Free The Closer You Get by Kristi Gold

it.
    Well, tonight she wasn’t working. She was going out to dinner
with friends and she was going looking like a woman, not a long-haul truck
driver.
    After Cammie dressed and applied some makeup, she called for
Brett. When he didn’t respond, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
Dusk had settled onto the dusty grounds, the March evening relatively cool for
Texas. She spotted her escorts among several of the road crew assembled at the
rear of the band’s bus.
    She faked a smile as she joined the group, determined not to
let the harrowing experience dampen her spirits. “I’m ready.”
    When she failed to receive a response, for a moment she worried
she’d forgotten some vital article of clothing.
    “Close your mouth, Jeremy,” Pat said.
    Bull let out a whistle and Rusty let out his breath.
    “What’s wrong? ” she asked .
    Brett gave her a slow once-over and an even slower smile.
“You’re wearing leather.”
    Nothing like stating the obvious. “Haven’t you ever seen a girl
in leather before?”
    “Yeah, Cammie,” Pat replied. “We’ve seen lots of girls in
leather. Leather pants, leather boots, all kinds. We just haven’t seen you in
leather. And it does become you.”
    Rusty slapped a palm to his forehead. “Damn. My wife drove in
from Lubbock today with Bull’s girlfriend and they’re meeting us at the
restaurant. I don’t know how to explain you to her.”
    “What about me?” Bull asked. “Bonnie’s the jealous type and she
has one hell of an imagination.”
    Cammie certainly didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with
their significant others. “I’ll change.”
    “You don’t have to,” Brett said. “I’ll tell them you’re with
me.”
    “Good thinking,” Pat added. “But why can’t we tell them she’s
with me?”
    Brett slapped Pat on the back. “Because they’d never believe
it.”
    Cammie came up with a more logical plan. “How about we tell
them the truth?”
    Pat shook his head. “We’ll ease them into it gently, after they
get to know you. A woman on board a bus, even if she’s driving, could be a cause
for concern for wives and girlfriends.”
    On some level, Cammie understood that issue when it came to
this way of life. On the other, she wasn’t the kind to tread on another woman’s
territory. Hopefully she could convince them of that.
    After they climbed into the awaiting limo, Cammie squeezed into
the seat between Pat and Brett. No one said much as they made their way to the
historical Fort Worth Stockyards. When Pat poured himself a shot of whiskey from
the onboard bar, then leaned back against the headrest, Cammie noticed he looked
exhausted. The schedule would do that to anyone, even those much younger than
the band’s senior member.
    “Hate black limos,” Pat said, shattering the quiet. “Reminds me
of a funeral.”
    Brett came back with, “My mistake. Next time we’ll get white.
Will that keep you from bitchin’?”
    “Hell, no. White limos remind me of weddings, just about the
same thing as a funeral.”
    The other band members continued to silently stare out the
window, as if they didn’t have the energy to comment. Cammie recognized the
“coming down” phase common after a performance. But past experience had taught
her it didn’t take much to recharge a man’s batteries. Especially a walking
testament to testosterone like Brett.
    She was extremely aware of him at the moment, and uncomfortable
over his nearness. Yet when his hand inadvertently brushed hers, she found
herself wishing he’d leave it. She wrote off the feelings to gratitude. After
all, he’d gotten her out of a jam. Only gratitude.
    When Pat announced, “We’re here,” Cammie glanced out the
window. The limousine slowly passed by a stucco restaurant where a line of
waiting patrons snaked around the building. The driver stopped the car near the
back alley, well beyond the entrance, most likely to avoid calling too much
attention to their arrival. The group