Gas or Ass Read Online Free PDF Page A

rested on my shoulders. “Nah.”
    Colt laughed. “After totin’ all those bags stuffed with your clothes, seems like a good idea now. Ain’t that right, Caine?” Colt’s fingers dangled off the front of my knee. He gripped my jeans and gave them a tug. “Where do you think you’re goin’, little sister?”
    “College,” I assured him. “As soon as I can get there.”
    Caine snorted. “You had to ask? Or wasn’t that you, Colt, bitching under box load after box load of books?”
    So, was it just me this brother didn’t talk to?
    I seized the final, most obvious topic. “What do you think is wrong with Mom’s car?”
    Caine muttered, “It’s a damn import, for starters.”
    Colt grabbed his cell phone off the dash. After a moment, he announced, “They’ve had a lot of problems with the ignition system. Should do a recall, but, they haven’t yet.” He slung the phone back on the dash. “Not signing up to rewire an ignition. It’s under warranty. The dealership can fix it. Dad must’ve been lost in Macy’s big green eyes to not check out that shit before he plunked down hard-earned cash.”
    If it’s defective.... “Maybe she can take it back and get something automatic.”
    Colt crowed. “Aw, baby sister, what’s the matter? Can’t drive a stick?”
    I shook my head.
    “We’ll teach you. Every woman should know how to drive a manual transmission,” Colt assured me.
    “Why? I don’t know a soul who has a manual transmission.”
    “Well,”—he replaced his hand on my knee—“it gives a man hope when a woman can drive a stick.”
    “Hope? Of what?”
    Caine shook with silent laughter, making me dread the answer.
    “Hope that she knows her way around a different kind of stick, if you get my drift,” Colt drawled. Heat from his palm seeped through my jeans. Sweat popped out between my breasts.
    This was like being back in sixth grade, only my hormones were better developed.
    Though the ride up the interstate seemed interminable, when Caine eventually took the exit for Highway 49, the four-lane road led past Lowe’s Motor Speedway, and ultimately, the University of North Carolina branch Mom wanted me to attend.
    Perhaps ten minutes later, he turned onto a curving two-lane road, only to turn again onto a dirt lane. My heart fell. An unpaved road seemed to confirm my worst suspicions.
    When Caine slowed and turned into a long, sloping drive, I couldn’t tell much about the house from the splash of headlights, but I formed a fast impression of a big one-story, ranch-style house. Not a double-wide. I went weak with relief. Thick round columns lined a narrow front porch, and the house seemed to be built of brick. Caine braked to a halt beside a set of stairs that led to a deck. A doorbell glowed, indicating a side door.
    In the splash of his headlights before they were extinguished, I made out the squared rear end of a red sports car. The concrete drive curved out of sight. Peering under the deck, I spied clipped grass. The tops of three more cars were visible, underneath a wide carport attached to the rear of the house. One had some kind of canvas cover. Woods ringed the place on all sides, limiting my view. When Caine cut the motor and opened his door, an unfamiliar sound made me ask, “What’s that noise?”
    “What noise? Don’t hear nothin’ but crickets.” Colt frowned.
    Then, another set of headlights appeared. Tiny red lights and safety stickers glowed, outlining the trailer. To my relief, Colt opened his door and slid out. He bounded up the deck steps and into the house. Lights flicked on, but the windows were too high to see inside the house.
    Caine strode across the front yard, so I followed him. The truck and trailer passed the house, but brake lights flared. Dale followed Caine’s hand signals, reversing the big rig across the grass. When Caine yelled, “Whoa!” Dale had maneuvered the rear end of the trailer into perfect alignment with the front door. Caine lowered the