Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

DANI

T oday starts the same as almost every day of the week. I'm up before the sunrise, getting the day's food started before having coffee with Nessa. We're adding something new to our routine, though—bitching about the crew next door, because there are a few trucks parked out there bright and early again.

"Did they say anything? Apologize?" Nessa asks as she sets my delivery inside the front room. Today's relatively light, mostly loads of fresh vegetables and meat that went on special today. Dry goods like rice and beans, I take care of myself on my weekend days off, since I can buy those by the fifty-pound bags.

"The crew lead came over, wanting to ‘work something out'," I say, emphasizing what he really wanted to work… me. Oh, he thought he was all polite manners, aw, shucks smiles, and ‘apologies, ma'am', but I know what he was thinking behind those icy blue eyes. It was plain as day, so if he was trying to hide it, he wasn't doing a very good job of it. Especially to someone like me, who's worked with men her whole life.

All he was missing was his zipper open, displaying his ‘apology' in its full length.

I know guys exactly like him. They're a dime a dozen—charming, flirty, and attentive. At least, until they get in your pants. After that, they ghost like a day-after-Halloween sale.

Or worse, they stick around and expect you to take care of them.

Okay, that's kinda bitchy of me. Because it's the little devil in my head talking about my mother, who is basically a saint. It's just that I have zero interest in living a duplication of her life. As much as I love her, and as much as she loves taking care of my father, that's not me. I want a partner, not a manchild who only feels ‘loved' when I'm slaving away to provide him with a full belly, empty balls, and a clean house and thinks doing so is supposed to fulfill me in some way.

Regardless, one-nighters, ghosts, or needy manchildren are all I've ever known to exist, so I'm not looking for a guy. I've got bills to pay, mouths to feed, and my own life to handle. I don't have time to ‘work anything out' with the crew supervisor next door, despite those blue eyes, pretty smile, and broad shoulders.

Nessa comes into the kitchen to peer out the window, suddenly not in a hurry the way she was a minute ago. "Which one? Not the fuck boy, right? He's too young to be in charge. And not the old guy either. Can you say Daddy issues? Ugh."

I don't look outside, but I answer easily. "No, he's not here yet. He's probably a lazy boss, since he's late again, just like yesterday." Lazy is probably one of the worst things I can say about someone in my book. I don't think I've had a day off in… ever. Work, work, work… Rhianna might've sung it, but she was talking about me.

Nessa sends me a sly look. "Already memorized the sound of his truck?" she teases. "What make and model?"

"Shut up," I reply, snapping my towel her way threateningly even though I'm several inches from hitting her with it. Then again, I can identify a lot of my regulars by their engines. Not so much Kyle, but only because I didn't hear him pull up yesterday with Marco's crew honking. "He parked on my curb, slowing my whole drive-thru line to a snail's pace for the lunch rush, so I know which one's his, and it's not here yet."

Like he could hear me talking about him on the nonexistent wind, there's an unfamiliar rumbling outside. Nessa tilts her head, listening, and then meets my eyes. "Is that him? It has to be, right? None of your customers come this early."

She looks excited, eager to see this crew supervisor. I roll my eyes, following her toward the open door to see where he's parked today because his truck's location is going to determine my mood for the next six hours.

He technically parks illegally, blocking Kathy's driveway entirely. She won't like that, but it's not as if she's going anywhere while there are workers at her house. But Kyle's truck is a four-door, long bed, jacked-up number, so his front tire and about two feet of engine and bumper are still over the property line into my space.

Which is still legal because curb parking is allowed in our city, as I've reminded Kathy time and time again.

I sigh, gritting my teeth. He might be trying, but it's not good enough. My drive-thru flow is still gonna be tight today, and I mentally start gearing up for complaining guys, jokes about discounts because of the hassle, and a few offers to teach the crew next door a thing or two.

The last type of guys I don't mind so much. They're usually the good ones who'll have your back in a pinch, especially a younger woman like me whom they feel protective of. Some of them are the reason I do what I do, the men who supported Dad's restaurant until the bitter end and then encouraged me to pick up a ladle and keep cooking for them. Not because I'm a woman, but because I'm a damn good cook.

Kyle gets out of the truck, taking the big step down from the driver's seat.

"Whoooa," Nessa drawls out. "Is that him? Dayum, Dani. Look at those biceps. That man could probably pick me up and hold me against the wall, no problem." She says it with awe, like as a curvy woman, she wouldn't expect that to be the case with most guys.

