Trucker (The Good Guys #1)(2)

What followed was the shortest, most awkward phone conversation of my life.

We made our way inside to the kitchen, where she grabbed a towel and  some ice. I tried my best to comfort her, but she was hysterical.

Her mom showed up a few minutes later and glared at me as if I had  personally tried to rip out her daughter's tongue. Jenny managed a  "sorry" and something about the hospital and so I left, dateless.

When I tried to talk to her at school on Monday, her face turned bright  red and she mumbled something about needing stitches and another "sorry"  before making an excuse about getting to class. She was obviously  mortified, and the whole situation was so awkward we ended up avoiding  each other for the remainder of our high school days.                       
       
           



       

The summer before my senior year, I got a job with Colton's dad, Hank. He owned Hank's Auto Shop and I loved it.

Around the same time, I started dating Ashley Peterson, one of the  hottest girls in my class. We went to homecoming together, had a couple  dates, passed notes to each other in the hallway between classes, and  spent a few evenings fooling around in the bed of my truck. For a couple  months, I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world.

But while I'd been busy working, Ashley had been hooking up with the quarterback.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of retching, and I cringed as  I realized Kendra had vomited on my shoes while I was holding her hair  back.

I could kill Colton for setting me up with his girlfriend's best friend.  But really, it was my own fault for agreeing to go out with her. Even  before the date, I knew I didn't have romantic feelings for her.

She was attractive, with dark, shoulder-length hair and brown eyes. With  the new summer tan she was sporting, she had a bit of an exotic look  going on.

Unfortunately, the girl didn't have much going on upstairs, and there  were times when I'd seen her be a pretty big bitch to Colton's  girlfriend, Tara, even though they were supposed to be friends.

Tonight, Kendra had insisted on going to Buck's Tavern where she was a  bartender. Being friends with everyone meant free drinks, though I  stopped after two beers. The amount of tequila she was able to put away  might have been impressive if she could've kept it down.

After leaving the tavern, Kendra begged me to take her for a drive in my ‘72 Chevy pickup truck.

City folks might not see how driving around aimlessly in the middle of  nowhere could be fun, but when you live in a small town, it's necessary  to get creative when it comes to entertainment. Country cruising was one  of our favorite pastimes.

And now, we were pulled over on the side of a country road while Kendra  emptied the contents of her stomach onto my new Redwing boots.

The icing on the cake? It was fifty-cent taco night at Buck's.

At least she didn't puke in my truck.

"I think I'm done now," she half-sobbed.

"I'll take you home," I said, patting her back.

"Nooooo," she moaned. "My parents can't see me like this."

Shit. I forgot she still lived with her parents.

I led her back to my pickup truck and helped her into the passenger  seat. "You can stay at my place. I'll take the couch," I said as I  buckled her seatbelt.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch," she slurred. "We can share the bed. I can take care of your little problem … "

"My problem?"

She giggled. "Yeah, you know, your V-card." She giggled again.

Damn Colton and his big mouth. My virgin status wasn't a secret, but I  didn't go shouting it from the rooftops either. I bet he told Tara and  Tara told Kendra.

I made my way around to the driver's side and got in.

"Kendra, I don't think you're in any state to be offering. You've had a  lot to drink." I made the excuse, but didn't bother to tell her I  wouldn't take her up on it sober either. Ever.

I didn't think she'd appreciate that and I didn't want to piss her off.

"God, you're such a tease!" she screeched.

So much for not pissing her off.

"Besides," I went on, "I don't see it as a problem. I've gone this long.  When I'm finally with someone," I paused, knowing I was going to sound  like a complete pussy. "I want it to mean something."

I heard quiet snoring and looked over to find Kendra passed out, her head leaning against the window.

I wasn't surprised by her offer. I wasn't conceited, but I knew girls  thought I was good-looking. After joining a gym a couple years ago, my  once-lanky six-foot frame was now filled out from weight-lifting. I  noticed-and appreciated-the appraising looks girls sent my way.

