I emerge from the gas station and spot him instantly. I’m trying to be cool as I walk back to my car, side-eyeing this beautiful man perched high in his diesel truck parked in front of mine at the gas pumps.

Without warning, his windshield wipers unleash a blast of cold, sudsy fluid. It drenches my shirt and my hair, completely blinding me. I screech and come to a hard stop.

Dammit, and I was feeling myself today. I looked cute.

“Oh fuck,” I hear him holler as his truck door creaks open quickly. I can’t open my eyes; when I try, it burns.

I’m wiping at my eyes with my fingers, but it isn’t helping. I’m jolted again when I feel a cloth roughly wiping at my face. I snatch it out of his hands and finish properly as he fumbles for words.

“Oh my god, I’m such a jerk, I didn’t even see you.”

“Gee, thanks,” I scoff.

“I’m so sorry. I’m really tired… fuck, I’ve been driving for hours… damn, are you okay?”

I manage to open one eye, bent slightly over, one hand on my knee, and I peer up at him. Jesus, it was his shirt in my hands; this gorgeous, bare-chested man is now hovering above me.

I stand up straight, slicking back my hair and tugging at my T-shirt as it clings stubbornly. I peel it away from my shoulder, and it forms a teasing bubble against my skin.

I glare. “Such a weird way to get my attention. I mean, you could have just said hello.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, in my defense, you were about to leave.” His grin widens.

“I’ve had men make worse first impressions,” I chuckled. “Did I at least win?”

“Win?” His eyebrows quirk, shoulders raised.

I let my gaze drop, letting my hands gesture at my chest, my words soft but teasing. “The wet T-shirt contest?”

My eyes wander behind him and scan the contents of his truck. The back seat is packed with boxes; in the bed, a weight bench and a few large black lawn bags full of what? Clothes, linens, maybe. Was he moving, I wonder.

He chuckles, slow and low, but his gaze doesn’t leave me. It lingers, hungry, predatory. “Fuck yeah, girl. First place.”

He turns, looks back at the truck, then at me. “Yeah, it’s a long story, but at least it had a happy ending.” He shrugs in a resolved tone.

I look back at my own car holding my suitcases and shrug. “Same.” I manage a smile.

“Come on, I owe you a shower,” he remarks casually.

I furrow my eyebrows. “Wow, that escalated quickly,” I laugh.

He smiles and motions to the gas station. “They have paid showers here; it’s why I stopped. I need a shower, some food, and clearly a break. I’m too tired to keep driving,” he says, giving me a gentle, apologetic smile. “Besides, I gotta give you your prize…?” He pauses, cocks his head, waiting for me.

“El,” I answer, and I can't help but smile.

He repeats my name, winks at me, and I swoon.

“Park your car and meet me inside.” He rifles through his back seat and pulls out a T-shirt, camouflage, fitted, sexy.

I comply. I too am done driving for the day. I may not necessarily be as physically tired as he claims to be, but my mind needs to shut off for the day. I park, grab my overnight bag, and head inside. He’s at the counter buying a bar of soap and some shampoo.

I stand off to the side, admiring him, unnoticed. The young female clerk at the counter is desperately trying to make more of the conversation than he’s giving. She sees in him what I see.

He’s burly, solid, and he carries strength the way some men carry unearned confidence. His powerful arms speak quietly of work, not vanity. You can look at him and know he protects what matters to him.

I can imagine every girl he comes across wishes she were on that list. I know I do.

He’s someone who is noticed. Women feel his presence instinctively, and the men acknowledge it with head nods.

He turns around and sees me, and his smile widens. “I was worried you ditched me.”

“That’s after the shower,” I tease.

“Nah, girl, after the shower I won’t be able to get rid of you.” He winks playfully, and I shove him. We both laugh.  

We sit in the back, eating a gas-station hot dog while we wait for our turns. He tells me about the showers, and we share little details about ourselves,  just the easy stuff, the kind that feels safe to share.

My pager goes off first, and he gives me a head nod toward the back. 

I’m not sure what came over me, but before I can stop myself, I say, “You’re not joining me?”

He bolts right up. “Lead the way, El.”

I look down the hall, pause, and look back at him. “But I don’t really know what I’m doing.” I give a small smile.

He replies confidently, “Ah, baby, that’s okay. Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”

He slides his hand around my neck and gently kisses me. My knees go weak, but when he moves, I follow, steadying myself with the snack-lined shelves and hallway wall.

The shower rooms are huge, comprising a private, lockable room with a bathroom and a walk-in shower. It looks more like a luxury hotel bathroom than a gas station restroom.

He tosses all his stuff on the bench and takes my bag, placing it next to his. He turns on the hot water, unboxes the soap, and places his shampoo on the ledge. I take out my toiletries and place them next to his on the shower ledge, moving around him in quiet succession.

