Panty Snatcher Read online

  Mom had ovarian cancer that wasn’t detected early enough. Even with treatment, she had a rapid decline and lost the battle within eight months of her diagnosis. Pops has been lost ever since.

  Thirty years with the same woman and suddenly she’s gone. He is bitter, sad, and lately, he has been quite demanding without her. More than that, he is no longer the man I grew up with. Heartbreak will do that to you, or so they say.

  Going over his list in my head, I park my lifted Chevy Silverado in the back of the lot where I can easily occupy two spaces. Then I grab a towel from behind my seat, wiping my hands one more time. Even though I scrub them before leaving work, after the hours spent on a rig, I swear I have oil coming out of my pores.

  Making my way through the rows of cars, I stop when I hear someone call my name. I turn to see Tonya at a cart return. Damn, she is wearing jeans so tight they look painted on. Added to that are high heels along with a shirt that is just as tight as her pants and so low cut I am seriously amazed her boobs don’t fall out. Her long, wavy, brown hair is down, and her makeup is slightly overdone. She has a nice body, and she talks a good game. In the end, though, she can be rather boring in bed. She isn’t a terrible lay, but she is far from adventurous. Yeah, I tapped that. Well, to be honest, I have tapped her and just about every other pussy in this town.

  Trying to keep on my path inside, I give a quick wave to Tonya, hoping that mild acknowledgement will appease her. Wrong! She starts doing some crazy half-running thing over to me. Shit! Her boobs are bouncing as I watch, waiting for her to fall and bust her ass in those shoes.

  “Maverick, wait,” she squeaks as she hurries over to me.

  “Hey, Tonya,” I say when she comes to a stop in front of me.

  “Just gettin’ off work, I see.” She smiles hungrily at me.

  Well, Captain Obvious, I happen to be filthy, and it is dinnertime. Given the time, given the knowledge that I work on an oil rig, common sense says I am here straight from work. Rather than be a total ass about it, I merely nod in agreement.

  “I bet you’re hungry after a hard day’s work. How ’bout you come over to my house, and I’ll cook for you?” she asks, her invite laced in undertones of more than dinner.

  “Not tonight. I really gotta get goin’, but thanks.”

  Instead of waiting for more from her, I walk on past her and into the store. After getting a cart, I make my way over to the produce section. Lost in thought, trying to remember my dad’s damn list, I absentmindedly go about my business, not really paying attention to anything around me while stopping at the bags of salad. I don’t look up as I push my cart in front of me so I can lean down to grab the right one. I feel the cart bump something and hear a slight whimper.

  Looking up, I smile at the woman in front of me as she turns around to face me. Whoa, I didn’t expect the anger she has going on over an accidental bump.

  “Slick, watch out, why don’t ya? I’m sure this little ploy of yours works on every other chick, but not me, okay? So think about that next time.”

  “Slick, huh? Well, my friends call me Tapper, but whatever. I’m sorry. It really was an accident, not some ploy,” I say, lifting up the bag of mixed greens so she can see I was getting something.

  “Apology accepted. Moving on. Have a good day, Mr. Tapper.” She smiles and it hits me who she is.

  She pushes at her cart, and I hear her mutter, “Appropriate name, Tapper. Humph.”

  “Kenzy,” I call out to her back as she strolls away from me.

  Her gorgeous, dark hair swings around her as she turns back to face me. Confusion etches her features, and I realize she doesn’t recognize me.

  “Maverick,” I say, introducing myself.

  “Oh my, you’re … um … dirty,” she says, covering her mouth in embarrassment of her unfiltered response.

  “Baby, you have no idea,” I reply with a smile and a wink. “You look good, Kenzy. It’s been a long damn time.”

  “Y-yeah.” Composing herself, she smiles finally. “I just moved back.”

  “Good, I’ll see ya around, then.”

  “Sure thing.” She turns back to her cart and heads off to finish her shopping, her ass swaying with each step.

  I can’t help wanting to take my hand to that ass and make it a nice shade of pink. Kenzy has certainly grown into a beautiful woman from her awkward teenage years. She had an innocent yet definitely rough beauty in her youth, one that you had to see past the outer appearance to the heart of the girl. Now she is carrying herself in a refined but shy way. I don’t think she realizes how gorgeous she is.

  A loud throat clearing and a cart running into my ass tell me I am still shamelessly staring. I turn around and get a raised eyebrow from a little, old lady.

  I give her a wink and move out of her way, realizing I look forward to bumping into Kenzy again. Seeing her turns my whole day around. I’ll have to thank Pops for sending me to the store later even if he won’t understand why.

  A little tap of my cart to her ass, has Kenzy Davis on my radar.

  This story continues on in Maverick (Roughnecks Book One) available now through all major e-book retailers!

  Excerpt from Mother Trucker (Bad Boys of the Road)

  Mother Trucker

  A bad boys of the road story.

  Written by:

  Chelsea Camaron

  Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2016

  All Rights Reserved. This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without express written permission by Chelsea Camaron.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First edition published December 2016

  Editing by: Asli Fratarcangeli

  Cover Photo: Shutterstock

  This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All sexually active characters portrayed in this book are eighteen years of age or older. Please do not buy if strong sexual situations, and explicit language offends you.

