by S. E. Hall
"Paging Paige," he snickers over the channel, "are you okay?"
"How would you know?" I stand, brushing by her. The adrenaline pumping through me is bothersome; I barely know Vaughn, but her hopping truck bed to bed then judging him behind his back isn't sitting well with me. He got me this job and he didn't have to do that. So he can't be all bad. And even if he is… at least say it to the man's face so he has a chance to defend himself.
"Paige?" Vaughn's voice is no longer playful but edged with an unsettling concern. It's something new for me to hear in a man's voice.
"Viv, show me how to work this damn thing, would you?"
I hear her sigh as she approaches from behind. "Press this to talk. When you're done, you can say over, come back, or come on, then let go and he'll talk. Don't press it again until he says the same thing. Your turn, and so on." She hands it to me with a troubled frown.
"Seriously, Viv, you don't know him and I meant it. I'm not a nice girl, and can certainly take care of myself. It's a conversation, not a romp in the parking lot." That's right. I laid her shit bare with scrutinous eyes and one brow arched.
"Okay, okay." She raises her hands in defeat. "Have fun. By all means, what do I know? Just an old lot lizard, I got it. I'll go check the showers." She lets the breakaway slam behind her as she storms off.
"Vaughn?"
"Finally! Fuck! You ok? Come back."
"Yeah, just…had a customer. What's up? Over."
"Listen, see the dial on the base there? When I say over, turn the knob to change channels. I'll meet you at the same number as your apartment. And no real names. Over."
He takes this shit serious, all Steven Segal on me. I can hang with that; anything to break up the monotony of my shift. I flip the dial till I'm on channel 18 and wait.
"Firecracker, you here? Come back."
"Why the hell are you calling me that? Over." Tired of standing, I scoot the base closer to the edge of the counter for leeway and pop a squat right there on the floor, leaning back against the wall.
"Listen, my handle is Jawbreaker, remember? Don't use our real names, ever. Anyone on this channel—could be zero, could be a hundred—can hear what we say. So from now on, I'm Jawbreaker and you're Firecracker. Come back."
Is he serious right now? "Hold on, why the hell do you get to pick my handle? And why Firecracker? Over."
Okay, I'll admit, this is kinda fun. Certainly a distraction to keep me awake. Plus, I feel all badass lady cop…or something…
"'Cause I'm the CB veteran in this relationship. And because you're a feisty, colorful 'never know if you're gonna be pretty or just blow up and make a lotta noise' kind of girl." He laughs. "Like a firecracker. Perfect name, if I do say so myself. Come back."
I can't help it, I'm chewing my lip attempting to hold back the smile. "The handle's not bad, I can live with it. But what's this imaginary relationship you're speaking of? Over."
Yeah, I've crossed my legs and let my hair down, getting comfy. Well, as much as possible. I am, after all, sitting on the floor in a truck stop.
"I'm not talkin' rings and shit, but anytime two people fuck like animals it's some kind of relationship. Come back."
"Do I know these two lucky people? Over."
"Me and you of course. Come back."
"How many times did you skip health class exactly? Pumping yourself and screaming my name? That's not fucking," I jibe, dripping with playful sarcasm.
"You're funny, Sparky. I like it. And keep up that tough girl thing. Turns me on. But don't get shit twisted, we will fuck. Come back."
"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you? Over."
"You wanna deny it? I bet your hand has been down those sweet lil' panties every night since we met while you're thinking about me. Thinking of how good it'd be if it were my fingers sliding inside you. Come back."
My thighs squeeze tight, pussy throbbing. Before I can reply with even a semblance of a witty comeback, his voice sounds once more.
"Don't lie to me, Firecracker. Tell me you've thought about how my cock would feel pounding into you. We both know you'll be begging for it soon enough. Come back."
"You know what I'll be begging for? Your egotistical ass…"
The bell over the door rings and I quickly duck my head and lower my voice. "Customer, hold on. Over," I whisper, then jump up and straighten myself.
"Can I help you?" I smile, too perky.
"Who are you?" the beautiful man asks, his voice edged with irritation. "Where's Viv?"
Now this is who she should pick. Over six feet of caramel-skinned man with a sexy black goatee and neatly cropped hair of the same color. Why is Viv not hitting this?