I look at his arms, which this morning are peeking out from beneath a neon orange T-shirt. She's right, Kyle has ropey, thickly muscled forearms, and his full, round biceps stretch the sun-faded T-shirt's sleeves to within an inch of its life. He does look strong. And sexy.

Not that I'm looking or care. I don't even look down to see what color his jeans are—worn and faded blue—or how they frame his crotch and butt.

"I'm not saying you're wrong, but I think I'd be finding a way to work something out with that man if I were you," Nessa drawls suggestively, reminding me of where this conversation started. "Work it out on the table, the floor, the cab of his truck, the dirty… filthy… bed of that big boy truck," she basically purrs.

Nessa has obviously never been in a work truck. They smell like sweaty socks, dirty ball sacks, and old gas-station snacks. Plus dirt and metal, usually. Any sort of ‘action' in the back bed of one of those things is going to end with a trip to the emergency room for a tetanus booster and a penicillin shot.

"You know what they say about guys with big trucks," I joke, holding up a pinky finger. "Overcompensating."

"Well, guys with little ones are usually willing to make up for it in other ways," she counters with a shrug. "I don't mind a little extra time with a tongue or a finger or two if his dick ain't all that. Gettin' off is gettin' off."

I laugh, not able to help it because she does have a point. Big dicks and big dick energy can be attractive, but they're not the be all, end all of a good lover. Screaming his name and wanting to rip the bedsheets in half, no matter how that happens, is.

Not that it matters. Because I don't need a lover, big- or small-dicked. What I need is a day off to sleep late, take a relaxing bubble bath, and watch trashy TV with a beer in one hand and a taco in the other. Not a figurative one, an actual crunchy shell taco with fresh guacamole that I didn't have to make.

He must hear me laughing because his eyes jump to the door. He probably can't see into the house with the light difference, but I feel like he's looking right at me as he throws a two-finger wave my way. Then he holds his hands out like a game show model, indicating his truck, smiling like he's proud of his parking job that's still irritating me.

Nessa laughs, already completely charmed by him. "Dani-girl, you are so fucked. Probably in the good way, though there's an outside chance it's in a bad way. Wish I could stay and watch the show to find out, but I've got to get back to work." She swings open the screen door and walks out into the yard. From inside, I can see Kyle's eyes flare with the opening door, but his smile fades by a few degrees as he sees Nessa instead of me.

He recovers quickly, though. "G'morning," he calls out to Nessa.

"Good morning to you too, sugarbear," she drawls in a Southern accent that's nothing like her own. She sounds like Blanche on the Golden Girls reruns I used to watch with my grandmother. "And it is one fiiiiiiine mornin' now." She lets her eyes lick up and down his body in a way that'd have me pissed as hell if someone did it to me, but Kyle holds still, probably flexing a bit while Nessa looks her fill.

Unless that's what his arms naturally look like in that tight T-shirt.

Frustrated with my own traitorous train of thought, I growl to myself and spin on my tennis shoe covered toe with a squeak. I don't want to hear the rest of their conversation. I have more important things to do. Or that's what I tell myself, anyway.

Back in the kitchen, I check the food I've already started for today. The beans are going well, and I check the salt level before putting the lid back on. Next, I stir the big, twenty-gallon container of horchata that sells out every time I make it. Then, I scan the veggie haul Nessa delivered, grouping them into bunches for chopping. I've made quick work of slicing my way through a dozen limes for garnish when there's a knock on my door.

"Hi, Miss Becerra," Kyle says, grinning like my name is somehow funny to him. Or maybe it's that it sounds needlessly formal when we're both in work clothes at eight-thirty in the morning with the smell of limes wafting in the air. "How're you doing?"

"What do you want, Kyle?" I ask, not even looking up from my cutting board as I slice another lime in half and toss it in the pile.

"I was hoping to put in an order," he says. "Think I can get lunch for my crew? They stayed out of your way today."

He says it like I'm supposed to be grateful he's buying from me, and he's definitely waiting for me to praise his parking job. Too bad I'm not the girl who'll give you head pats and cookies for the bare minimum. I'm also not the girl who'll put up with his shit. "Not happening. I'm not cooking for you or for them when you're making my day hell," I say as I stomp toward the door. I glare at him through the screen, taking special delight in his dropped jaw and wide with shock eyes. I lean to the side, looking around his stupidly wide shoulders before meeting his gaze again. "And your bumper's still over my property line."

