Page 34 of Trucker
Still, there wasn’t really anything I could do.
After dressing in a pair of red shorts with polka dots, a black tank, I tied up my hair and looked at myself in the mirror. I wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world, but I thought I was cute.
With my father’s grey eyes, my mother’s serious lips and my grandmother’s dimples, I was cute.
Exhaling, I hurried back into the kitchen to make some hotdogs and packed some buns. It took some time to make the ingredients to go on the hot dogs, but I did it.
I shredded some cheese in a Ziplock bag, then gathered water and juice.
It took a few trips to my car, but eventually, I was on my way, my heart slamming against my chest.
It took me a little longer to get to the firehouse.
I was so nervous, I couldn’t keep my hands from shaking. A few times I had to pull over just so I didn’t crash.
Somehow, I managed not to hit anything on my way there.
There were quite a few cars there—the women camped out watching Trucker and the cadets do obstacles in the massive front space. I somehow managed to find a spot to park and couldn’t avoid the questioning glares that were fired my way.
Nervous, I pushed a wayward strand of hair from my face, climbed from my car and closed the door. I searched the moving bodies until I found Trucker—it was hard to miss that beautiful dark skin and that muscular frame.
Licking my lips, I waited until he glanced toward the crowd, and I stepped forward and waved. A smile graced his lips as he waved back then then faced his cadets again.
After about a minute of speaking to them, they all ran off. He pulled the straps off his shoulders, removed his helmet and set it aside then jogged over to me.
“Hi.” He grinned.
I can’t breathe.
“Hey.” My voice cracked.
“I didn’t expect you.” Trucker used a mud caked nail to scratch his neck. “Did I forget about a date we had?”
“No.” I tilted my head to make it easier to breathe. “Nothing like that. I—um—brought you lunch.”
Trucker smirked and eased closer. “The only other person whose ever brought me lunch is Lena?—”
“Lena?”
“My niece. Zoom’s girl.”
“Oh.”
“Were you jealous?” Trucker teased.
“I brought you lunch.” I flushed.
“You said that.”
His voice was like warm honey being poured over cold vanilla ice-cream.
I coughed.
When I backed up, I was against my Mini Cooper.
“Just so we’re clear.” Trucker’s voice was low, baritone, sexy. “When you say lunch…”
“What do—” I laughed nervously. “Food, Mayson Calhoune.”
