Page 48 of Hauling Ashe

The heavy weight of a fast-moving tractor trailer whizzes past the car, shaking us in its wake. Tucker’s hands cup my face before cupping my shoulders and slipping down my arms. Then I’m pulled into him, colliding with his firm chest as the tightest embrace circles me. Awkwardly, I lift my arms and curl my fingers into his T-shirt just above his lower back. His arms squeeze tighter before one hand coasts to the back of my head, fingers dipping into the base of my messy bun. The other hand palms my back, skimming downward to rest at the top of my backside, pinning me tightly against his chest. His heart races and matches the galloping of mine.

We don’t speak.

Tucker continues to hold me, breathing heavily near my ear. The hand inside my hair slowly lowers to my nape before curving to the side, nearly circling my throat. The other hand slips under my tee, smoothing up and down my warm skin, soothing me as if I’d been hurt. However, this desperate embrace feels like it might be comforting him as well as me. I lift my own hands, scrubbing up his taut back and palming his shoulder blades, clutching at him. His wandering hand stops moving, pausing on the clasp of my bra. He breathes in. He breathes out and I follow his lead. Our chests heave together, against one another before his hands move once more. Fingertips skitter down my spine while his other fingers work their way back into my hair.

His face joins the movements. His cheek rubs against my jaw. The stubble that’s been filling in over the course of the last few days is sharp but tickles. A shiver ripples up my spine, and he brushes his jaw against the side of my face before lowering for my neck. I twist my head to allow him better access to my skin and he continues to paint my neck, my jaw, and my cheek with that scrubby scruff. A breath whispers over my ear as we remain plastered to one another, clinging to one another.

I’ve never been so turned on from a hug in my entire life.

“Mae,” he whispers at my ear, continuing to move his cheek and stroke my back. There’s so much said in my name, but I can’t comprehend anything. Is he asking me something? Is he telling me something? Is he simply confirming I’m standing here before him?

I’m desperate for him to press me against the side of this car and kiss me like I’ve never been kissed before.

The thought causes me to place my hands on his shoulders, needing him to release me before I do something stupid like attempt to kiss him.

“Not yet,” he hums at the soft push I give his upper arms. The hand in my hair slips lower once again and skims the side of my neck. His palm on my back moves to the edge of my waist and he rocks his hips forward. The long, hard shaft behind denim wedges against my lower belly.

“Mae,” he whispers again, keeping his hips forward, his erection against me. His hand on my throat moves lower, my heart races in my chest and his forehead meets mine. I close my eyes and his nose swipes against the tip of mine.

“If it isn’t coffee, it’s a busy street,” he mutters, rolling his head against my own. It takes me a minute to remember he tugged me off Adams Avenue when I was looking for my dropped phone and taxi horns blared.

Pulling back, he presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. The touch is so soft it’s like a whisper of air. Next, he kisses my forehead, and another tractor trailer whips past us, laying on his horn. I flinch and Tucker tightens his hold once more.

“We need to get off the side of the road,” he says, but his voice is quiet and deep. He’s speaking to my lips.

I nod to agree with him, but I don’t want him to let me go and he must feel the same because he draws me back against him. One more stroke of his palm up my spine. One more dip of his fingers into my loosened bun. His cheek moves against mine and then he’s gone, stepping back, his hands slowly slipping free like he’s releasing a ribbon. He presses the bulge in his jeans against me one final time, not even hiding the fact he’s hard. He extends his arms and takes a step back before he swipes a hand down his face. He’s been drained of the tan coloring in his cheeks. I scared him as much as I frightened myself.

I open my mouth to apologize. I don’t know what I was thinking other than trying to lighten the mood between Adam’s call, Tucker’s confession, and the flat tire. However, he turns, giving me his side, and checks the road. The lug wrench is in the second lane farthest from us and Tucker checks the coming traffic once more. Sensing he’s clear enough, he races for the tool and returns to me.

“You stay here.” He points at me with the wrench, and I accept his demand with a nod. I’m not arguing with him about another thing because he just saved me from being roadkill on Route 66.

21

Playlist: “Unchained Melody” – The Righteous Brothers

[Tucker]

Fuck. I’m shaking. The spare tire is in place. The old one tossed in the back and we’re on the road to Amarillo again, but I can’t stop the tremble in my hands. All I saw in my head was Mae being flattened on that road, much like the nightmares I have in my head of Rochelle and Marty during a plane crash. Much like my parents in the same manner.

Once I pulled Mae from the highway and the near miss of a semi-tractor trailer, I couldn’t get her close enough to me. I wanted her under my skin, and I didn’t want to let her go. Still, we needed to get off the edge of the highway and now we need a new tire. We find a tire shop with a few hours’ wait in Amarillo, and we’re directed to historic Sixth Street, a business district reminiscent of Route 66. I don’t feel like shopping. I can’t concentrate on anything, but Mae and I walk the blocks to stretch our legs and calm our hearts. At one point, I grab her hand because once again, I’m afraid to let her go.

We aren’t looking at anything specifically, just walking hand in hand when Mae finally says to me, “Aren’t you hot in those jeans? We should buy you some shorts.”

I have shorts with me, but I’d been saving them for Napa. I also have workout shorts, but I wouldn’t wear them traveling.

“It’s not like there’s an Ashford’s around here,” I blurt without thinking and she chuckles before she stops. Still holding her hand, I take a step forward and turn to face her.

“Wait.” Her eyes meet mine as they so often have with questions. “Like the department store? Ashford’s in downtown Chicago?” Mae’s brows crease and she tips her head to the side, staring at me. “Your last name is Ashford.”

“Yes.” I state the obvious as Mae puts things together.

“Are you… Is that your family business?”

“It was.”

Her hand slips from mine and I instantly miss it. Reaching out for her fingers, I link mine with hers, holding the tips more than her hand. I don’t want this to change things.

“Sunshine,” I plead.