Page 17 of Scarred Souls

6

HOPE

“What is this thing? Grave Digger’s grandfather?” And were those flames painted on the hood?

“It’s borrowed,” Vaughn said in a flat tone.

The old pickup was jacked up so high the door handle sat in line with my eyes. I almost needed a stepladder to get inside.

Vaughn didn’t. He climbed in on those long muscular legs with ease.

With a grunt and a puff, I hauled myself into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “This thing is completely impractical.”

He cast me an unimpressed look. “Getting in would be easier if you weren’t so short.”

Don’t take the bait. Don’t take the bait.

I held my tongue for as long as I could, which turned out to be roughly two seconds. “I’m not short. The average height for Mexican women is five foot two, and I’m taller than that.” By a whole inch.

He turned the key, and the truck started. “Sounds to me like you’re a little sensitive about it.”

“Like being tall is such a great thing.” I rolled my eyes.

“It’s worked out well for me.”

“Do you know what I hate about tall guys? I mean, aside from statistically getting better jobs and making more money than everyone else?” I angled my body to face him.

He rolled down his window and leaned his elbow on the sill. “This should be good.”

“You don’t even need a decent personality to get by in life. Your pickup lines can be as boneheaded as What’s up?”—I attempted a deep, manly voice—“and some vapid dimwit will swoon all over you just because you’re breathing air with less oxygen and can reach stuff on a high shelf. Give me a short king any day.”

He cast me an amused look. “A short king?”

“They’re more loyal, appreciative, and will treat you like a queen.” I listed the qualities off using my fingers. “Don’t argue with me. It’s science.”

“To each their own, but I like being big.” Grim shifted position, casually placing a tattooed hand high on his upper thigh and squeezing. “Everywhere.”

Holy hell. Why was that so hot?

It’s me. I’m the swooning dimwit.

I cursed my traitorous eyes for glancing across to see if he was bluffing about the size of his manhood. Thankfully, it was too dark to tell one way or the other.

I redirected my gaze out the window. “Only a man with a small dick would say something like that.”

“Is that so?” His tone dripped with sarcasm.

“Why are we still sitting here? Let’s go.” I gestured to the quiet street.

“You haven’t buckled up.”

“I only live a couple of miles out of town.”

He made a face like his last nerve had stretched thin and if it snapped, Armageddon would be unleashed. I thought Grim was about to argue with me, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached across me for the seat belt and clicked it into place.

He stayed close, his body heat and tobacco scent invading my personal space and sending a shiver of delight up my spine. “You ride in my car, or any car for that matter, you buckle up. Got it?”

I fidgeted in my seat, nervous and more than a little turned on by his sudden intensity. “Geez. Okay, Dad.”

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