Page 31 of Junkyard Dog

She was walking in with her eyes open and expectations low.

He was a fling. And flings weren’t messy.

They were on the same page.

And that would keep everything in line.

*

“I’m coming toyou. Address?”

Alex reread the text and slowly scanned his trailer.

Whoa.

He fired off his address to Charlotte and got to work straightening up the neglected RV, filling his trash can quickly as he frantically sprayed down and wiped off every surface he passed until the place looked better than it had since he moved in. Calculating out the time he had remaining, he jumped into the shower without waiting for the water to warm.

Every hour that had passed as they lay on the hood of his car, he’d sworn to himself time was up, that he was going to take her home and head back out on the hunt.

And every hour, he’d pulled her in a little tighter.

Rinsing the shampoo from his hair, he shoved aside the guilt seeping into his head. Guilt over lost hours he should have been tracking the Pirithous. Guilt over the halfhearted trot he’d taken through the western rim of the park in the early morning hours after he’d walked a groggy Charlotte to her door.

And the guilt over not regretting a moment of it.

Bang her tonight and it’ll be over.

Even the most alluring goddesses lost their appeal for him after a roll in the sheets. The sooner he bedded Charlotte, the sooner she’d be out of his system. The chase would be over, and he could get his head back to the hunt he should be focusing on.

Almost believing his own lie, he turned off the water, wrapped a towel around his hips, and scooped up a pair of shredded jeans he was ninety-nine percent certain were clean.

Her little coupe pulled up as he yanked his shirt over his head, his wet hair already dampening his collar while he opened his door. “I know what you did there,” he said, lifting the bags of takeout from her arms. “And I’ll have you know, I had this place cleaned with ten minutes to spare.”

She laughed, her sunglasses hiding her eyes as she entered the trailer. “I’m impressed. More impressed a guy your size even fits in here. Show me around.”

Smirking, he pointed out the grand tour. “You’re standing in the living room, kitchen, and dining room. Bathroom’s through that door, and you can see the bed from here. I… Damn. I forgot to make the bed.”

“I like it,” she said, passing him a box of Caesar salad. “If I wasn’t so averse to bugs, I’d definitely live in something like this. Apartments suck. And you can just pick up and go anywhere whenever you want.”

He nudged her hip to the side to open his cutlery drawer and handed her a fork as she sat. “How the hell do you work in a desert if you hate insects?”

“Easy,” she mumbled, swallowing a bite of spaghetti. “Bugs outside, no problem. That’s their house. But in my home? No way. I’ll blast those little bastards with all the hellfire I can rain down on them.” She looked around. “Where’s the TV?”

“Uh,” he stammered, tilting his head. “That way.”

“The bedroom.”

He grinned. “Yup.”

She stood and wandered down the short hall, peering into his messy room. “I’m not sitting on that bed.”

“You should,” he insisted, refilling his plate. “You’ll be the first woman to step foot in there. Think of it as a mission to Mars. Boldly go where no woman has gone before.” His jaw flexed as he realized the truth to that statement.

He’d been in thousands of beds, but very few had ever been in his. And even then, the sporadic few that had breached his sanctuary had done so only out of necessity.

He looked up to find her watching him, her eyes thoughtful. “You really do have issues with any kind of relationships, don’t you?”

“My job keeps me pretty opposed to it,” he muttered, holding out a slice of garlic toast to her.

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