CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sutton—

When I finally wake, it's to the pitter patter of rain on the camper roof. I rise, yawning, and immediately note Kyle's empty bed. My eyes shift to the bathroom, but that too is empty.

Grabbing my phone, I realize it's late afternoon. Shit. He must have let me sleep in. That's sweet, but I am here to work. He should have woken me up.

I rush to get ready, throw my hair into a messy bun, then dash out the door.

I'm immediately greeted by a long line, winding its way down the pathway.

As I enter, Kyle calls over his shoulder. "How'd you sleep?"

"Are you serious? How can you be so calm when you're elbows deep in orders?"

"Meh." He shrugs. "These people have all been real understanding with the fact that I was a one man show."

"Sorry," I moan as I rush over to take orders.

"I wasn't criticizing you. I was just letting you know everything's good."

I nod, but still feel a pang of guilt.

It takes nearly two hours to get our heads above water.

"Gosh, it's really coming down." I lean out the order window and watch the festival goers trudge through the mud, holding jackets over their heads. "I thought the desert didn't get rain."

"I didn't think we'd get any, either. Thank God Green gave me the plywood. It's the only thing keeping us from being stuck."

We serve a few more stragglers, and then Kyle closes for our own lunch break.

"Want to just eat some chicken chili?" He gestures to the large pot.

"It seems like the perfect meal for a rainy day."

"Yeah, everyone seems to think that. But I'm not complaining." He grins.

I climb from the truck and immediately slip, landing on my ass in a pile of mud.

"Sutton, are you okay?" Kyle jumps down next to me, laughing.

"I'm not hurt, if that's what you're asking," I grumble at the mud covering my legs and shorts.

"Good, then I don't feel as bad about laughing."

I narrow my eyes. "This isn't funny."

"You're right." He sobers. "It's fucking hilarious." He rears his head back and belly laughs.

"You're an ass. At least help me up."

"Okay, okay." He reaches down to pull me up, but instead, I give him a good yank, and he falls flat into the mud next to me.

"Who's laughing now?" I squeal over my own laughter.

"Did you really just start a mud fight with me?" He cocks an eyebrow, then lifts a handful of mud and tosses it at the side of my head.

"Not my hair!" I cry out, but I'm still laughing.

We proceed to chuck mud back and forth at each other until a group walking by decides to join in. Soon, all around us, mud is flying, and we're both covered head to toe in it.

"Look what you started," I chastise.

"Me?" He holds a hand to his chest. "Woman, you started this."

Someone runs behind me, trying to dodge a mud pie. They turn and ram into me, pushing me into Kyle's arms. My hands slam against his chest, and he grabs ahold of my hips to steady us. Our laughter trails off as we stare into each other's eyes.

"Um, we should go clean up," I whisper, "before the dinner rush."

Kyle steps back, and the spell is broken. "Yeah."

We make our way into the RV.

"Oh shit, we're tracking mud everywhere." Kyle stops in the doorway. "Green is going to kill me if we get mud on anything." He steps a little farther in and grabs my duffel bag, sliding it toward the bathroom. "You take a shower first. I'll try my best to clean up at the sink until you're out."

I slip my muddy shoes off, and move to the shower. When I see myself in the mirror, I burst out laughing again. "You didn't say I looked this bad," I shout through the door.

"I didn't want to hurt your ego," he quips.

It takes a good long while before I get all the caked-in mud out of my hair. Thankfully, I find a roll of trash bags under the sink. I unroll one and throw my muddy clothes inside.

When I emerge from the bathroom, I immediately come to a halt. Kyle is standing at the sink in nothing but his boxer briefs, and they don't leave much to the imagination.

"Your… um, y-your turn." I stumble over my words, my cheeks heating with embarrassment.

"Great."

I towel my hair, so he doesn't see my blush as he moves past me.

I dig through the cabinets and find two clear, disposable rain ponchos. Slipping one over my head, I leave the other on the counter with a note. By the time he's finished, I'm in the food truck.

The door opens, and he jumps up, wearing his own poncho. "There you are."

"I thought it was safer to just eat in here." I smile from where I sit crisscross on the floor.

He pulls off his wet poncho and makes his own bowl, then joins me.

When we finish, the rain has come to a drizzle, but the clouds still loom overhead.

The slow in rain means for a big night in sales. But the rain only holds off for a few hours before it is like a monsoon. We manage to make it to the camper and decide to stay in tonight.

I'm exhausted and fall into a deep sleep.

The next morning, the ground is saturated, and there is quite a bit of standing water. Thankfully, people have to eat, even if the music acts can't carry on, so Kyle is still making a killing.

On the last night, it's clear there is a problem. Some cars have attempted to leave, but immediately find they're stuck. A few make it out of the parking lot, only to get stuck a few feet down the road. No one's getting out anytime soon, and no one's going to get to us, either.

"Looks like we're officially stranded," Kyle announces as he climbs into the camper.

"How long do you think?"

"Probably a couple more days. The ground's got to dry out. Thankfully, it's stopped raining."

"Are we going to keep selling food, then?"

"Until we run out."

I nod. "All right. I better call Rafe."

"Yeah, I need to call the club."

We make another killing at lunch and have just opened for dinner.

"The card says declined." I hand it to the man at the window.

"My rent must have come out. Um…" The guy nervously searches through his wallet.

"Do you have another card?"

"No, I only brought the one. Let me see if I can find some cash." He fidgets through his pockets.

Kyle pushes the food forward. "Don't worry about it."