  Mother Trucker

  He’s the kind of my man my mother always warned me about.

  Small towns keep no secrets. Everyone knows all the mistakes that cover Greer Jones’ past.

  Yet one look, one kiss, and somehow all his wrongs are suddenly oh so right.

  In the end, my heart wants what it wants even as my mind screams he’s one bad …

  Mother Trucker.

  ***This is a small town romance that is a fast paced short story. If insta-attraction, insta-lust, insta-love, and insta-ever after aren’t your thing then this isn’t the book for you. If it is then prepare yourself to meet Greer and fall for one bad Mother Trucker!***

  Chapter One

  On a hamster wheel in hell with no water in sight!

  Greer

  “You better leave some money. You know the school always needs something from Kylie,” Becky screeches, pacing the small space of her home. The doublewide is far from being spectacular, but it keeps Kylie warm and it’s a roof over her head. I wish I could give her more. Something nicer, a more stable environment. Becky keeps my hands tied and at this point I’m lucky I can still crash on the couch.

  “The school doesn’t need shit, it’s more of your fuckin’ games.” I charge back at her when she reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the counter. I grab the lighter beside them before she can. “Not in the house,” I remind her, knowing damn well when I leave she smokes in here.

  The yellow tinge on the cheap plastic blinds leave the signs of what she does. The burn marks in the carpet where she misses the ashtray aren’t something to ignore. She doesn’t care to straighten up or take care of anything. Kylie and I clean top to bottom every two weeks while Becky either disappears to fuck someone or locks herself in her ro
om.

  The walls are covered in wooden paneling that if it wasn’t so dark the place would look pretty big for a mobile home. The structure is good and that’s all that matters for me until Kylie gets old enough to get out. Then me and my daughter will have our own place, far away from Becky.

  “She’s not a fuckin’ baby anymore.” She paces wildly in her short ass shorts and tank top with no bra. “She’s fourteen damn years old, Greer. I can smoke around her.”

  This fourteen-year-old daughter has given me fifteen years tied to Rebecca “Becky” Conway’s brand of bullshit. There was a time I tried to make this work. Really, in the beginning, I even considered putting a ring on her finger and making us a real family. Then the truth came out and I learned a hard lesson in living with someone else’s lies on top of lies.

  After that I thought we could be friends with benefits. Becky has a nice body. Even after having Kylie, her body bounced back. Something she’s not afraid to show either. She was an easy lay then, she’s an easy lay now. Her head, though, it’s a landmine of drama always waiting to blow. And there is no detaching her from the emotional entanglements.

  “Not while I’m paying the fucking rent you won’t,” I challenge her back.

  “Oh, here we go with that shit again. Control me with your money. Hit the road in your truck, Greer, and don’t look back,” she says with tears filling her eyes.

  There was a time this would bother me. Not anymore. She’s used every trick in the book to fuck with my head, my heart, and my wallet.

  “You control me with Kylie and you fuckin’ know it.”

  She starts to say something but I raise my hand cutting her off as I hear the car door shut in front of the house. “Kylie’s home.”

  Within moments, our beautiful girl is walking in with her back pack slung over her shoulder. Her dark hair is up in a ponytail, she’s in jeans, a tank top with one of my flannel shirt’s swallowing her and going past her knees, and wearing the black converse I bought her at the beginning of the school year. One look and her eyes meet mine.

  “Gotta take a load, Dad?” she reads me and asks.

  I nod.

  “How long and how far?” She drops her bag at the front door and comes to sit beside me on the old brown couch. It’s the same couch that, when she was a baby, I would lay on and let her sleep for hours on my chest. Just me and my baby girl, Kylie. She has been my one true love in life.

  “Only got one load secured so far. Gotta get to Louisiana and drop this one. Hoping to pick up a load back, but you know how truckin’ works, Kylie. It may take me getting a load further out and then a few more before I can make it back. I don’t like these runs but it’s our life.”

  “I know,” she says on a sigh leaning into me. “Jaylene wants me to stay with her at her Granny’s this weekend, are you good with that?”

  Becky gives me the glare saying she doesn’t want Kylie to stay with the Cortez family even though Jaylene has been her best friend since Kindergarten. Not only that, Kylie helps me mow the grass for Jaylene’s Granny in the summer so she’s no stranger there. I don’t hesitate to give my answer, Becky be damned.

  “I’m good with that,” I reply meeting Becky’s glare head on.

  “Don’t you think you should ask me? I am your mother, Kylie!”

  Our daughter only shrugs before getting up and grabbing her back pack before heading to her room without another word.

  “I’m goin’ outside to smoke,” Becky huffs not challenging me.

  Quickly, I head to Kylie’s room. She doesn’t hide the tears when I enter. Going to her, I embrace her in a hug as she stands to meet my open arms.

  “Shhhh, Kylie, I promise I’ll get back as soon as I can. I already left the coffee can under the azalea at Granny Cortez’s. There is money inside it if your mom fucks up again. Left some money in the magic kit too. I charged your phone, it’s between your mattresses right now. You need it, you use it.”

