The 1964 Chevy C10 truck was my dad’s. I don’t drive her often because I prefer the freedom of my bikes. However, when I decide to get groceries, I do take her out. The single cab doesn’t leave much room for bags, but I had to make it work when this latch broke.
I continue to sing along to Post Malone and Chris Stapleton as I give my attention to the truck. I back it into my driveway without using the garage to park it since I keep my bikes in there. Out of the corner of my eye, her red Chevy Blazer in catches my attention as she backs into her driveway.
Really, it’s our driveway. The only two houses in the entire neighborhood with a shared driveway. It’s the strangest set up, but our houses sit in the middle of the cul-de-sac, our mailboxes in the dead center. From there a huge concrete slab is laid that eventually splits going to her converted garage space and to my actual garage. We have grass and room between our houses, but this odd shaped shared driveway connects us.
Josie and Justice are home.
This might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever gotten myself wrapped up in. Don’t let friends of friends close in, the lines can get crossed and well, it may not go well. They literally moved in this weekend. I thought about introducing, or I should say re-introducing myself, but decided against it. I met her briefly at Country Boy and Sara’s house. Country Boy and I had been cleaning up after a hunt when Country Boy invited me to hold over and eat with them. Next thing I know this woman and her kid are there.
Justice is her son. He’s like a sponge absorbing everything around him. We played with his trucks and his mom didn’t even skip a beat that we spent twenty minutes in the driveway making a mini mud track using the dirt from the driveway and a bottled water. By the time it was done, he was talking about the rear axle pull like he had been working alongside me here. Sure, I was telling him all about horsepower and the impact of some of the jumps we built, but the kid is like five, I didn’t think he would take it all in.
And fuck, Josie is gorgeous. Physically, she is a ten, seeing her with her kid, man that takes her off the charts. She has long dark brown hair, that falls in these waves down her back, landing just above her plump ass. An ass that would sit on the back of a Harley with a good couple of inches coming off each side of the seat. She’s got tits. And she isn’t overweight, but she’s got a soft belly. Her clothes aren’t skintight, but form fitting enough to notice, she’s soft. A man like me, I love soft under me. Top to toe, she’s a knock-out.
It's the haunting in her eyes that gets to me. I want to know who caused that pain. But I also know I’m just as black on the inside and nothing more than trouble she doesn’t need. It’s been years since the darkness won causing me to lose control. Truth be told though, I would do it again. Over and over, I have no regrets about that fateful night even if it changed everything about my life both then and even still now.
She opens the back passenger door; I watch Justice jump out and take off for the side door. “Wait,” she calls out as she rounds the back of the SUV. The back pops open and I watch as she throws her hands up in frustration as the bags tumble to the ground. Tossing the handle in my hand onto my truck bed, I begin to make my way across her front yard.
“Justice,” she calls out to him, “come help momma.”
I approach and she jumps. She is distracted today. Normally, this woman watches any and every approach. She is hyperaware which is a good thing for her both as a female and as a single mom. This is the first time I’ve caught her off her guard which is highly unusual. Whoever brought her to this constant of panic did a number on her, and unless they are six feet underground, I don’t like the idea of her letting go of this hypervigilance.
“Hey Jo,” I greet as her wide eyes lock to mine. “Sorry,” I raise my hands in surrender, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She blinks twice, “Dean? Is that right?”
I nod bending over to pick up the bags. “Most call me Raff, babe.”
“But your name is Dean?”
“Yes,” I relent, and she smiles, not a full on one, but a genuine smile.
She reaches out touching my shoulder. Heat rushes through me. “I can get it; you don’t have to help me.” She mutters as Justice comes skipping back to us. “Sara told me you were our neighbor.”
“Jo, I got this. Go unlock the door.”
She stares at me with this weird expression I can’t describe as I stand to my full height holding four bags in each arm. This close to her, I tower over her. I’m a solid six-feet-four inches and I swear she’s five-two, maybe three.
“Earth to Jo,” I say trying to get her focused.
“I’m sorry,” she sort of whispers then smacks herself on the head, “stop gawking girl, get with it.” The last part is a softer whisper that I barely hear, but I didn’t imagine it.
I think that was meant for her to herself. “Thinkin’ out loud?”
She drops her mouth open wide as her cheeks flush in embarrassment. I probably shouldn’t have called her out, but I never have been much for filters. The best thing anyone can do is give the truth in the moment as they see it.
“Your arms are going to rip your shirt sleeves.” She states what is clearly on her mind. I like it.
I laugh, “I don’t skip arm day at the gym,” I joke. She only blinks. “I’m kiddin’, Jo. I hate the gym.”
She still stares at me awkwardly.
“I appreciate the once over, the twice over even, but you got some shit that probably needs to get in the fridge.” I give her a half-smile, “don’t worry babe, I like you’re hot and don’t you dare go to the gym because that ass is juicy as a peach.”
“Oh my God,” is all she can say as Justice calls out getting her attention.
“Can I have a push pop?”
“Not until after dinner,” she chimes back not missing a beat. Apparently, her shock leaves as soon as her son is back in frame. Mom-mode activated, it’s cute.