"I'm new and she's checking the showers. Who are you?" I shoot right back at him, trying to remain snarly instead of picturing a naked Blair Underwood in my head.
"Shower stalls?" he asks, pointing their direction, wide-eyed. "Where the men shower? Oh hell no," he thunders and then he's off.
I'd warn her over the intercom, sister code and all, but seems Ms. Dish Out Unsolicited Advice could use a heaping spoonful of her own medicine. Wish I could watch, really, but gotta stay and man the front…and Vaughn's waiting. Vaughn, the man that I was about to chew out. Lucky for him I've had a moment to cool down.
I won't let him get to me, which is exactly what he's trying to do.
"Jawbreaker, you still there?" I ask, slipping back down on my ass. "Over."
"At your service, sexy. I'm next in line at the weigh station, though, so we'll need to finish this another time. Maybe when I get back we—"
"No, we nothing…there's nothing to finish. I won't lie, you're fun and chatting is a nice way to pass the time, but that's it. Nothing else. Over."
I hear chuckling when he comes back. "Button, Paige, missed the first half of that. But I'm not so bad, I swear. A chance to prove it would be nice. Come back."
"Nice or not, I'm not interested." I sigh. "Sorry, buddy, but your cock needs to find another target. Over."
"Damn, girl, you sure know how to kill some wood." His laugh is hollow, maybe even hurt; it's tough to really tell over a CB. "What's so terrible about me? Come back."
"I gotta go. See you around, Jawbreaker. Over."
I place the handset down, feeling the weight of loneliness setting in. They all start off nice and sweet and in Vaughn's case, dirty, which I have no issue with, but they all end the same too. Leaving crazy old me.
It's a few minutes later when his voice filters through one last time. "I'll break ya, Firecracker. Maybe not tonight, or even tomorrow, but I will. See ya when I get back. Over and out."
Chapter 4
Four nights later, when I've had time to sufficiently berate myself for the dumbass way I ended the last talk with Vaughn, and even more time to notice that he hasn't contacted me since, my attitude and overall demeanor can only be described as tyrannical bitch.
Viv's "breaks" aren't cute, they're selfish…leaving me alone, at night, while her forty—fifty?—year-old ass "gets some" out back. Harlow? Not naively sweet anymore, she's a doormat who needs to "big girl" up, her Strawberry Shortcake routine rubbing my Maleficent nerves raw.
And Vaughn…radio silent. I've told myself it's for the best, repeatedly. I'm not saying I was hoping for it, but when you're sitting alone in a truck stop in the wee hours of the morning, a little company from someone that actually knows how to make you laugh isn't the worst thing. There hasn't even been a "chance" meeting to perhaps allow me to clear the air.
What can I expect, though? I was pretty explicit that nothing was going to happen between us, especially no fucking. I'm sure he asked Amelia what makes me "the way I am" and the truth she enlightened him with probably sent him running. It's for the best. I already said that.
The bell above the door chimes, shooing away my daydreaming. Looking up, I find the gorgeous, twice my age and looking better than nine out of ten men who aren't, black Adonis who was here for Viv the other night. That woman needs some fucki
ng glasses if she can't see this is the guy she needs to "take a break" with. He's a classy sight all right, dressed like a GQ boss with teeth so white they blind you when he smiles.
"Hey again," I say, much friendlier than I feel, purely hormones speaking for me. I have got to get laid soon.
"Paige, nice to see you again." Oh, there's that high-voltage smile, two long, clean fingers smoothing down each side of his black with dashes of salt goatee.
"You know my name how?" I question with a skeptic quirk; we don't wear nametags here.
He grins. "Vivian."
"Oh, right. Guess that would make sense. Well, she didn't think to share yours, and if you're gonna be a regular fixture, it'd be nice to have something to call you."
"Marcus, Marcus Blake." We shake hands over the counter, his large and smooth; I'm guessing they've never seen a day of manual labor. "Pleasure to officially meet you. Any chance she's around?" His eyes flit left, right, and over my shoulder, then return to mine, carrying a suspicious sadness.
Viv's a moron.
"This is Jawbreaker, looking for his lil' lost Firecracker. She out there? Come back."
