Page 30 of Truck Me

I chuckle, if for no other reason than to remind myself I’m here to be a friendly neighbor and nothing more. “Have you not eaten?”

His eyes shift from the plate to me as if he’s just now remembering I’m standing here. He clears his throat and sets the plate on the counter next to the pan. “I did, but it wasn’t this good. Ate a can of soup.”

“Well, that won’t do. I’ll have to bring you dinner more often if that’s how you eat.” Since he seems to have relaxed a little, I take a couple steps into his house.

“Thanks for this, but you don’t have to bring me food. Grams gives me plenty.”

I turn to look at him, and we’re closer than I expected we’d be. The front room may look open, but it’s still small for two people.

Especially when one of those people is Garret Mutter.

“I really don’t mind. I love to cook.” I smile up at him. Standing this close to him, I have to crane my neck up to meet his eyes, and I’m five-eight. “How tall are you?”

He lets out a low chuckle which lights up my body. “A little over six-four.”

“Huh, you’re tall.”

He quirks a brow as our eyes meet. The heat in his gaze has me leaning in closer. “Was there any doubt about that?”

I shake my head. “Just stating an observation.”

My voice is breathy and raspy, and this time he’s the one that leans in. We’re as close as two people can be without actually touching. The tension building between us is different from before.

This doesn’t feel like he hates me.

This feels like he wants me.

“Garret,” I whisper his name.

He lifts his hand and runs his finger along my jawline, lighting my skin on fire. He’s leaning down. His lips inching closer and closer to mine. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me.

I want him to. Badly.

Then he says in a low guttural tone, “You should go.”

His words catch me off guard and are the complete opposite of what I was expecting. He’s still caressing my face with his finger, leading me to believe he wants me to stay.

“Why?” I ask, sounding a little too desperate.

He leans down even closer until our lips are almost close enough to touch.

“Because this can’t happen.” Then he drops his hand and steps back, leaving me feeling like someone dropped an ice bucket over my head.

Refusing to let him see my disappointment, I lift my chin and ask, “Why not?”

“You know why,” he whispers.

I take a step closer to him, gaining back some of the distance he took away. “No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”

He grumbles and his eyes slowly fall shut. He may have said it can’t happen, but he still wants me. I can feel his desire oozing off him.

“I’m not a good man, Princess. You should go home to that fancy boyfriend of yours back in Chicago.”

My hackles rise and I feel my lips pinch together. Despite how much I’m trying to keep my emotions in check, that comment tips me over the edge. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Okay.” He shrugs as if what I’ve said means nothing. “Then find a new man like your ex-boyfriend. That’s the kind of man you should be with.”

“Why?” I snap, more pissed off at that statement than I probably should be. “Because he has money, a fancy degree from an Ivy League school, and a high-profile job?”

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