should be open about. Including your dad,” I told him.
Fletcher swallowed thickly, not saying anything. But he didn’t need to. We’d barely even started this trip, but my eyes were already opening to so much when it came to Tyler and Fletcher’s relationship.
