Page 2 of July's Bad Boy: Blaze

"I'm what now?"

"Time to get your hands dirty, rock star." Shane's tone makes it clear this isn't a request.

"I literally just got here," I protest. "I haven't even seen my room."

"I'll take your stuff in and get it settled. Then Paisley and I will get dinner going," Caitlin says with a smile, like I have any idea who the hell Paisley even is.

"Want to see some real-life stakes instead of the kind you're used to playing for?" Shane tosses back, already climbing into the driver's seat.

I stand there, duffel bag still in hand, contemplating my options. Jensen is already back in his truck and heading down the driveway. Lucky bastard able to tuck tail and run. I could refuse. What's he going to do, drag me? But then I'd be stuck here alone with Miss Sunshine and my hangover for company. Plus, I know Orville will be out there, and I have yet to see him. Jensen drove me out as a favor to him because of some meeting Orville had to be at.

"Fine," I mutter, dropping my bag on the porch and snatching up the gloves. "But I'm not promising to be useful."

"Wouldn't expect miracles on day one," Shane replies as I climb into the passenger seat.

The truck roars to life, and we're bouncing down a dirt road before I can even get my seat belt fastened. My stomach lurches in protest.

"If I throw up in your truck, that's on you," I warn.

"Bucket behind the seat," Shane says without missing a beat. "Wouldn't be the first time."

The drive takes less than fifteen minutes, but it's enough time for me to regret every life choice that led me here. When we round a bend and the crash site comes into view, I'm momentarily distracted from my self-pity.

A massive concrete truck lies half in the ditch beside the road. All the concrete that was once inside of it spilled over the road and seeped into the ditches on both sides. There is a semi-truck on the other side, its contents all over the road, and in the now drying concrete. As we get closer, I can tell it's all building supplies, everything from wood, tiles, metal, and even power tools. There is even yellow police tape fluttering in the breeze, trying to keep people back from the crash.

"Jesus," I mutter.

"Could've been worse," Shane says, parking on the shoulder. "The driver walked away with just a broken arm."

We exit the truck, and immediately the sounds of organized chaos wash over us. People are shouting directions, engines are rumbling, and the crackle of radios adds to the chaos. I stand awkwardly by the truck, feeling as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

Shane, meanwhile, immediately gets pulled into a conversation with a sheriff's deputy and what looks like a town official. I catch fragments--"road closed for at least a week," "supply trucks can't get through," "need to coordinate alternate routes."

A group of locals gives me curious glances as they pass. One does a double-take, nudging his buddy.

"Is that…?"

"Later," his friend cuts him off. "We got work."

Shane returns, handing me a reflective vest. "Put this on. Start learning names, and start being useful."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to--"

"Figure it out," Shane says, already turning away to help a group trying to move a fallen tree.

Standing there, with my vest in hand, I feel like the new kid at school. Everyone else is actually doing important things while I'm just taking up space. I reluctantly slip on the vest, which probably costs less than my socks.

"You! Vest guy!" a voice calls out. "Make yourself useful and help with this lumber!"

When I turn toward the voice, I feel something shift in the universe.

She stands in the bed of a pickup truck with her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Sweat glistens on her forehead, and there's a smudge of dirt across one cheek. She wears work boots, jeans with actual wear, and a t-shirt, revealing tanned, toned arms.

"Today would be nice!" she calls again when I don't immediately move.

Without consciously thinking about it, I find myself walking toward her truck. She's already turning away, directing an elderly couple to take water to the workers clearing debris.

Up close, she's even more striking. Not in the contoured, filtered way I'm used to from LA, but in a raw way that makes everything else seem artificial by comparison. She’s not even trying to look good, but hell, if she doesn't steal the whole damn scene.

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