Page 3 of Titus

“I know you are Miss Independent but Quinn, you have on tight but cute ass jeans, those heeled boots, and a beige shirt. None of that screams getting on the dirty, wet ground and changing a damn tire. Call somebody please,” she begs but I dismiss her.

“These are our new snip toe boots,” I remind her. “This ultimate flex insole and heel are perfect for anything.”

“Okay, sounding like y’all damn commercials,” she teases. “At the end of the day, flex or no flex, they are too damn cute for you to be out there trying to change a tire.”

Anything basic on a car, I can do. I was raised by my dad, uncle, and older brother. I was taught never to depend on a man. So I can change a tire, change my oil, and even replace sparkplugs if needed. Now, I can’t remember the last time I’ve done any of those but the knowledge is still embedded in my mind. However, when I get out and see just how bad it is, I relent and get back in the car.

“The tire is shredded. I don’t know what could have done that shit. If I ran over something, I definitely didn’t see it,” I admit. “Let me put in a roadside request.”

“I’m going inside. You want something?”

“I need one of those Black Ops Specialty peach teas but since I’m driving, a sweet tea if they have. Bottle, not fountain.”

“Okay. I got you. I’ll drink the bourbon if they sell them.” She smirks then leaves me in my ride.

I open the My BMW app and fill out the info for roadside assistance. The estimated wait time for help to arrive is too damn long, seventy-eight damn minutes. Frustrated, I decide to check one more time to see if I can change it myself. I just need the spare to get me to Millers Pointe. There’s a Luxury is Powers dealership there and if I can make it there before closing, the service department can fix it properly.

After popping my trunk, I get out of my X5 then walk to the back. Most newer model BMWs don’t come with spare tires but thankfully, I have the x5 M Competition Trim. My baby has a spare tire kit and I locate it in my trunk. As I’m pulling out the jack, I hear a deep, sexy, slightly raspy baritone.

“You need help with that?”

When I turn around, the very face that distracted me before this blowout is staring at me intently and he has a horse.

How the hell!

CHAPTER

THREE

Titus

I’ve made too many fucked up decisions in my life but walking Phoenix to the front of this store isn’t another one. As soon as we break the corner, my eyes spot the back of a thick ass, fine ass woman. Even with the long black hair hanging down to her ass, I can clearly see her slim waist, ass sitting just right, and her thicker than day old grits thighs. I can’t take my eyes away from her and when she lifts the jack out of the trunk, I swoop in and ask if she needs some assistance.

Her head turns and she glances back at me. Damn!Her face matches the body; she’s pretty as fuck. Her peanut butter skin looks smooth as butter and lickable.Shit!

“Um…I’m…No, I think I got it,” she stumbles out, voice sounding sultry and sweet.

After shortening Phoenix’s reins, I coax her closer to the curvy beauty. When we are just a few feet away, I tie my girl tothe light pole near the BMW then step to Thickums. She’s still holding the jack so I reach out to grab it. She doesn’t let go though.

“There’s no need for you to get dirty when I’m here. Let me do this,” I tell her.

Her eyes examine me from the rim of my hat down to the steel toes of my boots then she glances over at Phoenix. With a smirk on her pretty face, she stares those beautiful, dark eyes up at mine. Something in them feels familiar but I don’t know her. I’ve never even seen her before because if I had, she would already be mine.

“A real live Black cowboy coming to my rescue. It’s definitely rodeo season,” she says while smiling. Then she laughs as she finally releases her grip on the jack. “Be my guest and get dirty, Mr. Cowboy.”

“Titus,” I correct her. “Now, can I have your name?”

“Quinn.”

“Bitch, I spent so much money in there. This truck stop has every damn thing. Look at this cute little boot shot glass,” a woman says as she rushes over to Quinn. When she stops long enough to see me, she gasps. “Oh shit! Where did you come from? Titus Cole,” she adds, saying my whole government.

She recognizes me.

I shouldn’t be surprised though because this rodeo shit is crazy. The fan support is real and some of them will follow us from rodeo to rodeo during the season, especially the women, the buckle bunnies. If you are a winner and have a championship buckle or are close to one, they be on your ass.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” she asks while looking at Quinn, instead of me.

Holding up the jack, I state the obvious, “About to change her flat.”

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