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Cassidy
“Son of a fucking bitch!” My whole fucking truck is shaking like an earthquake rumbling underneath me, and I stroke the steering wheel in soft, gentle strokes. “It’s okay, girl. Just a few more miles.”
My load, thankfully, was dropped off at a warehouse twenty minutes ago, and I’m headed to the truck stop just north of here. But I don’t think I’ll make it. I can’t afford to get stuck on the side of the road between Angel Harbor and Los Angeles. My plan was to turn in at the truck stop and see about getting another load ASAP, but now the truck is my priority.
At the first red light, I Google the closest repair shop with the ability to handle my big rig because of the way she’s chugging and vibrating. “Call Ace Motors,” I say to the phone as an asshole in a red convertible cuts me off the minute the light turns green.
“Ace Motors, what can I do for ya?” The voice that answers the phone startles me because it’s not as professional as I expected. “Hello?”
“Yeah, sorry,” I say and shake my head. “My truck is making some weird noises, and I need to get it looked at. Do you require an appointment, or can I just roll on in?” I hold my breath, waiting for an answer.
“What kind of truck?”
“A 2018 Kenworth.”
“Ooh. I’m sorry, but we don’t have anything big enough here for that,” he begins. “But if you can limp it over to Morgan International on Harbor Way, they can get it looked at.” He rattles off an address, and I try to tap it out on my phone as quickly as possible.
“You there?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a repair shop?” I ask, panicking now about the vibrations.
“Yes and no. But our mechanics are there, and they can fix you right up. It’s right in the middle of Angel Harbor. You need directions?”
“No, my Navigation says it’ll take twenty minutes.”
“All right. We’ll see you then. Call me back if you have any more questions.”
“Thanks,” I say and tap the screen. I follow the directions while my truck coughs and chugs along the road, and I spot the gleaming building sitting right on the water. The sign above it reads Morgan International in plain black lettering, and I roll through the gates with relief pounding through my chest.
A man strolls out of a work bay with a slow, lazy gait and a smile that can only be described as sexy. His thick brown hair curls atthe edges because he’s at least a month overdue for a haircut. His eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun, and his broad shoulders are the kind that tell every woman in a ten-mile radius that he’s a strong, capable protector. He’s good-looking in that bad boy way that might’ve gotten my panties wet when I was younger, but now he’s just a beautiful man.
He bangs on my door with his palm to get my attention, and I open the door, jumping out and landing right in front of him.
“Hey.”
His dark brows quirk, and his lips tug into a crooked grin. “Need some help?”
I sigh and nod, motioning toward my truck. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure something electronic is causing the problems. Dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree, and it’s got a rough idle. Thought I was gonna have to leave it on the side of the freeway a few times.” I let out a long breath, and add, “A diagnostic should confirm it, so we can order the replacement part as soon as possible.”
His lips tug into a different kind of grin, and I’m sure I see a hint of surprise in his hazel eyes.
“Yeah, I know a little about engines, tough guy. I can also vote and own property, too.”
His gaze darkens, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Never said you didn’t, sweetheart.”
I let out a low growl at his use ofsweetheart. I don’t know this guy from Adam and despite his good looks, his attitude is already pissing me off. “You know what?”
Another man appears beside him who looks like his brother. “You the driver who called Ace Motors?”
“I am,” I confirm and repeat my suspicions about the electronic panel to the other man.
He nods. “All right, we’ll need to get the rig inside and up on a machine, right, Diesel?”
The brown-haired man, Diesel, nods before his gaze slides to mine, and his lips curl into an amused grin. “Yep. Just slide it into bay number four. If you can manage it.” I don’t respond to his teasing tone.
“Yeah, okay. Number four,” I say under my breath and climb back into the cab, sweet-talking her to bay number four and rewarding her with a gentle touch when she makes it without more problems.
