Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“My apologies, ma’am. Nice to meet you, Miss Becerra.” I emphasize her name, tasting it the way I did with her first name earlier. Dani Becerra. Much, much better. It’s as well-rounded in my mouth as her dancing hips were.
She rolls her eyes at my politeness, not the least bit charmed. “Wish I could say the same, but your trucks screwed up my business all day.”
I look forlornly behind me at my truck parked in front of her house. “Yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea until I got here in the middle of things. I was hoping to talk about the parking issue with you and see if we can work something out.”
“Nothing to work out. Don’t park there and we won’t have any issues.” She says it like there’s no conversation to be had. She declared it, and that makes it so.
Before I can counter, she shuts the door in my face.
Gobsmacked, I stare at the white-painted wood. What the hell just happened?
A second later, the music turns up even louder and I think I hear Dani singing along.
CHAPTER 3
DANI
Today starts the same as almost every day of the week. I’m up before the sunrise, getting the day’s food started before having coffee with Nessa. We’re adding something new to our routine, though—bitching about the crew next door, because there are a few trucks parked out there bright and early again.
“Did they say anything? Apologize?” Nessa asks as she sets my delivery inside the front room. Today’s relatively light, mostly loads of fresh vegetables and meat that went on special today. Dry goods like rice and beans, I take care of myself on my weekend days off, since I can buy those by the fifty-pound bags.
“The crew lead came over, wanting to ‘work something out’,” I say, emphasizing what he really wanted to work… me. Oh, he thought he was all polite manners, aw, shucks smiles, and ‘apologies, ma’am’, but I know what he was thinking behind those icy blue eyes. It was plain as day, so if he was trying to hide it, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Especially to someone like me, who’s worked with men her whole life.
All he was missing was his zipper open, displaying his ‘apology’ in its full length.
I know guys exactly like him. They’re a dime a dozen—charming, flirty, and attentive. At least, until they get in your pants. After that, they ghost like a day-after-Halloween sale.
Or worse, they stick around and expect you to take care of them.
Okay, that’s kinda bitchy of me. Because it’s the little devil in my head talking about my mother, who is basically a saint. It’s just that I have zero interest in living a duplication of her life. As much as I love her, and as much as she loves taking care of my father, that’s not me. I want a partner, not a manchild who only feels ‘loved’ when I’m slaving away to provide him with a full belly, empty balls, and a clean house and thinks doing so is supposed to fulfill me in some way.
Regardless, one-nighters, ghosts, or needy manchildren are all I’ve ever known to exist, so I’m not looking for a guy. I’ve got bills to pay, mouths to feed, and my own life to handle. I don’t have time to ‘work anything out’ with the crew supervisor next door, despite those blue eyes, pretty smile, and broad shoulders.
Nessa comes into the kitchen to peer out the window, suddenly not in a hurry the way she was a minute ago. “Which one? Not the fuck boy, right? He’s too young to be in charge. And not the old guy either. Can you say Daddy issues? Ugh.”
I don’t look outside, but I answer easily. “No, he’s not here yet. He’s probably a lazy boss, since he’s late again, just like yesterday.” Lazy is probably one of the worst things I can say about someone in my book. I don’t think I’ve had a day off in… ever. Work, work, work… Rhianna might’ve sung it, but she was talking about me.
Nessa sends me a sly look. “Already memorized the sound of his truck?” she teases. “What make and model?”
“Shut up,” I reply, snapping my towel her way threateningly even though I’m several inches from hitting her with it. Then again, I can identify a lot of my regulars by their engines. Not so much Kyle, but only because I didn’t hear him pull up yesterday with Marco’s crew honking. “He parked on my curb, slowing my whole drive-thru line to a snail’s pace for the lunch rush, so I know which one’s his, and it’s not here yet.”
Like he could hear me talking about him on the nonexistent wind, there’s an unfamiliar rumbling outside. Nessa tilts her head, listening, and then meets my eyes. “Is that him? It has to be, right? None of your customers come this early.”