Lucky: The Irish MC Read Online Free Page A

my rig down the path. Thankfully, the path was clear and dry—no sliding wheels, only lots of dust. By the time I got to the bottom, the clouds of dirt and dust had filled the cab and I was coughing and choking. All the same, it felt good. It smelled good, like nature. Not the smells of the road: oil, grease, sweat. Maybe I’ll lay outside for a little bit, I thought as I looked up at the cloudless sky. I imagined myself stretching out on a chaise lounge on the grass and sunning myself. I was so pale; I almost never took the time to get a tan. But somehow, the idea of sunbathing and letting my pale skin crisp to a warm brown was incredibly appealing. The past winter had been so cold—I’d been in the interior western states for most of it—and parts of me had felt like they were never going to be warm again. In the sunshine of Dos Palmos, I felt much better. But laying out and baking was an incredibly tempting idea.
     
    As I pulled my rig to a stop, I gazed around. The old man had said there would be a couple of guys to help me with the load, but there was no one in sight. The clouds of dust settled down and I closed my eyes and stuck my bare arm out of the open window, luxuriating in the feel of the sun. I didn’t even have a backyard at home—I lived in an apartment complex—but  I could see myself in a cute bikini, dragging a lounge chair out and parking myself for a few hours. I could practically feel how cold the gloppy, bright-white sunscreen would be as I massaged it onto my limbs. For some reason, when I thought about rubbing the sun lotion on my body, the grins of those biker guys popped back into my mind. I shivered. A strange feeling coursed through my body. Was it lust? Was I feeling desire? It was an alien feeling, something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not in years.
     
    Not years, my mind thought wickedly. More like days. I shivered. I didn’t want to think about it for too long, but the other night, sleeping in my cab at a truck stop, I’d had one of the most wicked dreams I’d ever had. In my dream, I was naked and pressed up against a wall. The wall was made of rough, cold, scratchy stone, but it felt good against my hot skin. There was a big, hulking, muscular guy behind me, making sure that my legs were spread as he trailed his fingers all over my body until I was shuddering with desire. I never saw his face; my eyes were closed the whole time. But the dream had been incredibly visceral. When I’d woken up, I’d been tempted to slip my fingers into my panties and finish myself off. But something about making myself come just seemed so squalid, and like such a poor substitute for the man in my dream.
     
    Blushing madly, I opened my eyes and peered outside of the truck again. There was still no one in sight. I watched as the old man, now a speck on the horizon, walked back into his booth and shut the big gate. The sun was starting to go down and I shivered. I’d already been waiting for ten minutes, where the hell was this guy? I wanted to go home! Sunbathing as a possibility was out. Now that I’d remembered my dream from the other night, the idea of being so close to naked in public was horrifying to me. I circled back to the idea of settling in for a long bath with a glass of wine. Bathtubs were innocent, right? Nothing weird or creepy or sleazy would happen to me if I was safe in my bathtub, drinking a glass of wine and decompressing from a long journey.
     
    At least I hoped nothing would. In irritation, I opened the cab door and hopped down onto the ground. My boots landed with a satisfying crunch in the gravel and I wiped perspiration off my forehead. Where the fuck were these guys? Putting a hand up to my forehead and shielding my eyes like a visor, I scanned the area. There was nobody in sight. A slight breeze blew and I shivered; it was still warm, but I could tell that after dark, I’d start to freeze. The only clean jacket I had left was light, and I knew it wouldn’t keep