Kendra hadn't exactly been shy about her attraction to me, either.  Throughout our date, she had repeatedly complimented me on my dimples.  Repeatedly. Plus, I wasn't oblivious to ‘fuck-me' eyes and she  eye-fucked the fuck out of me all night long.

When we got back to my apartment I tried to wake her up, but she swayed  on her feet so badly that I had to carry her. Grunting, I fumbled with  the keys while trying not to drop the dead-weight body in my arms.

By the time we made it to the bedroom, she seemed to perk up a bit.  "Ooooh, you have a big bed. This is going to be fun." She giggled.

"I'll give you a minute to change," I said, ignoring her comment as I  got a T-shirt and gym shorts for her to wear. Thinking it was better to  be safe than sorry, I grabbed the trash can from the bathroom and held  it up for her to see before setting it beside the bed. "In case you get  sick again."                       
       
           



       

She just giggled and kicked off her shoes.

I left the room to grab her a bottle of water and a couple Advil. I had a feeling she would need it in the morning.

By the time I got back, Kendra was passed out face down on the bed with  her legs dangling halfway off. Her skirt was caught around her ankles  and it looked like she had unsnapped her bra but couldn't get it all the  way off her arms.

Letting out a deep sigh, I took a second to shoot Colton a text.



You're a fucking dick. Never again.



After getting a couple blankets from the closet, I moved Kendra's legs onto the bed and covered her with one.

I took the other blanket out to the living room and settled in on the couch. I'd slept in less comfortable places.

I was just glad the date from hell was finally over.





ANGEL

I was officially a runaway.

At first, the idea of being on my own was intriguing. The freedom. The independence. The adventure.

The reality, however, wasn't living up to the hype. The uncertainty. The hunger. The smelly bus rides.

Before Claire passed away, I'd lived with her for five happy years.  Abandoned by my mom at seven and orphaned by my dad at twelve, she  didn't even hesitate to take me in. Claire was my dad's sister, and we'd  always been close since she didn't have any kids of her own.

It wasn't my dad's fault, the way he died. There were risks that came  with being a police officer-risks I'd often worried about every time he  left for a shift. I'd imagined bank robberies or drug busts gone wrong.  My worries never involved him getting shot during a routine traffic  stop.

Although Claire wasn't much of a parent, she was my friend. My best  friend. No one could've predicted she would have a massive stroke at the  age of forty-three. She was active, ate the right foods, and she had a  Zen-like quality about her. She was the picture of mental and physical  health. Her death was so unexpected and, honestly, I still hadn't come  to terms with it.

With just one month until I graduated high school, my life was uprooted.  They said I was lucky they found a foster home willing to take me in.  Unfortunately, the family lived forty-five minutes away and I had to  finish my senior year in an unfamiliar school with a bunch of strangers.

One month in foster care, and I decided I'd had enough. In the  beginning, I'd been worried about what I would encounter there. I'd  heard the horror stories of abuse and neglect in foster homes before.

But the family I got placed with wasn't that bad. Actually, they were  pretty nice, although they seemed overwhelmed by the kids. I was one of  five in the home, the youngest being seven, and the oldest being myself,  at seventeen. While I was grateful for a place to live and food to eat,  it was always crowded and I had zero privacy.

And although I was constantly surrounded by people, I'd never felt more alone.

I was lonely. Painfully lonely.

It was a sense of longing I felt deep inside. I ached for a place to belong. A place to call home.

I'd planned on staying with the family until I aged out, but with only  two weeks until my eighteenth birthday, I didn't see the point in  sticking around.

I had big plans, and my dreams weren't going to pursue themselves.

On the last day of school, instead of stuffing my backpack full of  books, I'd packed the essentials-several changes of clothes, a  toothbrush, some travel-size toiletries, and some pictures I couldn't  bear to part with. Dressed in skinny jeans and my favorite Beach Boys  T-shirt (in honor of Claire), I left the foster home and didn't look  back.