Roustabout (The Traveling #3) Read Online Free

laughing his ass off.
    “Nope, still attached,” I shouted back, climbing to the highest part of the ramp and started loosening the bolts that held it in place.
    There were upward of 100 pieces of metal and wood that held the ramps together. Some of the sections weighed nearly 300 pounds, and everything was moved by hand. The five of us could do takedown in less than six hours, but I’d held everyone up. Yeah well, it was hard to regret the satisfied look on Mindy/Mandy’s face when I’d let myself out of her place.
    We worked through the night, and the last things to dismantle were the huge spotlights that we used for the show and to see what we were doing during takedown.
    I pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves, careful not to let the hot metal touch any part of me as they were stored away.
    Aimee joined us bleary-eyed an hour before dawn with coffee and snacks. We were all tired and dirty, but there was no time to wash up.
    “I’ll take first shift at the wheel,” Zef said, drinking his coffee standing up. “Something tells me you didn’t get much rest last night before we started takedown.”
    “I’ll get all the sleep I need when I’m dead,” I said solemnly, dodging his next punch.
    “Yeah, yeah. I’ll wake you up when we hit Fargo.”
    I really needed to shower and wash off the scent of Mandy/Mindy. But I’d missed my window. I jumped into the cab of the rig, folded my leather jacket into a pillow and got comfortable.
    “Man, you stink of cheap perfume,” said Zef.
    “Nothin’ cheap about Mindy,” I lied.
    Zef laughed again. “Her name was Linda, you douche!”
    I cracked an eye. “Serious? How come you know that?”
    “Because her friend Melissa told me.”
    “Bummer,” I yawned, closing my eyes again and fell asleep.
    Too soon, Zef was shaking me awake.
    “’Sup?” I asked, rubbing a knuckle into my eyes.
    “Man, your cell has just about been ringing nonstop. Someone really wants to get ahold of you. Don’t tell me you slipped up and gave your number to Linda?”
    I had to smile at that. “No way. I gave her yours. Thank me later.”
    He muttered something I didn’t need to hear. Zef knew my rules as well as I did. Hell, he used to joke that I should get them tattooed on my junk to save repeating myself.
    The rules were simple, and they kept me sane.
     
Never give a woman my number. That’s smart.
Never sleep with them more than once. Why only eat the red M&Ms when you could have all the other colors too?
Always leave her satisfied. That’s just polite.
Never look back.
 
    If you keep moving, you can’t get caught. Right?
    Still grinning, I pulled my cell out of my pants pocket.
    My mind went blank when I saw the 423 area code: four missed calls, one voicemail and three texts—all from the same number. I had a strong suspicion that whoever was trying to reach me wouldn’t say anything I wanted to hear. I deleted the voicemail without listening to it, then casually deleted the texts.
    Zef frowned but didn’t ask any questions. After living with the guy for three years, he knew me well enough to know that questions wouldn’t get him anywhere. I turned my phone off and shoved it back in my pocket. As far as I knew, only a handful of people had my number and all of them were carnies. Whoever was calling had no business knowing where I was. I was happy here and I just wanted to be left alone.
    With that thought, I tried to go back to sleep, but the best I could manage was to rest my eyes.
    When we hit Fargo, Zef took a break at a truck stop we used when we were over this way, and headed for the restaurant. I loaded up on eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy. I loved truck stops out here—none of that organic, gluten-free, dairy-free, taste-free shit that you get in California—just good, honest food for hard-working men. Just like momma used to make. Well, not my momma.
    I took a cup of coffee from the waitress, winked at her as she blushed when she served us, and filled another