Punishing Me (Shaft on Tour #6) by Cat Mason Read Free Book Online Page A

emo-look she
usually goes for lately. She looks like the girl I knew her to be. Except the
smartass grin on her face, that’s new, but I can’t say it doesn’t suit her. It
does, and it looks good on her. “I called road side assistance, not a comedian,
asshole. Move on.”
    “You
were never taught how to change a tire, Ireland?” I ask in disbelief.
    “No,”
she snaps. “That’s why I have roadside, Dominick.”
    “Those
roadside clowns will keep you waitin until dark,” I tell her, knowing she
probably has better luck winning the Powerball jackpot than having anyone show
up in a tow truck around rush hour. Besides, Big Man would have my sack mounted
on the grill of the bus if I left her here alone on the side of the road
waiting for God knows how long on some stranger to come along and help her. “Pop
the trunk. I’ll get you fixed up.”
    Her
brows furrow as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, studying me,
skeptically. “I don’t remember you being nice,” she says, opening the driver’s
side door and hitting the release latch on the trunk.
    “Do
you want your car fixed, or not?”
    “Ireland!”
Jazzie screams from behind me.
    Whipping
around, my heart leaps up into my chest at the thought of her on the road with
cars whipping past us. Her pigtails whip in the wind as she stands, poking
through the now opened sunroof. “Sit down, Squirt. This will only take a minute.”
    “Hi,
Ireland!” she waves, ignoring me. “Did your car break?”
    “Just
my tire,” Ireland says, brushing by me and making her way around the passenger
side of my car. “What did you do at school today?” she asks, leaning against
the passenger side of the car and smiling at Jazz. “Drag racing? Trip to the
moon? Win a Grammy?”
    Looking
at her, Jazzie scrunches her nose. “I’m only six ya big buncha crazy. Sheesh!”
    Ireland
throws her head back and laughs, the sound going straight to my cock. Fuck me.
I haven’t heard that sound in years and, as if it was just yesterday, it has me
by the throat.
    “Excuses,
excuses,” Ireland replies, her eyes glancing over at me before going back to
the pint sized diva. “Why do they even send you to school all day if you’re not
learning something useful?” she asks, causing both of them to giggle.
    Reminding
myself that I actually have a reason to be standing here on the side of the
road, I dig through the trunk of Ireland’s car for the spare tire and jack. I
keep myself amused with jokes about how I could probably tuck the whole car in
the trunk of mine and haul it to a garage, or how the jack is a waste of time
when a strong gust of wind could possibly flip it on its side for me.
    Over
the sound of the occasional car passing by, I can hear pieces of the girl’s
conversation and the sound of their laughter while I remove the flat tire and
swap it out with the spare. I make a mental note to make sure all the girls
know how to change a tire when I get home tonight, even though they rarely, if
ever, go anywhere alone.
    Better
safe than sorry, in my book.
    Probable
scenarios rack my brain. Who knows how long she could have been stranded out
here if I hadn’t come along. Honestly, being who she is, she shouldn’t have
been alone in the first place. Besides, what father puts a kid behind the wheel
of a car without teaching them the basics of how to keep it up and running.
    Gas
goes here.
    Oil
goes there.
    Oh!
By the way, if you ever have a blow out, this is how you use the jack.
    Lefty
loosey, righty tighty and all that bullshit. Simple enough, right?
    Once
I’m certain al the lugs are tight on the tiny spare, I push to my feet. Glancing
in the back window, I see some of her bags still in the backseat. I start to
ask her about them, but don’t, figuring all she will give me is some smart ass
remark about how it is none of my business. Which it isn’t; so there ya go,
Mack. “You’re all set,” I say, dusting my hands off on the front of my jeans.
“Although,