Page 20 of Taming Bull

He shook his head. “I sound like a lonely mother-fucker who’s sick and tired of having to pretend I’m just lookin’ for pussy because that’s what society expects from me. And because assholes like you give me shit for it.”

That wiped the grin off my face. “I’m not an asshole.”

“I didn’t think you were. But then Lily got all dolled up, brought you donuts, and asked to talk. She’s trying to connect. That girl showed up and she’s willing to fight for you. Do you have any idea how rare that is? Everyone’s so fuckin’ jaded and scared of getting hurt, they don’t put themselves out there like she did. And you turned her away. I can’t tell you how many men—including myself—would kill for a woman willing to fight for them. She’s like that perfectly good chocolate cake. You look at her like you want to eat the whole damn thing, and you don’t even know what’s inside. I bet it’s your favorite filling. Whatever you like: raspberry, cream, mint, whatever. But instead of digging in, your dumb ass is throwing her away. Don’t fuckin’ waste that, man. You may think another will come along, but I’m tellin’ you, it’s rare as shit.”

I wanted to argue but couldn’t. Lily had nothing to apologize for. Her only mortal sin was in her striking resemblance of my dead ex-girlfriend, an offense we could never overcome. Lily didn’t deserve to live in the shadow cast by Amber’s ghost, but life wasn’t fair.

Lily also didn’t have money to blow on shit like doughnuts for the crew. But she was a giver. That’s just who she was, and no number of well-meaning objections from me could change that fact.

Damn, I missed her.

I’d always meant to keep her at an arm’s length, but over the past two years, she’d weaseled past my defenses and became my best friend. I missed hanging out with her, playing darts, explaining football, shooting pool, and talking for hours about nothing at all. Lily usually talked; I listened.

I missed the sound of her laughter.

Tavonte didn’t get it; I wasn’t wasting what we had, I was trying to protect us both from what we could never have.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost missed my freeway exit.

By the time I realized it, the off-ramp was ending. I braked, swerved, and barely made the exit. Tavonte watched me with a shit-eating grin, no doubt enjoying the way he’d gotten into my head. Ignoring him, I focused on finding my tow.

In the Big Lots parking lot, sat a baby blue 1994 Buick LeSabre. The disabled vehicle was parked a good three feet away from the parking block, like it petered out just shy of the finish line. I pulled up behind it, slid the tow truck into park, and got out. Tavonte fell into step behind me. An elderly woman with tight, gray curls sat in the driver’s seat with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Worried that two strange guys approaching might do her in, I gestured for Tavonte to hang back. He’d already read the situation, though, and was moving away.

Her driver’s side window was down about a quarter of an inch, so instead of knocking and potentially startling her, I stepped loudly and cleared my throat. Keeping her hands on the wheel and her gaze locked ahead, she showed no signs of hearing me.

“Ms. Moore?” I asked.

She jumped.

I’d done everything I could think of to avoid startling her, but I still felt like an asshole. Giving her the same disarming smile I grew up using on the elderly folks at my parents’ church, I pointed to the nametag on my uniform. “Hi. I’m Bull, I’m with Formation Auto Repair. Heard you had a little car trouble and I’m here to give you a tow.”

She studied me, surprise filling her grey eyes. “You’rewith the tow company?”

Unsure of why she was having trouble accepting my employment, I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, ma’am.” I pointed to truck parked behind her. “Got my truck ready and everything. If you want to step out of your vehicle, I’ll get this ol’ beauty hooked up, take her back to the shop, and see if we can’t get her workin’ again.”

She lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose and looked me over. I was young for a tow truck driver, but I was certified, and despite my distracted, late exit from the freeway, I was a damn good driver. I was preparing to defend my age when her gaze drifted down my body.

The mischievous gleam in her eyes made it clear she sure as hell wasn’t verifying my employment. “By this ol’ beauty, you talkin’ about me or my car, young man?”

She was flirting. Shocked, I stared at her. I needed to reply, but didn’t know how to answer. Sure, I’d had customers flirt with me before, but none that were my grandma’s age. Flirting back seemed inappropriate, but leaving her hanging was just plain rude.

While I struggled to come up with a response, she struck again. “What’s a woman gotta do to get the full service around here?” Just in case I’d missed the inuendo, she waggled her thin gray eyebrows at me suggestively.

I’d been trying to make her feel safe and comfortable, and she’d fucking knocked me on my ass. Unable to help myself, I belted out a laugh. “We’re not that kind of a service station, ma’am, but let’s see what we can do about your car.”

“Damn,” she said with a huff. “It was worth a try.”

As I helped her out of her vehicle, Ms. Moore copped a feel of my bicep, obviously preferring that to the forearm I’d presented her with, even though she had to reach over her head to hold on. I pretended not to notice her diabolical grin or the way her fingers probed the contours of my muscles. Even as we reached the safety of the curb, she kept a death grip on me, like I was a new toy she was afraid someone would take away.

“Is there someone you can call to pick you up?” I asked, wondering how I was going to remove her from my arm.

“I suppose I could call my daughter, but she’s working. Can’t I just ride with you to the shop and have her pick me up on her lunch break?”

“Sure.” I gestured Tavonte over. “Ms. Moore, this is Tay. He’s helping me out today.”

She gave Tavonte the same half-starved appraisal she’d given me. A small pink tongue whipped out to wet her lips. “Oh my. There’s two of you. Vanilla and chocolate. It’s like one of those swirl ice cream cones with the best of both worlds.”

The fairy taleLittle Red Riding Hoodcame to mind, and I couldn’t help but think Charles Perrault had gotten his story wrong, because this little old ladywasthe wolf. She wasn’t big or bad, but she was definitely hungry. Her eyes took on a glazed-over look, and I didn’t even want to know what kind of fantasies she was conjuring up.

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