Page 39 of Truck Off

I don’t normally volunteer for things like this, but when Clara asked me a few weeks ago, I couldn’t say no. She joins our knitting club off and on, and I quickly figured out she’s a good person. Not everyone in this small town is.

I also don’t have a lot of friends, so when someone kind asks me to help them or join them in an activity, I have a hard time saying no.

Not that I expect Clara and me to become friends after this, but it would be nice to have a few more people in this town on my side. I don’t make friends easily. Mostly because I don’t trust many people. The sins and actions of my parents make that hard for me.

While Clara explains the groups we’ll be divided into, I study my other team members. I’ve seen Karla and Trevor around, but this is the first time I’ve met them. Karla comes across as confident and outgoing. She smiles and laughs a lot.

She’ll work with Chase on the mechanics. While nothing compared to Chase’s resume, she’s got some experience working on old muscle cars with her dad growing up. That bit of knowledge spurs a side conversation between the two of them.

“Oh, yeah?” Chase asks. His smile is so big it lights up the entire room. Oddly, a pang of jealousy rushes through me because he’s giving her that smile and not me. “What’s the last car you worked on?”

“A Pontiac GTO.” Karla smiles back. “It’s a sweet ride. Dad kept that car. He sold all the others.”

Chase presses his hand to his heart and looks up at the ceiling in awe. “I’ve worked on a few of those over the years. Only ever test drove them after rebuilding the engines. I always wanted to open them up on the racetrack and see what they really have, but never had the chance.”

“Well, Dad doesn’t race. Ever. He barely drives the Pontiac at the speed limit. He treats that car like a precious, fragile child.”

“Yeah, not sure I’d be that way if I owned it. I’d be too tempted to race it.”

“Then it’s a good thing we brought you on the team,” Clara says. “We need power and speed if we want to win. Unfortunately, this is a bus, not a muscle car. Just tell me you can handle it.”

Chase winks at her, and another wave of jealousy washes over me. It’s confusing and has me scolding myself. “Of course I can. There’s not much that I can’t handle.”

Then he looks at me. His smile grows, and he gives me the same wink he just gave Clara. My belly does a little flop and my insides warm.

That’s weird, right? I’m sort of dating Christian. He’s the twin I’m into. Can my body not distinguish the difference between them?

Chase turns his gaze back to Clara and focuses on what she’s saying. I take this opportunity to study him.

He’s what I’d call a clean-cut, pretty boy. He’s wearing dark jeans that look brand new. I’d guess that they’ve never seen a hard day’s work. His light blue button-down is crisply ironed. His hair is combed to one side without a strand out of place.

He and Christian may be identical twins, but they dress nothing alike. Except Christian dressed a hell of a lot like that on our date. I shake my head and focus on the man in front of me.

There’s no denying he’s a gorgeous man, but he’s not my type. I like the bad boy, rough and rugged look that Christian wears like he was born in it.

A little messy and a lot bad. That’s Christian Mutter.

I close my eyes and picture him sitting on the back of his bike, wearing his black leather jacket. He takes his helmet off and his hair is disheveled. I run my fingers through it and tug on those locks just before his lips crash into mine.

Oh, that kiss. I can’t wait until our next date so I can kiss him again.

I open my eyes and study Chase some more. He doesn’t look like he knows how to cause trouble if trouble hit him in the face. That doesn’t seem to change how my body reacts to him. My body is charged with need and desire. I’ve never had a reaction like this to a good boy.

Maybe that’s my problem. I need to stop categorizing men as good or bad. I’ve only ever dated one so-called good boy, and that was back in school. Hell, it wasn’t even a date. I wasn’t old enough to date yet. But that didn’t seem to matter to the asshole. He lured me into his car, making me think he liked me.

Fucking Charlie Fisher.

That didn’t turn out so well. He only wanted me for one thing, and when that didn’t happen, he hit me. Hard. He left me with a black eye and a cut across my cheek from where his class ring scraped my skin. I still have a faded scar. That was the first and last time a man ever laid a hand on me.

Charlie is from a good, wealthy family. His dad’s a retired congressman and Charlie is following in his footsteps. Charlie is the kind of man that’s never had to work for a damn thing in his life. Mommy and Daddy handed him every opportunity he’s ever had.

He’s several years older than me, and when he asked me out, I thought I won the lottery. A rich, handsome man wanted to go out with a poor daughter of an MC member. I’d said yes without giving it a second thought and took him up on his offer to drive me home.

That drive ended in violence. I may have gotten hurt, but he didn’t get what he wanted from me. He got a hard kick in the groin instead.

I still see Charlie around town, and he still looks at me with those creepy eyes that say he’d take what he wanted from me if the opportunity ever presented itself. I’ve made damn sure there’s never been any opportunities.

It doesn’t matter that he’s married with a kid. I know he cheats on his wife. Poor Hannah. She’s a sweet woman. She joins the knitting club sometimes. It’s not often because I think Charlie keeps a tight rope around her. Based on her behavior—and my past experience with Charlie—I think he beats her.

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