Page 5 of Truck Off

I feel my face warm, and I inwardly pray my cheeks aren’t turning red. From the smile that spreads across his face, I’d say my prayer is useless. The heat that washes over me has me begging for the cold shower that I complained about earlier.

I shrug and try to act like he’s not having an effect on me. “His attitude was bullshit. I don’t tolerate bullshit, even when it’s not being directed at me.”

A low rumble of a chuckle escapes him, and I feel it all the way down to my toes. “I’ve always liked that about you. Kind and generous to those who deserve it, yet you call out bad behavior every time.”

I meet his heated gaze. “I didn’t know you paid that close attention to my actions.”

He lifts his shoulder and rests his hand on the top shelf of the aisle next to us. “I pay attention to a lot of things.”

I cross my arms over my chest and lift a brow. I don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to my cleavage before he quickly brings them back to mine. I’m not wearing anything revealing, just an old Metallica T-shirt I’ve had since high school. But it fits snugly, and I’m not lacking in the boob department.

“You sure about that?” I challenge. He couldn’t possibly be paying too much attention to me or else he’d have figured out I’ve had a crush on him for years.

“Oh yeah.” He leans closer, and I can smell his woodsy scent mixed with grease and sweat. He smells like hard work on a rainy day. I pinch my lips between my teeth to keep from moaning. “Sometimes I miss things, but not often. I do my best to pay attention when it counts.”

I allow myself to lean closer, hoping like hell I’m reading him right. “And what are you seeing right now?”

“Lina Lange,” he says my name with a flirtatious lilt. “Are you flirting with me?”

I suck in a breath and step back. I feel my face drop at being called out on my actions. I don’t flirt often—more like never—and I didn’t expect him to be so direct about it. “If you have to ask, then I suck at it.”

“Aw, now. No grumpy faces. I was just teasing.” He reaches for my arm and wraps his hand around my wrist like he’s afraid I’m going to run away. It’s what I want to do, but I don’t resist his pull. I like the feel of his hand on me. It sends a warmth through me that leaves me wanting more.

“I’m not grumpy,” I say, but my frown deepens.

He chuckles, and I feel it reverberate through his hand and up my arm. “Sure you’re not Grumps.”

“Don’t call me that.” Now my brows furrow and my frown turns into a scowl. Truth is, I am grumpy. A lot grumpy. My life hasn’t been easy, and I don’t have a lot to be happy about. But I didn’t expect anyone to notice.

He releases my arm, and I immediately miss his touch. Then he tosses his hands up in surrender in a way that suggests he’s going to stop with the grumpy talk. But there’s something about the twinkle in his eyes that leads me to believe I will forever be Grumps to him.

Then he shocks the hell out of me with his next words.

“Let me make it up to you and take you out to dinner.”

“What?” I shake my head and feel my eyes widen. “Did you … Um … Make what up to me?”

“Teasing you.” He steps closer. So close I can feel the rise and fall of his chest. His voice drops to a raspy timbre. “Dinner. Friday night. You and me. What do you say?”

A small smile lifts my lips. “Wow. The elusive Christian Mutter finally asks me out on a date. How can I possibly say no?”

Chapter 2

Mistakes and lies

Chase

Wait. What?

Did she just call me Christian?

I just landed a date with the woman I’ve been pining over since we were in first grade. I’ll never forget how she looked up at me on the first day of class when she sat next to me. She wore the biggest smile and the cutest pigtails I’d ever seen. I was a goner for this girl from that day forward.

Just my luck that she thinks I’m my bad boy twin brother.

A shiver runs through me. And not the good kind. It’s a warm, late spring day and I feel like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

I open my mouth to correct her but stop myself. I look down at my clothing. I’m not dressed in my typical clean cut, somewhat preppy style. I’ve got on tattered jeans, a holey T-shirt, and Christian’s leather jacket. I even rode up on his bike. And she saw me do it.

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