Free Handled by Angela Graham Page B

untamed growl followed by one slow sweep of his tongue across his lips. He leans back in the chair, tipping it to the two back legs, and shoves his hands deep in his jeans pockets. “Think that’s exactly what you want, though, just like I’m right about you being afraid of a lil’ road trip.”
    A stiff ass and a break from this boring job is a small sacrifice to wipe the patronizing grin off his face. He threw out the bait and I bit, knowingly, a country mile of stubbornness in me I can’t conquer. “Suck on it, Stone, I’m in.” I puff out my chest and tip my chin.
    The chair squeaks along the floor as he stands, advancing on me in a blink. “I’m starting to think all this mouthing is your foreplay. I bet if I shoved a hand in your panties right now and stroked that snug little pussy, it’d be soaking wet for me.”
    “Wait.” I stall, holding out my hands to stop him from coming to my side of the counter, the only thing keeping me from letting him find out if he’s right. “You, uh, we can’t. I didn’t want to say anything before, but…it’s Harlow. She has a thing for you and I’m trying to be nice about it.”
    His mouth curls up wickedly, but he at least stops, rubbing one hand over his jaw while calculating eyes bore into mine. “You’re so full of shit. I’m from here, Paige. A local, remember? Harlow McWright’s been pining for Oakley Abrams since the day he left town. Try again.” He resumes his approach, his slow, methodical steps toward me predatory and undeniably tempting.
    “I’m seeing someone?” I probably should’ve stated that, rather than asked him in a breathy plea.
    He laughs and tilts his head to the side, a few black strands brushing his forehead. “Yeah you are, me . Tomorrow at noon. My door. We’ll head out. I’ll take care of Joe. Pack light, or nothing. Naked works for me, Firecracker.” He winks.
    “It’s freezing outside! Don’t hold your breath on the naked part!”
    He’s already out the door.

    How he actually got me here, I’m not sure, but I’m sitting in Vaughn’s rig, coasting down the highway, feet propped up on the dash, feeling surprisingly chill. “You ever watch Friends ?” I ask around the jawbreaker in my cheek. Yes, I stole one from his stash during the good thirty minutes I spent snooping through his shit.
    “Yeah, why?” he replies, focus forward.
    “You remind me of Chandler.”
    “Which one was that?” He throws me a sidelong glance, catching me shaking my head in disapproval.
    “You serious right now? Everyone knows Chandler. Joey’s roommate. He ends up with Monica, the clean freak. Ring any bells?”
    “The one dick in his ass away from being gay guy?” His tone is stunned.
    “That’s the one.” I tap my nose.
    “And why the hell do I remind you of him?” he grumbles and I barely snare in my laugh. “Why don’t we ask your pussy if I’m gay?”
    I ignore that comment and continue on. “Easy. You’re the funny one, with a snappy comeback for anything and everything. But inside,” I pause for dramatic effect, “it’s obvious that you’re just a giant ball of sensitivity.”
    His jaw gapes as he turns to look at me.
    “Eyes on the road!” I slap his arm, watching my life flash before me. “Jesus! Isn’t there like a test or a manual or some shit you have to peruse before they let you drive one of these? ‘Cause I’m thinking eyes on the road should be number fucking one!”
    “Sorry, got distracted by the amount of bullshit you’re spewing! You do realize you just described yourself to a tee, right?”
    Fed up, I reach for the panel of knobs and buttons, searching out the radio. “How the hell do you turn on some music in this thing?”
    Pompous smirk beaming, he uses one finger to push the button. “You press on. It’s in the manual.”
    We’ve been in the cab of this semi for less than three hours and have spent every second trading barbs. The score is me twenty-three, him an impressive nineteen,