Page 13 of Truck Stop Tempest

“It’s complicated.” Knowing that answer wasn’t sufficient to warn her off, I further explained, “I’m complicated. Don’t do relationships.”

“Oh.” She dropped her gaze back to the ground, where it stayed until we entered the diner.

Tuuli beelined for the back room, but not before mumbling over her shoulder, “Thanks for walking me to work, Grim.”

Grim? I shook off the weird vibes plucking my nerves and headed for home, dead set on a shower, where I definitely would not be jerking off to the mental image of Tuuli, the forbidden fruit.

I cussed under my breath. Who was I kidding? I wouldn’t be able to think straight until I jerked off thinking about Tuuli.

Tomorrow was another day.

Tomorrow, I would stay away from her.

Today? Epic failure.

I’d failed miserably at hiding my blush when Tito came to the diner for his evening meal. Fortunately, he hadn’t looked at me once, not even to recite his dinner order. Unfortunately, his lack of common courtesy had my guts twisted in knots.

Since our morning game of twenty questions, I’d battled unease, my heart thumping two beats behind pace. He had come to meet me at church, on purpose, but then he’d warned me away. I didn’t understand. The man was so confusing. Brooding and closed-off one minute, over-concerned and protective the next.

The burn of bleach stung my eyes as I wiped down the table next to Tito. I sucked up my insecurities and spoke first, asking why he hadn’t touched his club sandwich.

His gaze sliced to mine, features set hard. “Not feeling it today, kiddo.”

Kiddo. Ouch. You didn’t call someone you were attracted to kiddo. How stupid I’d been. Wishful thinking was a fool’s luxury. I hated being a girl sometimes.

The cowbell jingled, announcing new customers. I knew the voices without having to look. The group of college boys came in for breakfast once a week, usually on Monday mornings, and always hungover. Judging by the volume of their speech and the obscenities they spewed, tomorrow would be no exception.

I did my best to encourage them to the far corner of the diner, where they wouldn’t disturb our other guests, but they insisted on sitting in my section, therefore, taking the table next to Tito.

I took their drink orders, ignoring the lewd remarks about my blonde hair and perfect tits, and managed to evade a wandering hand aimed for my butt.

My cheeks burned. Partly because of my crude admirers, but mostly because Tito had to bear witness. He still hadn’t looked at me. I knew because I checked every five seconds.

I brought their drinks, and with a fake smile, patiently took their orders in-between blatant advances. Wasn’t the first time I’d dealt with assholes, inebriated or otherwise. Wouldn’t be the last.

I scribbled the last order and headed to the kitchen, for a breather, and a minute to gather my wits.

“Toodaloo!” Charlie shouted over his shoulder. “How’s it goin’ out there?

“Good, Charlie. Except for the frat boys at table three.”

He dropped the fry basket into the oil, then turned to face me. “Want me to take that table?”

Charlie, bless his heart, never failed to step in when a customer made any of us feel uncomfortable.

“No. I’ve got it under control.” I’d dealt with worse, much worse. Erik, for example.

Charlie gawked through the service window. His whole body jiggled with his chuckle. “Looks to me like Moretti has it handled.”

“What?” I screeched, sidling up to the chef and rising on my tiptoes to see over the ledge.

Sure enough, Tito, still hooded, sat next to the guy with the wandering hand. His two buddies shifted nervously in their seats, faces pale. They started to scoot from the table. Tito halted their escape by slapping a hand on one of their wrists. Both pulled a wad of cash out of their pockets, dropped it on the table, and scurried out of the diner, leaving their friend behind.

Charlie grabbed their order and tore it into pieces, huffed, then mumbled, “That’s my boy,” before heading back to the fryer.

Tito scooted from the table, waited for the third drunk to slide free, patted him on the shoulder, and waited for the guy to make his exit. Then, as if nothing had happened, he returned to his seat, picked up his sandwich, and started to eat.

I didn’t know if ovaries could explode, but I was pretty sure mine had detonated.

---