Page 14 of Truck Stop Titan

I readied to protest and give the dickhead a piece of my mind when a thick voice came over his shoulder. “She isn’t alone, Bub. You wanna keep your head attached to those bony fuckin’ shoulders, you’ll walk away, right the fuck now.”

Dear God, that voice, thick and dangerous, like he gargled shards of glass just to prove he could, just to show the world he was badass.

Bubraised an eyebrow at me, straightened his spine, turned to face Mr. Grumpy, and shrank two sizes when he got a good look at his “competition.”

Hands raised in surrender, he backed away. “Hey, man, sorry. I thought she was alone.”

The bartender made his way closer, watching for trouble. He nodded, silently asking if I was okay. I smiled and gave him a nod back.

Grumpy’s eyes, weary and red-rimmed, but lethal nonetheless, finally met mine. He seemed to glare right through me at first, but his focus moved from my hair to my lips, then lingered on my freckled nose. A warmth softened his stone-cold features, as if he were seeing an old friend for the first time in ages.

Toes to scalp, every muscle that was capable clenched. Even my skin joined the party, vibrating in response to his feral power.

Beautifully brutal. Hard edges. Dangerous. The man was terrifying in size and aura. Unapproachable but mesmerizing. Fading bruises on his cheek, angry scar above his brow. A hot heap of sexy trouble.

Oh, God, I was staring.

And blushing, my cheeks blazing hotter than my grandfather’s old pot belly stove.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, my throat too dry considering the amount of liquid I’d consumed.

He only nodded, one corner of his lips pulling to the side.

Was that an invitation? Did I care? “Bartender, I’d like to buy this man an effin’ drink.”

Grumpy smiled and shook his head. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

“My name’s not sweetheart.” I offered a hand. “It’s Moriah.”

# # #

“Tell you what,” Grumpy said, sliding to the stool between us. “I’ll buy the next round, you do one thing for me.”

His thick, warm voice was like an orgasm for the ears. “What would that be?”

He nudged his empty glass out of the way and turned to face me. “Give me one proper fuck you.”

“I don’t like that word.”

“Jesus. H. Christ. Are you for real?”

I couldn’t help myself, the guy was too damn serious. “Fudge yes, I’m for real,” I said, unable to stifle a laugh.

“Fudge,” he huffed. “Not even close.” He gestured to the bartender for another round. “Come on. Just one good, old fashioned fuck you.”

I shook my head.

“Okay. Okay.” Grumpy perched one elbow on the bar, leaning closer. “Who’s Matthew?”

“Why?” I asked, not missing Matthew one iota.

“Because you said his name earlier, and you seemed upset with the guy.”

“He’s my ex.”

“Okay then, obviously he’s a douche if he let you slip through his fingers. So, for Matthew, let’s hear it.” He tilted his head toward mine, drawing out the words. “Fuck. You. Matthew.”

“Oh, God. You’re not gonna relent, are you?”

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