No. No. There was the sale sign right there—and the address. He was at the right house. But clearly he was on some weird caffeine trip.
He should’ve stuck to coffee. But coffee gave him the shits after the first cup.
Reallyshould’ve stopped for the night at the La Quinta back in ... where had he been? Oh, right. Shoulda made a left turn at Albuquerque, doc.
Finally, Little Oakley Annie dropped her aim. “At three o’clock in the morning.”
He shrugged. “It’s when I got here.”
“People are trying to sleep, dude.”
He looked around and saw a few new lights on in windows, but nobody else had come outside. That was the appeal of this neighborhood, though, right? He didn’t give much of a shit about what house he lived in, but he cared about who was living around him. The people in this neighborhood were working class folks who kept their noses to themselves. They were, like, locally famous for not giving a shit.
For the most part. Apparently, he’d bought a house next door to Miss Neighborhood Watch.
“Look,” he said. “I drove over a thousand miles today. I’m tweaking on way too much caffeine, but I’m also totally fucking exhausted, and how’sthatwork, right? Anyway, I fucked up, I see that. Not thinking clearly, yadda yadda yadda. I just want to park this fucking piece of shit truck, get my bike off and just go to sleep.”
“You’re not going to be able to get that truck under the carport roof. If you’d managed to get the trailer on the driveway, the truck would’ve crashed into the roof.”
“What?” Not quite believing her, he walked back and took a look for himself.
Shit.
“Well, shit,” he said aloud. “Fuck me sideways.” Then he considered the street. “If I leave it on the street, it’ll block your driveway.”
With an extremely annoying rhetorical sigh, she came close. She held the gun—That fucker had a pink camo grip! He refused to get shot by a pink fucking gun!—at the side of her leg, muzzle pointing at the ground, finger nowhere near the trigger. Welp, if she shot him, it wouldn’t be accidentally.
When she was within normal conversation distance, Cooper saw that she was hot. Had a look like a sun-bleached California girl. Not supermodel gorgeous, but really pretty. Or she was probably really pretty when she wasn’t wearing an expression like she’d stepped barefoot in dogshit.
“Please tell me you don’t plan tounloadthe truck at this hour.”
Originally, yes. His plan had been to back onto the driveway, park his bike and unhitch the trailer, get his shit inside and set up his bed. Now, he was starting to crash, and the thought of drinking another Monster made his gorge rise. He’d just go in and pass out on the floor. He had his pack and bedroll in the cab.
“Nah. Too fuckin’ tired. I’ll deal with this shit after I get some sleep.”
“That sounds wise. Sleep sounds good, doesn’t it? I think so. I was enjoying sleep.”
Sarcastic little bitch.
She sighed again. “How about you just take your bike off the trailer, park that in the carport, and leave the truck for now. I’m off tomorrow, so you can block my driveway until a decent hour—and by decent hour, I mean daylight. By daylight, I mean before noon.”
He really hated her ‘talking to a moron’ tone, but maybe he was being a moron. Hewasbeing a moron, wasn’t he? Like two brain cells were still firing. President of the Nevada charter of the Brazen Bulls MC over here, acting like the paste-eater in the back of the kindergarten room.
He took a deep breath and tried to get his heart to slow down before it broke free of his ribs, and his brain gears to stop spinning and fucking catch.
‘Yeah, yeah. That’s smart. Sorry—I ... long day.”
“Well, a thousand miles in a day is a lot.”
Her tone had softened, and Cooper began to really recognize his failings here. If he’d been sleeping when some inconsiderate bastard had rolled down the street in a rattling truck, music blaring, he’d have stormed out hot, too—and probably wouldn’t have given the shithead a chance to sort himself out.
Also, she was hot. Even in the middle of the night without makeup, she was hot. Seemed pretty flat in the chest, definitely not enough to make an impression in that big hoodie, and he was a boob man, but otherwise she was a solid eight. Maybe a nine with makeup—and if she had better boobs.
“Thanks for not shooting me. I’m Cooper.” He offered his hand.
After considering his offer for a moment, she moved her gun to her other hand and set her right in his. They shook. “Siena.”
“That’s a pretty name.”