I was never a cheerleader. Never even tried out. I did beat up a few, though. Uppity bitches thinking they were better than me. But damn if I don't tamp down a lil' squeal and dance on the balls of my feet at the sound of his voice over the CB behind me.
Need. Laid. Pronto. 'Cause this weird double personality BS is not gonna work for me.
"You can, uh, wait," I offer Marcus, creeping backward, "or check the stalls. Whatever. I need to," I point at the CB, "get that."
"You do that," he rumbles and taps the counter twice. "Just tell her I came by before I left on business for a week. Guess I'll try to catch up with her when I get back."
"I'll tell her." I nod, smiling. "Sorry." For what? Not my problem or business, but I said it. I'm hardly recognizable.
"Don't be. Have fun." And with one last flash of that dazzling smile, he leaves, his shoulders slumped unlike when he arrived.
Oh well. I shake off any lingering, uncanny sympathy and grab the receiver, sliding down the wall to sit. "You got me. Come back."
"Firecracker? Over."
"That's what you tell me. W'sup? Come back."
"Switch channels. Your apartment plus five, over."
With a grumble, his incognito operation forcing me to get back up, I switch the dial to channel 23 and return to my ass.
"You here?" he asks, voice clear and tantalizing. "Over."
"I'm here. Do we have to keep saying over? It's just us, and you sound like Rain Man." I laugh, releasing the button.
And wait for his response. And wait. The man is a child, and even scarier, I know exactly what he's doing.
I frump out a sigh and give in. "Come back."
He answers instantly, like I knew he would, and I can't help but snicker at his obstinacy.
"Yes we do, or we'll be talking over each other again. Don't mess with a system that works, Smarty Pants. So, how ya been, feisty girl? Over."
Not too feisty. I'm positive that word at least partly insinuates movement, excitement, or some form of an actual life. I'm pretty much the opposite.
"Fine. Just work a lot, eat very little, and sleep even less. Constant rave, ya know? What about you? Come back."
"Aww, missed you too, I am. Should be pulling in your lot in about twenty. Wanted to see if you were working before I stopped. Over."
"Or what?" I snicker. "You'd have just kept cruisin' past and parked the big rig at the apartment? Come back with something on that one."
"Ah, Firecracker. The ways I wanna punish that smart lil' mouth of yours. No, I would've driven past and parked it at my company's yard. I'm beat and filthy, but I—"
I pull the mic thing back from my mouth and look it over, possibly banging it on the floor a few times to make sure it's still working since I lost him.
"Vaughn?" I try.
"Vaughn?" This time I beat it against my thigh and twiddle with the wire before I try again. "Can you hear me?"
I rise to my knees and scurry on them to the base, now slapping my hand on the side repeatedly, searching for a power button.
"You break it, you bought it," he says from behind me, his voice a low caress up my spine.
I turn, forbidding my face to reveal the sizzle of surprised excitement making its heated way through me and rather scrunch my brow. "How'd you sneak up on me like that? And why are you covered in—"
"Grease. Some oil too." He looks down at himself, then up. "Problem with my rig, but got it worked out. And I came in the back door. You did know there was one of those, right?"
Yes, and I lock it when I work, rules be damned. Call me crazy, but I prefer that the bumps in the night come at me from the front. Damn Viv. She and I are gonna need to have a talk about safety vs. slinking in through the back door after her truck stop trysts.
"Yeah, I knew," I blow out in frustration, standing up. "You wanna take a shower? They're all empty right now and you're a hot mess." I capitalize on the plausible excuse and let my eyes rake slowly down every inch of his large frame, the dirty clothes only enhancing the virile, powerful form beneath them.
"Paige?" His timbre soothes, enflaming the part of me that knows what she wants from this man. It's only when he does that arrogant but hushed laugh of his that I force my eyes to his dark smoldering ones. "Me too, Firecracker, I feel ya."
Promises, promises.
"So." I clear my parched throat and duck, digging up a towel and shower card from the bins below the counter. "Shower, on the house." I toss the items over when I stand and he catches them without a flinch in his knowing smirk, which is focused solely on me. "Wanna grab some clothes out of your truck?"
"'Preciate it." He winks. "Gotta locker in the back."