  God, I hate this is how things are. I have to hide money in an old lady’s yard so my kid can eat. Then I had to add a phone to my plan because Becky can’t ever keep her own shit turned on and I need to reach Kylie. When Kylie was eight, I saved up and took her to a magic show, just the two of us. When it was done I bought her a magic kit. We use the box with a false bottom to leave each other notes and where I stash cash for her.

  Too many years of Becky blowing what was given to her for Kylie, I can’t leave it to chance. The rent had to be moved to a draft from my account when she kept spending the cash and letting me deal with eviction notices while on the road.

  Becky Conway, my one night stand in high school who has tied me down for life. She’s not the worst of mother’s but she’s close. I can’t remember a time in Kylie’s life when she ever woke up in the middle of the night for her own kid. She would let her cry as a baby until I would get up and take care of her. Once I realized she wouldn’t get up with her, I stopped the long hauls and focused my truck driving on local carries as much as possible. The money is out on the road, but Kylie wasn’t taken care of when I left, so I have had to keep it to a minimum.

  She’s older now, for the most part she can take care of herself so I can make this run and get back, hopefully, before Becky can do much damage.

  Chapter Two

  Smacking gum is worse than nails on a chalkboard!

  Lia

  Rebecca Conway stands in front of my desk with her hair in a crazy mess on top of her head. I swear she is the walking, talking, picture example of what a rat’s nest hairstyle is. Her torn t-shirt and oversized sweats only add to her certified trashy look today.

  “They turned off my water,” she screeches into the cheap flip phone smacking her gum wildly. “You better come right now!”

  I can’t help but jump at her words and she hasn’t even spoken to me yet. Smack. The continual noise coming from her mouth is grating on my ear drums. Blow. Pop. I feel my stomach churn. I’ve never liked the sounds of smacking lips, chomping while eating, or chewing gum. It is obnoxious, don’t people see that.

  Apparently, Rebecca Conway doesn’t.

  She forces her phone in front of my face with a pissy snarl on hers. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Robeson County water and utilities, this is Magnolia Cortez, how may I assist you?” I say through clenched teeth as kindly as I can.

  “Lia, this is Greer. How much does she owe?” His tone is sharp. I’ve known Greer Jones since we were young kids, like elementary school and on. We live in a small town, both of us born and raised in the Sandhills of North Carolina. On and off, over the years, we sometimes had the same circle of friends. He’s always been a stand-up kind of guy. How he ended up with Rebecca and stayed for so long is something no one seems to understand.

  “I cannot disclose the amount over the phone, Mr. Jones,” I explain professionally and honestly. “I can allow Ms. Conway to inform you, should she wish, but the account is in her name.”

  “Fuck, this shit is gonna be like the damn electric and the fuckin’ lease; I gotta switch it around,” he huffs into the phone not hiding his frustration. “Been on the damn road two weeks, just got home twelve hours ago and already the shit starts,” he mumbles more to himself than to me. “Give me half an hour to drop the load I’ve got, and I’ll be there to cover it.”

  Before I can hand the phone back to Rebecca, he disconnects the call leaving her to look at a black screen while blowing a bubble and popping it loudly.

  “Well, what’d he say?”

  “You may wait in the lobby, Ms. Conway. He’ll be here in about half an hour.”

  “What’s my total? I’m gonna need him to cover the reconnect.”

  She has not a single sliver of embarrassment about any of this. Then again, I’m not sure she feels any shame about much. This isn’t the first time she’s been disconnected. It also is a known fact that she’s gone to the grocery store unable to cover her costs. Even once at the gas station, she made Kylie get out and ask someone to giv
e them gas money. Jaylene, my teenaged niece, and Kylie’s best friend, cried for two days over how upset Kylie was to be put in that situation. Greer was out of town, Kylie was seven or eight years old when the gas station incident happened. Six years later and her mom still doesn’t have her life together.

  Me, I couldn’t depend on a man the way Rebecca does Greer. My mother raised my sister Charlene and I to stand on our own. She was also big on paying our bills on time. Not living one day from disconnect or worse, like Rebecca Conway is. I type her name into my search screen and find her account.

  This isn’t the first time it’s been late, and it’s not the first time Greer has had to scramble in to pay it including a disconnect. Greer always comes in, though, and pays her up plus some extra. Yet, over and over again, this happens like a perpetual cycle of dysfunction.

  “You are three months behind. With reconnect and to be current it will be three hundred, twenty-six dollars, and seventy-one cents. If he arrives before Noon we can have it turned back on today.”

  She smacks her gum again and blows another bubble before dialing on her phone. “The chick at the desk,” she mutters rudely as if she doesn’t know me at all, when I know she does, but this is who she is, “says I owe five hundred to get it turned back on today.”

  There is a pause while whomever she has on the line speaks. “Greer,” she whines and I bet he’s more annoyed than before that he said he was on his way and she’s calling back. “Just go to the bank put the money in and I’ll pay the bill. Kylie has to have water.”

  I clench my hands trying to tamp down my annoyance that she’s lying to Greer. Women like her drive me insane. I mean, take Rebecca ‘Becky’ Conway and Greer Jones for example.