Before Kyle can say anything, I turn and kick my door closed with a nifty little spin kick. I might be insane considering I've never turned down an order, not a single time. Each order, every dollar that comes in, is too precious. As it is, I need to scrape the bottom of my pots each and every day to keep profits adding up and my business bankrolled for another day.

That doesn't mean I need his money, though, especially when it smacks of an insincere apology. I was taught that if you fuck up, you start with two words. I'm sorry. Then, after you've said that, you can back it up by making things right. I don't need some asshole hiding behind a get-out-trouble smile and empty gestures.

Kyle stands outside my door for a few moments, clearly thinking about knocking again. But he's smart enough to recognize that doing so is going to get the door slammed right back in his face, maybe with a face full of habanero sauce for good measure. Instead, he turns and heads to work while I put my head down and get back to my day.

Five pounds of onions aren't going to chop or caramelize themselves.

Later…

"Hey there, Dani, is the food as hot as you are today?"

Straight-faced, I lift the plastic bag of half a dozen burritos I've got wrapped and ready to go for Joshua, waving it back and forth.

I'm used to some of the guys flirting with me. The ones who are only playing, I play right back. They're usually the older guys who're looking for a bright spot in their day or a kind word from a sweet young thing and don't actually want anything from me. Like a date or a fuck. It's a friendly give and take, nothing more.

Then there are guys like Joshua.

When they flirt, it's serious. They want me, in whatever way, shape, form, or fashion they can get me. At all of maybe nineteen years old, Joshua has decided I'm his dream girl, whatever that means.

At first, I tried being polite, but he didn't take my ‘not interested' as an answer. So I moved on to ‘no', then ‘fuck no'. He still thinks I'm playing hard to get, despite my progressively unsmiling, downright rude responses.

I'm almost to the point of threatening his food, knowing that if he has to explain to his crew boss that he's the reason they have to go to McDonald's instead of getting lunch from me, his boys will do what I haven't done. Yet. Which is beat it into his thick skull that I'm not going out with him.

Unfortunately, it's looking like today might be the day for that threat because he proves once again that he's a hardheaded dumbass by getting out of the passenger side of the truck he's riding in, despite the yell of frustration from Damien, who drives their crew truck.

"The fuck you doing, Joshua?" I snap, holding the bag out as he walks halfway up my front lawn. "No door side pickups . You know that!"

Actually, I do allow it, but only for guys I know, and those who are literally within walking distance of my house. Like Chen, who picks up lunch for his guys at the car wash four blocks over on the main road.

"C'mon, Dani, gimme a chance," he taunts loudly. He drops down to one knee like he's proposing, but he's asking for a date, not forever. "Just one little date? A few hours of fun."

He smiles like he's making headway with what he probably thinks is a sweet grand gesture and an offer I can't refuse. Too bad for him it's not sweet, and I definitely can say no. If anything, he's just making things awkward and uncomfortable, especially amid the hoots and hollers of the guys in the other trucks. I hear some on Joshua's side, a few shouts of ‘give him a shot, Dani!', and others, not on mine, but on their own as they yell, ‘hurry up!' and ‘I've got places to be!'

I'm sure Joshua would have fun on a date with me. He thinks my bitchiness is ‘cute', my dark hair and eyes are ‘exotic' because I'm not blonde and blue-eyed like he is, and he wants to play around with the ‘spice of life' before he settles down with some basic girl he'll eventually meet at the local bar on a Friday night.

But to me? He's a guy who only sees me as a fun fuck story he'll reminisce about when he's middle aged and looking back on his boring life. I'll be a brag he tells over the bar, or a story told on the job site for his buddies when he wants to look like a stud.

"Joshua, last chance. Get your shit out of my yard!" I holler, throwing the bag the few feet so it lands at his feet. I hate to mistreat my food that way, but I'm sure as hell not getting any closer to him.

I throw a warning look to Damien, telling him to get his guy in check, and then turn around, leaving Joshua kneeling in the yard as I go back to get the next order. I can hear a few laughs and hoots aimed at Joshua, but I've got too much work to do to pay it any mind. I've got trucks lined up and my next order is a big one.

I hurry through the house and to the back porch. I'm pulling fresh tortillas off the Blackstone and whipping together a fresh, authentic taco when arms wrap around my waist from behind and Joshua's breath is on my neck as he murmurs, "Dani."