"Thanks, man." Relief floods his face.

He starts to turn, but Kyle stops him.

"If you need food, you come back here. I've got you. No need for you to go hungry because we all got stuck in a surprise monsoon."

The man chuckles timidly, and his cheeks flush, but he nods.

"Well, aren't you Mr. Charity?" I tease.

"Not really. I just know a lot of hardworking people live on a tight budget, and unexpected expenses can put them in a hardship. I'm not going to be the one to do that to someone because they're hungry and by no fault of their own, they got stuck here."

"Look over there." I point to two other food trucks. "They've doubled their pricing."

"What assholes. I'm not going to take advantage of the situation. At this point, it's about looking out for each other."

I grab his shoulder. He shrugs out of my touch, but turns to look at me.

I hold my hands awkwardly in front of me. "That's really kind of you. You're a good man."

"Thanks," he mumbles. Then he turns to the grill.

More and more people have trouble paying, and eventually Kyle tells me to stop charging. He puts a sign up that says Venmo if you can. Don't worry if you can't. No one is going to ask for money here.

When he sees me watching him tape it up, he shrugs. "No need to embarrass people who can't pay."

My smile brightens. Who'd have thought the big bad biker was really a big ol' teddy bear?

After closing shop on our third night stuck, I decide to stretch my legs.

"I'm going to head for a walk. I'll be back in about twenty minutes."

"Okay, see you soon," he calls from where he's watching a football game on his phone.

I walk past all the regular shops, waving at a few. I turn and walk along the camps. It's crazy to see so many tents littering the ground. Man, am I glad we didn't have to camp in this muck. Then I turn and make my way toward the stages. It's weird with them still standing, but no equipment. I walk behind one, curious what's back there, and immediately regret the decision.

I didn't notice the guy trailing behind me.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing over here?" a tall, lanky man purrs.

"Oh, I was just looking." I'm not sure if he's one of the crew tasked with breaking down the stages once everything dries out. I go to move around him, but he sidesteps in front of me.

"No need to run off." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"I need to get back to my boss. He'll be looking for me."

"Really?" He chuckles and brushes a strand of my hair between his fingers.

"Don't touch me," I growl, and bat his hand away.

"You're a feisty one. I was promised a concert series, and instead, I've been lying on the cold, damp ground. I think I deserve something soft and warm." He takes a step toward me.

"I'll scream." But I barely get the words out when he moves like lightning and clamps his clammy hand on top of my mouth, pushing me against the rear of the stage.

I try to bite him, but he's holding my mouth so tightly, I can't get it open.

He rips at my shirt, tearing the sleeve open and revealing my lace bra underneath.

"Oh yeah, you're going to be a real treat." His hot breath rushes in my ear.

He squeezes my breast tightly enough I let out a muffled cry, which seems to excite him. His hand trails down my stomach, and I thrash to get out of his grasp, tears filling my eyes.

He knocks me to the ground and puts his weight on top of me, effectively pinning me.

I manage to get one scream out before he covers my mouth again.

He fumbles with the buttons on my shorts when suddenly, he's thrown from me.

I scramble backward and get my feet under me.

Kyle looms over the man.

He's come for me. Thank God.

His eyes sweep over me, drifting to my torn shirt, and fury darkens his eyes.

"Sorry, man, is she yours?" The man staggers to his own feet and walks backward with his hands up. "We were just having a little fun, weren't we, doll?"

Kyle charges him, throwing a punch that knocks him to the ground. He climbs on top of the guy and pounds into his face until each hit splatters blood, and a sickening crunching sound carries to me.

"Kyle, stop!" I cry, fearful he's going to kill the man. I don't want that on my conscience.

He finally stops, leaving the man a bloody heap, and then walks over to me. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, just scared."

"I've got you, baby." He holds my face between his hands. "I got you."

The tears start to flow, and he pulls me in for a hug. I clutch at him, burrowing into his warm neck.

"Let's get out of here before somebody comes upon us," he whispers against my temple. "I'd rather not have to explain anything to the police."

I dare a peek at the crumpled man on the ground. He's covered in blood, and I'm not sure he's breathing.

As we walk back, fear turns to anger. He may have just killed a man.

"What were you thinking, Kyle?" I whirl at him once we're back in the RV, and he slams the door behind him. "Why did you lose your shit like that? You might have killed him."

"Why did I lose my shit? Do you honestly not know?"

He stalks across the RV, and I retreat until my back is against the wall. His forearm rests above my head, and his other hand grips my hip. His thumb traces small circles on my bare midriff. I don't even think he notices, but I feel every sensation tingling through my body.

"Why I never wanted you working with me? Why I can't stand to be close to you? Because the sweet smell of your hair, like apples and honey, drives me to distraction. Your skin brushing against me singes, because I can feel the velvety softness sending my mind down dark, erotic tunnels I should never venture. I spend every waking moment wanting you to be with me."

My cheeks flush, and my stomach ties in knots. Everything inside me begs for his touch, but knowing I can't do that to Rafe.

Kyle leans closer, until he's only a breath away. "You're my brother's girl. So, I can't do the things I want to do. I can't touch you. Instead, I spend day after day in torture, wanting what I can't have."

"Can't have… or are too afraid to go after?" I challenge, my breath panting from my chest.

He pushes himself from the wall. It feels like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on me, and the greater the distance he puts between us, the colder and emptier I feel.

He shoves the door open and steps down from the truck, turning back. "I think the words you were forgetting were thank you." Then he slams the door.

"Thank you," I whisper to no one.