He stares at me, his eyes never leaving mine, as he reaches behind his neck and pulls his shirt off slowly. The fabric grips his muscles as he pulls it up and over his head in what is probably the sexiest way a man can remove a shirt, and I can feel it everywhere all at once.

The room is filling with hot steam, and I am having a hard time drawing in enough air. He kicks off his boots and slides his belt from his pants. Looping it, he makes a quick snap of the leather across his hand, that crooked grin stealing the last of the air in my lungs.

He starts to walk toward the water as the last of his clothes hit the floor. His body is exquisite, and I’m feeling incredibly nervous. 

The half wall makes it hard to hide. He stands fully under the water, rinsing his hair and soaping up his body. I’m hypnotized and frozen in my spot, watching the soap run down his chest.

“Come here, baby,” he whispers, wiping his hand down his face and licking his lips. Goddammit, my heart is racing.

I walk over slowly and stand at the edge of the water.

“Arms up,” he commands, and I comply. He peels off my wet shirt, dropping it to the floor, reaches around my back, and unceremoniously removes my plain white bra. His fingers circle my waistband as he pulls down my shorts and panties and tosses them aside.

He cocks his head, rolling his neck halfway and back again, biting his lip, indicating he likes what he sees. “Fuck, babe, you are stunning.”

“You sound surprised,” I tease. 

He pulls a large strand of my wet hair, stiffened from the chemicals, and presses his lips together. “Well…” he laughs as I shove him, and he scoops me up. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist. He kisses me, really kisses me like he’s been holding out for this moment. 

“Tell me what you like,” he breathes heavily in my ear. 

But I have no idea. I have pretty much played the participation game in both of my previous relationships. It was monotonous, not bad, but not like this. This is visceral, alive.

He slides me down his wet, soapy body and backs me up against the wall. “So no special requests?” His eyes burn with something primal.

I swallow hard and shake my head, unable to speak.

He pulls my hands above my head, pulls my leg up, and sets it on the shower seat. He pushes himself into me hard and without hesitation, but maintains tenderness. His face is buried in my neck as he moves, steady and unrelenting.

One hand anchors my wrists while the other leaves me breathless. And when his mouth finally finds mine, it is over far too quickly for me, and my body completely caves in on itself. I have never had such an intense physical reaction to someone’s touch, and I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to settle for anything less again.

He leans back, releasing my hands, and gestures for me to kneel. I obey. 

I already felt him, but the visual hits much harder; his size has my adrenaline surging. My throat and mouth go completely dry.

He reads my hesitation immediately, fingers closing around my jaw as he lifts my face, his grin deliberate, the quiet pressure urging my mouth open.

He rolls his tongue around in his mouth, and without warning, he spits in my mouth and, with his thumb, wipes it across my tongue before sliding himself into me. 

I try my best, but my body resists. He slides his hand down my neck. “Relax your neck, baby. Look at me. I don’t want to hurt you, I want to teach you.” He nods down at me, his eyes gentle, his stance wide, biting his bottom lip.

I nod slightly, and he runs his hand through my long braids and down the side of my face. “Keep your tongue flat and tilt your chin down slightly… okay.” I try, and he pushes into me further, and the water rushing under my tongue floods my mouth, and my eyes water, but my body no longer resists.

 Is there anything sexier than a man who teaches and gently takes control? It’s fucking sexy as hell, and I am completely undone by it.

His eyes darken. He seems as caught up as I am. “Babe, can I,” he asks breathlessly. I give consent, and he pulls back slightly and releases every ounce of heat into my mouth and onto my chest and face. 

Wiping a large amount from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, he drags it across my tongue. “Good girl,” he whispers breathlessly as his fingers under my chin coax my mouth closed.

He stands up straight, catching his breath, grinning down at me as he helps me to my feet and guides me toward the water to rinse off.

The moments after are incredibly intimate. He washes and rinses my hair and body. He takes my T-shirt, cleans it under the warm water, and wrings it out. He brings me towels and sits, watching and listening as I ramble on while I get dressed and dry my hair.

He’s unexpectedly tender and sweet, and I love it. He acts as if we are two people who belong together, not just two strangers who recklessly hooked up in a gas station bathroom. 

When we walk out, his pager goes off. He walks up to a guy at the counter and pulls me close, putting his arm around my neck. “Here, buddy, she’s had enough, you’re up.” He gives a head nod, and the guy stares in our direction. The girl behind the counter doesn’t even try to hide her shock.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the moment everything shifted.

We ended up going to dinner that night and getting a room together. The next morning, he brought me coffee in bed like it was our routine. Somewhere between that shower and the morning coffee, I made the list.