Page 39 of The Fake Out

Cicadas sang to us as we walked across the parking lot. The air was sticky and warm, but tolerable. There were only a handful of cars left, belonging to employees finishing up the night and prepping for tomorrow. I stopped beside my car, unlocked the door, and tossed my backpack inside.

A hand on my hip, I let my impatience show. “So, let’s talk.”

“Do you want to sit, or something?” He gestured toward my car and frowned. “Maybe not there. I don’t know if I can fit. Come on.” I followed him to his truck near the edge of the parking lot. He flipped down the flap to the truck bed and tapped it. “We can relax and enjoy the scenery.”

The scenery in question was a patch of neglected land adjacent to the parking lot. Even in the dim light of the moon and parking lot lights, the empty beer cans, plastic grocery sacks, and occasional chip bag littered the overgrown grass. “Not exactly prime real estate.”

“We can look at the stars.” He patted the truck. “Hop up.”

The truck was one of those big half-ton deals with extra-tall tires. I eyed the distance between the ground and the truck bed. “I’ll stand.”

“I feel like you’re going to fake me out and run away.”

“I’m not going to run away. I am an adult.” And kind of mad I hadn’t thought of that myself.

Chris narrowed his eyes and then a grin curled one side of his mouth. “This isn’t because you can’t get up there, is it?”

“No, of course not.” I eyed the lip of the truck bed. I could get up there. Probably.

He smirked. “You know, you could ask for help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Okay, fine. No help being offered.”

To prove my point, I tried to hoist myself up. That didn’t go well. I side-eyed Chris, who looked like he was holding in a laugh. Fine. Whatever. I tried pulling myself up again, but it wasn’t working.

“Are you sure?”

“I got it.” My only other option was to hook a foot onto the truck and pull myself up. Not only was it a completely graceless move, but I almost fell on my butt. With my head high, I straightened and turned back to Chris. “You know what? Standing is fine.”

“You are stubborn.” Chris moved toward me, determination scribbled on his face. He stopped within a few inches of me, his eyes twinkling.

“Um, excuse me,” I said. “You’re in my personal bubble.”

“This will only take a second.”

Then before I had a chance to gather a reply or understand what was happening, two large hands wrapped around my waist and hoisted me on the truck bed like I weighed no more than a toothpick when I was a solid two hundred pounds. I landed with a surprised squawk.

His hands lingered a few seconds, tightening on my waist before sliding away to rest on either side of my hips. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You manhandled me,” I said, my voice full of righteous indignation. But truthfully, a tiny secret part of me was a little, I don’t know, turned on at the display of caveman strength, at a man who was taller than me by several inches, and so strong.

“You’re welcome.” He tapped on my nose before easily hopping onto the truck.

I patted at my overheated cheeks. Because it was hot outside. That’s why. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“Right. A few of the guys on the team talked me into going to Vegas for my birthday. It was a good time and then it got to be too much.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t drink a lot. I’m kind of a lightweight. So, I had a couple and that was it. The rest of the guys? Like it was their last night on earth.”

“Classy.”

“Then the strippers showed up and everything got a little crazier.”

“So, you decided to help a mostly naked stripper out?”

“Yes.” Pause. “Well, no.” Another pause. “There’s something else.”

Good grief. What else? Was she pregnant with his child?