AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I don’t know you! You’re a fucking stranger,” she shouts, and her thick hair blows all around her as the breeze kicks up. Damn if she doesn’t look beautiful. “You said you were taking me one place, and now you’ve taken me somewhere else entirely. In a town I don’t know. With a man who’s a total stranger!”
Shit.I realize my mistake as soon as the words fly from her full, pouty lips. “Fuck, Cassidy. I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about that. Seriously, I’m sorry.” I scrub a hand down my face and let out a sigh. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her shoulders fall, and all the anger seems to disappear. “I can see that, but please, just take me to a motel.”
“Right.” The ride back into town isn’t as much fun now that I’ve scared a woman I was simply trying to show a good time. I take her to the Seaside Motel, the closest one to Morgan International, and wait in the parking lot until she gets her room. “Hey, yo!”
She stops and turns to face me with a wary expression that I’m fully responsible for. “What are you still doing here?”
I slide off my bike and close the space between us. “I wanted to give you my number. Call me if you need a ride or anything while you’re in town.”
She scoffs, and I can’t really blame her, but she takes the scrap of paper and shoves it into her back pocket.
“Look, the owner of Morgan International is my sister-in-law, so if you don’t trust me, she’ll vouch for me. It was really stupid of me, and I apologize.”
“Dude, you fuckin’ kidnapped me! And I don’t know you.”
I smile. The one that drops drawers. “Think of it more as a nonconsensual city tour, and we’ll both feel better about it.”
She opens her mouth and then snaps it shut, but when she opens it again, laughter spills out. The sound is rich and husky, surprisingly feminine. “Yeah, okay. Sounds less threatening, I suppose.”
I hold my hands up. “Not a threat.”
“That’s good. For you.”
“Oh, yeah, why’s that?”
She shrugs, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder. “Because I have a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Another laugh explodes out of me. “Well, don’t be afraid to use my number either, Cass. Be seein’ you soon,” I tell her and make my way back to my bike.
Another day gone, and I’m still standing.
CHAPTER THREE
Cassidy
Nothing feels better after a long haul than a hot shower and a real bed—with a pillow—to lay my head on at the end of the day. And after that brief scare with Diesel, not to mention sparring with him, I order a pizza for a quick meal and then head to bed for a good, long sleep.
I wake up feeling refreshed and hopeful that my truck will be ready sooner rather than later. I’m not good at having nothing to do, and since I’m not at home, there’s nothing else to do but grab my fully charged phone and call Diesel.
“Yo. What’s up?” The gruff voice on the other end of the call belongs to a man, but it’s not Diesel.
“Uhm…this is Cassidy Vega and you’re working on my truck. It’s a 2018 Kenworth,” I begin. “Is this Diesel?”
“No, he forgot his phone in the shop. This is Lucky,” he says, and I realize it’s Diesel’s brother. “The parts have been ordered, and we should have everything tomorrow, which means you can get back on the road the day after that.”
My shoulders sag as disappointment settles over me. I was hoping to get back on the road no later than tomorrow afternoon. “Yeah, okay. Thanks. I’ll check back in tomorrow.” With at least two full days ahead of me with nothing on my schedule, I figure I might as well venture outside of my room, and my thoughts immediately turn to food. Last night’s pizza stopped my stomach from growling, but I need some real food.
I step outside my room, thankful for the second-story room since it lets me look around to see what’s nearby.I should’ve paid attention on the nonconsensual tour yesterday.My lips quirk into a grin as I remember Diesel’s apology.
“Food,” I say out loud. “Food, not men.” And definitely not one specific man.
A quick search on my phone tells me a few restaurants are within walking distance, so I lock the door and jog down the cement steps, heading across the parking lot toward the street.
The sound of a motorcycle roars behind me, and I move left on the sidewalk, just in case. I’ve seen enough bike accidents on the road to have a healthy respect—okay, fear—of motorcycles.
The sound grows closer, but it’s not the loud roar of a speeding bike, and when I look to my right, I see why. It’s Diesel, and he’s wearing what can only be described as a panty-melting grin.
