Page 60 of Truck You

I wanted to kiss her so badly yesterday when I found her sitting on that rocky cliff looking out over the river. And it was pure torture sleeping on that couch when she was so close. All I thought about all night was how much I wanted to touch her.

So I drove my best race and won so I could kiss her.

Dumb? Maybe. But I don’t give a shit.

Now I’m in my truck, heading back to the cabins, wishing there wasn’t a party so I can have the night alone with Sophia. That’s a dangerous thought.

It’s not a matter of trust anymore. At least, I don’t think it is. I’ve never met a woman who’s affected me like she has, and I don’t know what to do with these feelings. Being an asshole to her was easier.

Before I can ruminate on my feelings for too long, my phone rings. I smile when I see the name.

“Hey, Warren,” I say after I accept the call. My brother rarely calls.

“Hey, Champ. Great race today.” His voice sounds cheerful through my truck’s speakers, which is unusual for our calls lately.

“You already heard?”

“Nah, man. I watched it.”

“You watched the race? Didn’t realize they would broadcast that far away.”

“I get access to all the races here. Benefit of working in racecar central.” He pauses, and I sense it’s not because he’s giving me a chance to speak, but because he’s choosing his next words carefully. Warren does that. He’s never one to rush his thoughts. “You looked good out there. Like you found your groove again.”

I smile at his compliment. “It felt good too.”

“Does that pretty redhead I saw you kissing have anything to do with it?”

My smile drops. “What?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Imagine my surprise to find out on TV that my baby brother has a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” I growl.

“You sure as hell kissed her like she’s your girlfriend.”

“Well, she’s not.” I grind out. I have no idea why I’m arguing this point so vehemently, but I can’t stop myself.

“Okay. Okay. I didn’t call to give you shit. I wanted to congratulate you.”

I let out a deep sigh as I take the last turn back to the cabins. “Yeah, thanks. It’s good to hear from you. Give any more thought to what I asked you? We keep getting more requests for custom racecars. The team could really use you.”

He’s silent for a moment before he answers me. “I have. I’m … I’m considering it.”

“Seriously?” We’ve been trying to convince Warren to move back home for years, and this is the first time he’s hinted that it’s a possibility. “Man, that would be awesome if you did.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t say anything just yet. I haven’t made up my mind. But I think I need a change.”

There’s a hint of sadness in his voice that I don’t like. Warren never sounds sad. Angry or aloof, but never sad. “Everything okay?”

“Of course. Just getting bored. You know how I am.”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.” Which is true to a degree. But out of all my brothers, Warren is the most secretive. He never tells any of us what’s going on in his personal life. Hell, he rarely updates us on his career. We have to call and harass him if we want details.

My truck crests the last hill before our cabins come into view, and I slam on my breaks. “Whoa.”

“What’s wrong?” Warren asks.

“Umm.” I clear my throat. “Just arrived back at the cabins and there are a lot of cars here.”

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