Page 36 of Daddy By Design

“You can take the truck.”

“And leave you stranded like this? Not likely.”

“I’ll be fine. Not the first migraine, won’t be the last.” He ripped the curtain closed.

“You’re welcome,” I shouted to him but of course, there was no reply.

I sighed and went back to the front of the trailer. I sat down on the surprisingly comfortable couch and crossed my legs. I was wet, again—maybe even from more than the rain. I didn’t really want to think about that part. Or why I was so intrigued by him, even if he was a complete ass.

Obviously, I was contrary and had been too long without male contact if I found him attractive.

Not that it was the scars that turned me off. Actually, they fascinated me far more than they should. But the man and his shitty attitude should not be the fascinating part.

Yet here we were.

My stomach growled.

And I didn’t get my damn pancakes.

I slapped my hands on my thighs and stood up. Maybe he had something in his cabinets. I opened the first one over the sink and found pretzels and a six-pack of beer. I grabbed the pretzels and didn’t feel guilty because they were already open. I tossed the chip clip on the counter and munched on a few as I searched the skinny cabinet and found rice and instant potatoes.

The fridge was better stocked. I dug around in the freezer and found some ground hamburger. Okay, not totally useless. He had a few more staples that I could probably make into something.

“Thank you, TikTok.” I opened the app and found my favorite food content creator. “Come fix you a plate,” I said with a grin. “Thank you, I will.”

TEN

When I surfaced again, it was with the scent of something salty and buttery sneaking into my bedroom. I groaned as I rolled over and squinted at my watch. Normally, the meds kicked my migraine enough that within twenty minutes that I could function, but this time, I’d been down for two hours.

I wasn’t even sure how I’d gotten home.

There was a fuzzy memory of...Dahlia?

Crap. How did that woman keep turning up in my life?

I sat up and scrubbed my face with my hands. Migraine hangovers were a bitch, but I was surprisingly clear-headed for once. Enough that a few more scraps of memory filtered in. Someone helping me across the street. Dahlia was a little thing. How the hell did she manage that? Arguing with me… Her being stubborn—shocker. Next thing I remembered was the trailer.

Then cool sheets and blackness.

I slid down the mattress to the foot of my bed. There wasn’t much room in the back of my trailer for much more than my king-sized bed. I was too damn tall for anything else, which meant I’d had to opt for a larger trailer. The sales guy had warned me my old truck wouldn’t last long—this rig was a big bitch.

He was right, but my old truck had lasted through the cross-country trek before it had shit the bed. Another piece of my past that had crashed and burned.

I opened the slim cabinet and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and T-shirt. I kicked my discarded boots to the side and opened the curtain. There was a covered pan with something that seemed like gravy and meat that made my mouth water.

Dahlia was sitting cross-legged in the corner of my couch. Her hair had dried into wild waves around her heart-shaped face. She looked up from her phone. “He lives.”

I grunted and opened the fridge. “I’m pretty sure I told you to go.”

“No way I was leaving you alone. You’re lucky I got you into this tin can.” She stood and tossed her phone onto the shelf behind the couch. “And I was hungry. Figured you might be too.”

“I didn’t ask you to cook.”

“I didn’t ask you to careen drunkenly into the road full of cars in the pouring rain. Maybe I should have let you get hit.”

“Maybe you should have.” I cracked a can of Liquid Death and guzzled it down.

She frowned as she moved closer. “You don’t mean that.”

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