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“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I gripped the handle and lifted one foot to the pedestal. “I’m not that kind of person. But seriously, be careful.”
He nodded.
“It was nice meeting you, Seema Lipson.”
Offering him a smile, I pulled my body into my seat, slammed the door and started the ignition.
He stepped back onto the sidewalk but didn’t move until after I honked and was pulling the rig from the property.
With a little distance between us, I sighed as if I’d forgotten to breathe before.
There was something about Carter Finch that made me think of the most taboo things—when I was a teenager and was imagining the kind of man I wanted, he was it.
He was the perfect definition of the man I’d imagined.
But as the years grew and life began kicking me in the gut, I realized I’d been a moron.
Men like Carter Finch and Charlie weren’t ever single.
Then again, he was so out of my league.
I allowed myself a moment to imagine, to fantasize. I gave myself permission to see myself as a woman that he could desire and when that moment was over, I exhaled and shook it off.
Once the adrenaline wore off, I checked my schedule on my phone and sighed.
It took some mental ninja voodoo to work out the math while driving, but eventually I had somewhat of a new plan.
If I skipped my next break and cut the second stop in half, I could get back on schedule and still manage to drop off my load on time.
Barely.
If I skipped the third break all together—I would have some wiggle room to play with.
Glancing in my mirrors, I switched lanes to go around a set of cars, then eased back into the center lane. I turned on the music, cranked it to drown out lingering thoughts of Carther and Charlie, and focused on the job at hand.
2
CARTER
I dreamed of her for days afterward—the beautiful woman with the flawless dark skin, the big brown eyes, rounded face and curves for days. The woman who handled an eighteen-wheeler like a boss to pull off a perfect roadside rescue without breaking a sweat—then that same woman looked at me with a kind of shyness that aroused me in every way it shouldn’t.
What did that say about me that even with the thought of danger—of my life being at risk, I still saw her as one of the sexiest women alive?
I sighed.
Images of her face woke me, and I was happy for that.
Her smile was better than the blast of an alarm clock any day—I’d take it.
As I stretched out on my back, I used the small remote to activate the curtains. I waited for them to part. For a moment, I remained where I was and allowed myself to close my eyes and imagine her again.
Brown eyes, full lips, a small scar at the right corner of her mouth—I dragged a hand down my chest to the tent that was beginning to form at the front of my pants.
It’d been a while since a woman intrigued me like Seema Lipson had, and I didn’t understand it.
I will not question it.
But whereas the old me would question these thoughts, the new me opened myself to them, and allowed them to give me permission to feel like a man again.
