Page 1 of Pretty Wild

1

MARCUS

“Wait.”

I pause before slowly turning around to face the gorgeous woman I found stranded on the side of the road. All I want to do is go home, shower, relax, and fill my stomach with whatever leftovers I find in the fridge, but here I am, dealing with a damsel in distress, who’s clearly not from these parts.

She releases a deep feminine sigh that screams high-maintenance, the sound doing something strange to my insides. Standing up straight, she lifts her chin and says, “I need your help.”

Placing my hands on my hips, I take in the woman. She’s wearing one of those little summer dresses in a pale pink color and a pair of sky-high heels no woman should ever wear in Pine Village. How in the hell she’s able to walk in them is beyond me. This terrain isn’t exactly mountainous, but it’s not exactly flat, even ground either. Not to mention one little rock would send her tumbling to the ground in those things. Stilettos, I think they’re called. Don’t ask me how I know that. It’s not becauseI know anyone who wears them or have heard it mentioned on television.

I exhale, all thoughts of a hot shower and leftovers being put on hold for the time being.

Such is life though, especially when you’re the only tow truck driver and residential snowplow driver in the area. Add that to the hellacious hours I keep as one of Pine Village’s only auto mechanics, and let’s just say, sleep is a commodity I rarely indulge in.

I glance around, the sunlight practically nonexistent now. “This is a terrible place to stop,” I find myself saying out loud.

“Well, next time, I’ll ask my flat tire to hold it together a few more minutes so it’s more convenient for you,” she sasses, narrowing her dark eyes at me in contempt.

Ignoring her jab, I walk around to the passenger side of my old truck and move what’s on the seat. I place my lunch box and dirty T-shirt from earlier in the day in the bed of the truck and turn to face the woman. “Get in, Princess.”

Her eyes widen. “What? I’m not getting into that truck with you,” she spits out, her eyes a little panicky as she grips her cell phone tighter.

“Well, if you don’t, you’ll be stuck on the side of the road until someone else comes along. Could be five minutes, could be five hours.” That’s a total lie, considering this road is very well traveled. In fact, I’m surprised we haven’t seen another vehicle already, especially on the Friday night kicking off Memorial Day weekend.

She narrows her eyes, as if gauging my sincerity. “Are you sure that truck will even make it anywhere? It looks older than dirt.”

I glance at my ’86 Square Body Chevy truck. This baby is solid, despite being almost forty years old. I’d rather take my chances on this old truck than any of the new ones on today’smarket. Those things are run on computers and expensive as hell to fix. This old beauty is well-maintained and still has a lot of life left in her. “We’ll be fine. Pearl is more dependable than most models on the roads these days.” I look over at her expensive-ass SUV to prove my point.

She huffs and walks over to her disabled vehicle. I watch as she opens the hatch and starts to pull three large suitcases from within. She struggles under their weight, and when the third one plops onto the dirt, she turns and demands, “Are you just going to stand there like a mannerless jerk, or are you going to help me?”

A slow smile spreads across my lips. “I didn’t hear the magic words.”

She mutters something under her breath that sounds likehick assholebefore leveling me with a gaze. The intensity of it almost knocks me on my ass. “Will youpleasehelp me with these bags?” I can tell it’s taking every ounce of control she possesses not to curse me out right now.

I push off my truck and head in her direction. “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Her eyes narrow as she flips her long hair over her shoulder. I grab two of the bags, one in each hand, and slowly make my way to the bed of my truck. They’re heavy, and I’m a little surprised she was able to load them in the back of her SUV herself. Of course, she probably had someone help her. This woman doesn’t exactly scream independent. She probably has a whole slew of employees to handle her every need.

When I glance back, she’s just standing there, watching. “You gonna grab that one?” I ask, tossing the first two into the bed of my truck.

She gasps when they land with a thud. “You better not have broken anything in those, or you’ll pay for the damages.”

Ignoring her comment, I watch as she struggles to drag her third suitcase toward me. Normally, I’m not the type of guy to stand around and watch a woman—or anyone for that matter—battle to carry or move something, but this woman grates on my nerves. So, I’ll let her fight it for a few moments before stepping in and helping.

When one of the wheels catches on a pebble and she almost drops the suitcase, I finally head back her way. I grab the handle, our hands touching as I do. A bolt of lightning shoots through my veins. That’s the only way to describe it. It’s like a static electricity shock when you touch something metal in the middle of winter, or you accidentally touch a faulty wiring system in the car you’re working on. It’s not enough to kill you, but you definitely know it’s there.

Her eyes widen as she looks up at me, clearly having felt the jolt too. I take the suitcase and place it with the other two before walking around to the passenger door. She carefully makes her way toward me, moving surprisingly well in her shoes, all things considered. She reaches my side and looks up into the cab of my truck. It’s dirty, but not filthy by any means. There tends to be a thin layer of dust that covers my truck almost as soon as I clean it. Between the dirt road I live on and the gravel lot for my business, nothing ever stays clean for very long.

She tries to hoist herself up into my truck, which isn’t very easy, considering this old thing is lifted. When she doesn’t quite make it, I grab her waist and help. Her arms flail and a yelp erupts from her throat as I not-so-gracefully set her down on the passenger seat. Her dress is hiked up, which she quickly corrects and adjusts, and turns her attention my way. “Thank you,” she grits out.

“You’re welcome, Princess.”

Closing her door with a thud, I make my way back to her vehicle. The moment I open the driver’s door I’m assaulted byher floral scent. It clings to everything, hanging in the air, and embeds in my nostrils. I grab the keys off the console and the pink sparkly little purse sitting on the passenger seat. Once I close the door, I click the lock button and return to my truck.

Just as I go to open the driver’s door, a car comes flying around the curve, almost clipping my door. “Oh my God,” she bellows, her eyes wide with fright. “They almost hit you!”

With gritted teeth, I climb inside the truck and throw it into drive. “That’s why I didn’t want you hanging out here in the dark,” I mutter, pulling onto the road, passing her disabled SUV, and turning off my hazards. “Where are you staying?”

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