Page 22

An inner self-conscious piece cringed as I pulled into the parking spot in front of my building number and cut the engine. It wasn't the most beautiful place, a little old and run down, but it was cheap and safe. I’d never cared about the looks until that moment with him sitting beside me. Judging.

“I'd love a shower, and I need to pack. Do you mind waiting that long?”

I shoved his shoulder to gain his attention. Those green eyes cut over with annoyance behind them.

“There's a Starbucks up the road. Take the truck and meet me back here in an hour.”

Not waiting for an answer, I tossed the keys in his lap and shoved open the door.

**

HE WAS DEAD.

I didn't give a shit how pretty he was or how much money he had, Brenton Graves was a dead man.

Two fucking hours—gone.

After pacing the sidewalk in the blazing hot sun for twenty minutes, effectively negating the shower I'd taken, I’d stormed back upstairs to wait in my somewhat less hot apartment. I peered through the thin metal blinds like a crazy neighbor, staring at the parking lot. What was worse, I was the idiot who never asked for his number, so I had zero way to get ahold of him.

For the hundredth time in the past thirty seconds, I spread open two of the blinds and peeked out.

“What the hell?” I muttered, leaping from my perch by the window. Overnight bag in hand, I stormed down the metal stairs, making a beeline for the smiling Brenton.

“Where in the hell have you been?” I seethed, dropping the bag at his feet, which his amused eyes tracked, to cross my arms over my chest. “You've been gone for over two hours. Did you get the shits or something?”

Behind his sunglasses, both dark brows shot up in surprise. “The shits? No. I skipped coffee to fix the truck’s AC problem.”

My hands fell to my sides and I sighed, now more frustrated with myself at jumping to conclusions. “You didn't have to do that, B. I was going to get it fixed when I had a chance. I've just been working a ton and need my truck so—”

He rested his callused hands on my shoulders. “Say thank you, Beks. I had the time.”

Unable to resist, I matched his smile with one of my own. “Thank you. Really, thank you.” Shifting my attention around the parking lot, I searched for my vehicle. “Now let's go get you some clothes. Where’s the truck?”

“Behind me.”

Eyes wide, I gaped at the brand-new F250 he leaned back on. “What. The fuck. Is that?”

“I didn't say how I fixed the air issue. Now remember, you said thank you.”

“B, this is....”

“Amazing? Perfect?”

“The most arrogant gift. Ever.”

He shrugged, hit a button on the key fob that started the engine, and tossed the keys into the air. Still staring at the beautiful vehicle in front of me, I snatched them before they hit the ground.

“You drive,” he stated, grabbing the bag at his feet before walking to the passenger side.

My fingers brushed along the bright red paint as I inched toward the driver door. It was precisely the color I would've chosen out of all the options. Through the window, I smiled at the staring Brenton, rewarded with a broad smile of his own.

I shouldn't accept it. It was too much. Who gave someone a truck?

Brenton fucking Graves, that was who.

The heavy door swung open with ease. Giggling, I lifted myself inside and settled into the cold seat. My eyes shuttered closed at the air wafting against my ass and back while near-arctic air blasted my face.

“This is heaven,” I mused, rubbing a hand over the soft leather steering wheel. “It's too much. I shouldn't accept it.” Rolling the back of my head against the leather headrest, I slowly opened my eyes to meet his. “But I really, really want to.”