Page 2 of Mr. McHunky

He’s back outside already getting the front of Lola hooked up. I open the door and hop down, marching myself up beside him.

“I know what a blowout is, “ I say.

He glances at me, then nods to his truck. “Get in the truck.”

I glare at him. “I can ride in Lola during the tow. This is a flatbed truck.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake. Look lady, it’s raining, unless you hadn’t noticed.” He gestures to the sky. “You can’t ride in your vehicle during a tow. It’s against our policy. Now get your pretty ass in the truck. So I can finish and get out of this damn monsoon.”

There’s a sharp bark and Rosie bolts past me and jumps up into the opened tow truck door.

“Rosie, no,” I say, running after her. I swear I hear the hot grump behind me chuckle. Jerk. It’s not until I’m seated in the passenger side of the tow truck holding my wet dog that I realize the man said ‘pretty ass’ not just ‘ass.’

I’m not sure why that matters or why my head is pointing out the distinction. It was likely a slip of the tongue.

The confines of the truck are clean and tidy. The scent of yummy man surrounds me. Probably his cologne or even his soap. Men’s products always smell better than women’s. Why do the people in charge of making soaps and whatnot for ladies insist on us smelling like a field of flowers?

The door opens and once he’s inside with the door closed, he pulls off his wet raincoat and tosses it into the narrow space behind the bench seat.

I’m met with muscular arms covered in ink. I try not to stare, but he’s wearing a black tank, so his shoulders and full arms are bare. I’ve always had a thing for men’s shoulders and necks.

This one is rude, but he sure is pretty.

“I need to go to the nearest campsite where I can plug in for the night,” I say.

He doesn’t even bother looking at me. “Have to pick up my sister first.”