Page 63 of Trucker
He had barely touched me and already I knew he’d keep me safe. He’d handle me in a way that I always imagined a man should treat his woman.
At home, I parked and cleaned the house to keep my mind from overreacting.
I even made dinner, baked a carrot cake and pulled out the ice-cream maker with my mother’s very own recipe. By the time Trucker came home, I was exhausted but excited to see what he thought of what I’d done.
As the darkness fell over Albright, we sat down to dinner together. I watched him intently, wanting to know what he thought of everything he put in his mouth. Trucker fed me from his plate even as he made me laugh.
He touched me every chance he had and never once touched his phone.
Even when the cell vibrated against the chair beside him, he focused on me.
I’d never had that before.
Dates always ended abruptly because the men would take calls in the middle of dinner.
One guy picked up and had the nerve to explain that, “oh, I have to take this. It’s my wife.”
Another reason I no longer lived in the city.
During dessert a sharp crash drew me from paradise and thrusted me back into the real world. Trucker moved like a soldier, putting his large frame between myself and the noise.
He then walked toward the window, and it was then I noticed the gaping hole.
Someone had tossed something through it.
Trucker removed his shirt and used it to pick up the rock that had the worldslutewritten crudely on one side.
“Um—slute?” Trucker asked then glanced at me. “Am I missing something?”
“They meant slut.” I translated.
“What the hell?” He muttered, charging toward the door as an engine started.
“No!” I screamed, wrapping my arms around him from behind. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
Trucker paused and turned in the enclosure of my arms. He hugged me tightly, cuddling my head under his chin.
“Sprite, I have to?—”
“Please?”
“Shh.” He whispered. “I’ll stay here.”
He led me to the sofa and sat with me. Once he got me a glass of water, Trucker sat next to me and rubbed my back.
“What is going on?” Trucker asked.
“Would you believe it’s because they believe I’m sleeping with you?”
“Come on, Taji.” He scoffed. “I’m not that big of a catch that someone would risk catching a case. Something else is going on here. Talk to me.”
I sighed.
“Taji—”
“I was raped.” I blurted out. “It was two years ago. I went out one night to have a couple of drinks. But I went by myself because as you can see, I have no friends. Someone spiked my drink.”
“Did you report it?”
