Page 75 of Truck Stop Tempest

“Is that bacon I smell?”

“It’s in the oven.” She snatched her purse off the counter and headed toward the door. “There’s a breakfast casserole in there, too.”

“Wait.” A hammer pounded my ribcage. “Where are you going?”

“Church,” she replied.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?” I immediately regretted raising my voice.

Her gaze dropped to the floor.

She shook her head, straightened her shoulders, and met my eyes again. “Tito. It’s Sunday. I’ve missed the last few weeks. I really need to go.”

“After what happened to you last night, you’re just going to walk out of here, alone?”

“I have the Uber app.” She held up her new cell and forced a smile.

Un-fuckin-believable. “Are you insane? Uber?”

“I could call a cab if you think that’s better?”

“No! Christ! Not the point. So not the point.” Was she really that naive? “You were attacked last night, and you’re going to stroll out of here like there isn’t a maniac out there waiting for another chance to grab you?”

“That’s why I called for a ride instead of taking the bus.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The girl made me crazy. “Why didn’t you ask me to take you?”

“You were sleeping so sound, and…” Her gaze dropped to her feet. That damn little heel bounced on the floor, her nervous tell.

“And what?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to take me. You made it clear how you feel about church.” Her shoulders dropped. “Why are you mad?”

I wasn’t mad. Was I? Not at Tuuli, anyway. I was angry about the situation. I wanted her time. I needed her time. After last night, she wanted to be with a God who didn’t give a shit? Wasn’t I enough?

Shit. Now my head was all twisted up. “You know how I feel about church. But…Fuck. Don’t you get it?”

“Get what?” she asked, head cocked, eyes worried.

The words slipped free before I considered the consequences. “How I feel about you, Tuuli.”

Shit.

Every feature on her face brightened, lifting toward the sky like she’d tasted her first kiss of sunshine. “How do you feel?”

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Fuck.

“You know, don’t you?” Don’t make me fucking say it.

She dropped her purse back on the counter and stepped closer, predatory in her approach. “No, Tito. I don’t know how you feel.”

“You know.” I took a step back. The words were there, acid on my tongue. Words I’d never dared entertain.

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