Chapter 99
“Good morning to you, too, old man,” I retorted. I could throw barbs, too.
“You need to quit chasing boys, son.”
“I’ve got time yet. There’s still a few good times left in this body.” A body that ached a little bit more every day, if I were to admit it. And I wasn’t about to—not to Adrian.
“I’m trying to get you to see reason, but you got a tough, stubborn hide.” He picked up the paperwork for the day’s orders and handed it to me. “Your load’s ready to go. Got four deliveries.” Adrian reached over to the tack board on the wall above his desk and unhooked the keys for my rig, throwing them to me. I caught them easily.
I reviewed everything so I could plan my trips for the day. It was easier to use alternate routes than deal with the crazy traffic on the interstate, and the dumbass drivers who thought that racing with an eighteen-wheeler was fun. Hello? Thousands of pounds to crush you with.Some days, I was sorely tempted to teach some of those dimwits a lesson.
“Thanks. See ya later, asshole.” I gave him a middle finger salute and left, a “fuck you” ringing in my ears.
The Freightliner I drove daily was in the back near the pit. Six other trucks were parked nearby. I always got the earlier shift, which, while I hate mornings, meant I had more time to myself in the evenings to have some fun, if I wanted to. And I usually did.
Bright lights over the pit and back lot helped me find my way. I unlocked the door to my rig, climbed in and turned it on. While the engine warmed up, I did my usual routine—made sure the load, tarp and tie-downs were secure—and kicked the tires.
Satisfied, I got in, checked all the gauges—still good on fuel—and set everything up just the way I liked it. My travel mug went in its slot, cellphone went in the clip on the dashboard, and the paperwork was on the passenger seat. The work bag went on the floorboard.
The first delivery was an hour and a half away. Traffic was steady, without too many need-for-speed idiots. The sun was climbing into the sky when I got to Harry and Sons Supplies around seven o’clock.
I pulled into the loading and off-loading area, and saw Grant Hess already out there on the lot, sitting on the forklift. He’d been working at this company for years. Damn, but he could make a paper bag sizzle, with his sinewy, muscular frame, wavy brown hair and eyes a magnificent shade of aquamarine blue, like a clear, tropical sea. Something about Grant always drew me to him, aside from the fact that he was stunning. I hadn’t figured it out, yet.
“Hey, Grant,” I said, once I parked and got out of the truck. I removed the tarp covering the load so he could get to the order.
“Trev,” he replied, pulling up to the side of the flatbed when I was done. “Late night, huh?” he asked as he positioned the lift under a stack and took it down.
“That’s the second time today someone has commented on my appearance. Are the circles under my eyes still that visible?”
“Maybe,” he said, with a smirk. That’s just great.
“Whatever. So yeah, I was out late, and I had a great time. Is that a crime?” I asked, as I leaned against a nearby pole and watched him work.
“I don’t know how you do it, man,” Grant replied, as he moved more pallets from the flatbed to the ground with the ease of experience.
“Guess I’m a freak of nature.”
“You’re a freak all right,” he said, with a smile.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I don’t remember you complaining when we were going at it.” We’d had a good time. Grant could bend his body in ways a gymnast would envy.
“Hell, no. I still have fond memories of a sore ass from that early morning ride six months ago in the back office. I’d love to do it again, but I know you won’t. Suppose I should be flattered that we did it at all.”
“What can I say? You’ve got good genes.” Grant was the only guy his age that I’d fucked in the last fifteen years. He was thirty-three, but in my defense, he looked a good ten years younger than that. He probably got carded all the time.
“I think you’re scared if you fuck the same guy more than once, you’ll like it. Too much like commitment, huh?” Grant said, his tone sardonic. He removed the last stack of pallets for his order off the flatbed.