There's no thinking, just action as I whirl around, stepping to the side to break his grip. I don't mean to, but I'm not upset when the metal spatula in my hand smacks across his face, leaving a greasy red mark on his already flushed skin along with the corner scratching him under the eye.

"Shiiiit!" Joshua grunts as he steps back, acting shocked that I wouldn't be flattered at his advances, even though I literally just turned him down. Again. What is it with guys who can't take no for an answer? Well, Joshua's gonna learn today. Because the next move he makes is going to result in real blood flow.

I'm gearing up to give him a solid talking-to, but before I know what's happening, Kyle has jumped the fence between my back yard and Kathy's. Grabbing Joshua by the back of his shirt, he yanks him away from me before bodily picking him up and spinning him around to toss him away, putting himself between me and Joshua.

Joshua stumbles, surprised at the sudden change of physical location, and trips over his own feet. Kyle follows him to the ground, kneeling over him with one fist on the patchy dirt next to Joshua's head and the other pointing in Joshua's face. "You asked her out, she said no. Following her like a fucking creeper and putting your hands on her is way over the line. Now, do like the lady said—go the fuck away. And don't come back. No more lunches for you."

He's stone cold, not even breathing heavily, but something in his presence says loud and clear that he will fuck Joshua up if he even thinks of making a move… toward Kyle or me.

"Whatever. Get offa me," Joshua grunts, frozen on the ground and clearly beaten, but trying to sound tough.

Kyle waits one more painfully long second, his icy eyes making sure Joshua understands exactly what pain and suffering will come his way if he even considers saying or doing anything else. Kyle must eventually see whatever surrender he's looking for in Joshua's eyes because he lets him up, but Kyle still seems on the edge of throwing hands. Or worse.

Whatever charming, smiling asshole he was is completely gone, replaced by a snarling, menacing asshole instead.

Brushing himself off, Joshua glares at Kyle before he stalks around the side of my house, swaggering like he did something even though Kyle's crew next door and several trucks' worth of guys out front saw exactly what happened.

When it's only the two of us, Kyle turns his attention on me, his eyes going concerned and even soft in a blink. "Are you okay?" he asks gently, reaching out to touch my cheek like I'm fragile and made of glass.

His gesture makes something fluttery happen in my belly, and that pisses me off. A guy like him, making me feel like I just gulped an extra bubbly can of cola? I don't like it. Not one bit. And I for damn sure don't like Kyle. Or that he was watching the whole scene of Joshua asking me out, me saying no, and Joshua following me.

I'm not his responsibility. Not his to take care of, or to watch over, or… something .

I'm nothing to him, just the neighbor of his latest job. And he's worse than that to me. He's the asshole who's ruining my work and now pissing off my customers.

I mean, I was this close to telling Joshua's crew that they're cut off from lunch, but that was my call to make. Not Kyle's. And if I'd made the call, I could be the one to eventually undo it when Damien got Joshua under control. But now?

Since Kyle's the one who made the declaration, I look weak in front of everyone. And there's one thing I'm definitely not… weak. So I don't appreciate Kyle making me look like some damsel in distress who needed him to swoop in to my rescue because I couldn't handle things. I can rescue myself, thankyouverymuch .

Plus, the whole dick-measuring ego challenge isn't something Joshua is going to let go. Kyle might've saved me today— not that I needed it—but he's made the problem worse.

I jerk away from his touch, as if his thumb is white hot. "I had things handled. There was no need for you to play hero, especially when it's gonna cost me money because that crew were regular customers."

I'm mad. At Joshua, at Kyle, and at myself. One, for not foreseeing that Joshua was getting ballsy, and two, for my visceral reaction to Kyle's touch.

"I'll pay his daily," Kyle says, his tone hard and not inviting argument. "Plus keep an eye out for him." Despite the statement, his gaze hasn't left me. In fact, I think he's still checking me over as if Joshua's hug might've hurt me in a more physical way.

"I'm still not feeding you or your crew," I shoot back. "And I don't need a damn bodyguard. I can take care of myself." I stand a little taller, narrowing my eyes and daring him to say otherwise.

"I don't care," Kyle says evenly. "I'll pay anyway."

As if that's all it takes, he turns and hops back over the fence like some sort of blue collar Batman, shouting to his crew, "Show's over. Back to work."

His yell's not directed at me, but he's right. I've got a lunch rush to get through. I just have to do it without somehow thinking about what Kyle did for me, easily and without asking for anything in return.

Yeah, right.