Stalked By the Trucker (STALKING A–Z) by Emma Bray EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Emma Bray
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Bronx
THE HIGHWAY STRETCHES OUT like a lover’s beckoning arm, and
I press the pedal of Ol’ Faithful a little closer to the floor. The truck rumbles
beneath me. Wind whips through the open windows, tangling my hair,
feeling like rough caresses on my weathered skin.
“Freedom,” I growl to myself, the word tasting sweet as sin on my
tongue. The road is mine alone. It’s just me, the hum of rubber on asphalt,
and the vast, unclaimed horizon.
As mile markers tick by, I let memories flicker through my mind. Each
one is a flash of heat. My cab has been a sanctuary, and tonight, it’s just me
and the open road, a testament to the solitude I embrace and the freedom
that runs through my veins like wildfire.
“God, I love this,” I confess into the empty space, my voice rough as
gravel. It’s the truth, raw and unfiltered. Nothing beats the feeling of owning
the road and chasing the sunset until it bleeds into the dark velvet of night,
every mile a new possibility.
I live for this.
The neon sign of a roadside diner cuts through the twilight like a
beacon, pulling me in. “Eddie’s” it says, flickering with a buzz that syncs up
to my own restless energy. I swing Ol’ Faithful into a spot, killing the
engine and letting the silence crash over me. The truck’s vibrations still
linger in my bones as I step out, stretching my back with a groan that feels
like sweet release.
I stride toward the diner, the gravel crunching under my boots, music to
my ears after hours of nothing but the drone of the highway. Pushing open
the door, the bell above chimes, announcing my entrance like I’m some sort
of prodigal son returning home.
The place is dripping with nostalgia, walls plastered with vintage ads
and road signs—ones I’ve probably passed a hundred times on my travels. A
jukebox in the corner croons an old country tune, the kind that makes you
want to slow dance with a pretty girl or drink whiskey straight from the
bottle.
“Take a seat wherever, hun,” calls out a voice from behind the counter.
It’s got that warm, motherly vibe that almost makes me miss home.
Almost.
I find a stool at the counter, the red vinyl squeaking a welcome as I
settle in. The air’s heavy with the scent of sizzling bacon and onions, mixed
with the undertone of burnt coffee—smells that speak of comfort and a
world that doesn’t change no matter how many miles you run.
“Whatcha havin’, sugar?” A waitress sidles up, notepad in hand, pencil
tucked behind her ear. She’s got that look—seen it all, heard it all, yet still
smiles like she means it.
“Give me the bigg
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