Hands braced on the counter, I push up on my tiptoes and lean over, craning my neck to watch that perfect ass of his go. The man is fine…and sarcastic, funny, smart…and a man. The last kind of trouble I need in my life, especially when I'd just off-loaded the "one offer away from cheating" bastard and am attempting a new start.
But the town and time don't exist where my libido wouldn't recognize and yearn for the likes of Vaughn Stone. And if my vibrator's all I'm gonna get, I'm at least gonna make sure to fill my head with the most erotic images possible—so when I close my eyes and bring myself to pathetic, lonesome pleasure, I'll have some mental magic to draw from.
I gaze longingly down the hall. At this hour, it's likely no one will come in. And if they do, here's a thought—Viv the Vaginator can help them! It's my turn, dammit!
I skirt down the hall silently, rounding the corner to the showers. I'm a pretty brazen gal, but something about Vaughn—probably his bold volley of every sarcastic jibe I serve up—has dented my armor. That must be why my heart's beating triple time, a sheen of sweat coats the back of my knees, and I simply cannot muster up an ounce of moisture on my sandpaper tongue to unstick it from the roof of my mouth as I gawk from the doorway.
Oh good Goddamn! I'm no doubt gonna fry out the motor in my dick-shaped date tonight! A naked Vaughn Stone…water and suds trickling down every muscly plane of his sculpted body, his high, firm ass bared to me as he tips his head back, eyes closed, savoring the steaming water's therapy…damn. This man is a sight far surpassing anything I could possibly create in the wettest of dreams. And that mouthwatering cross tattoo covering his back just taunts and jabs, an ornate reminder that this boy is bad…in the best kind of way.
"Paige, there you are!" Viv all but screams behind me.
"Sshhh!" I spin and hiss at her. Unfuckingbelievable. She's never around—never!—until you don't want her anywhere in the vicinity.
"Sorry, geez," she huffs in a whisper and storms off, but too late.
Like a glutton for punishment, I look back at him, already positive what I'll find.
He's frozen in place, still facing away, the quick rise and fall of his shoulders and back muscles the tell-tal
e sign—he heard.
He knows I'm standing here, watching him.
My mind reels as I pivot on a heel and dash back to my register, willing my chest to stop heaving. I've almost accomplished as much when Vaughn, complete with damp hair, cocky swagger, and cheeky grin, saunters up to the counter. "How long 'til you get off?"
Oh the possible answers—or follow-up questions—I could spout in response. But instead, I feign fascination with breaking quarter rolls into my drawer and reply in this nasally, mortified sound that has me ready to slit my own throat, "'Bout an hour."
"Want me to wait around with ya?" It's sincere; deep, sexy, and toe-curling, but genuine.
"No, no, that's okay," I mumble, still making a show of counting coins, suddenly a chickenshit who can't look up.
WTF is wrong with me?
"Suit yourself," he teases, lifting the lid and grabbing a jawbreaker from the glass jar. "I know where ya live, I'll find ya. Soon. Be safe, Firecracker."
The suggestive proposal in his voice rings clear, leaving me desperate to accept, right before he loudly pops the candy in his mouth and turns to leave.
This is so not good. I'm never off my game, intimidated, or embarrassed. Which means there's something different about this guy. Even if I'm not willing to admit it, my body and subconscious already have.
Well, fuck!
Chapter 5
Another long night of a paycheck in the books, I drag my tired ass into the apartment and toss my stuff wherever it lands. Lucy immediately accosts me, hungry and sick of being cooped up alone. I swear Amelia is never here, so I give Lucy a quick rubdown and get her fed before heading to the shower.
The shower.
As I strip off my clothes and step beneath the hot spray, I relive every moment in my mind's eye. The taut, carved body of Vaughn Stone, beads of water gliding down each rigid muscle, might be just the vision I need to finally turn my nightmares into dreams.
It's nearing dawn when I get dried off and into my sleep shorts and tank, so I roll the blinds closed tighter and pull the drapes, then climb under the covers. I nuzzle down in my pillow, eyes falling shut, and right on time, pictures of him fill the darkness behind my lids. The last thing I remember is him looking over his shoulder, cocksure grin goading me as he extends a hand and asks me to join him. Then sleep takes me.
