Hauling Her In

  Lisa Freed

  Copyright © 2023 Lisa Freed

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Editing by Julie L Kramer

  Cover design by: Love The Cover

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  DEDICATION

  To generations of Wissler Men who worked tirelessly since The Civil War in the age-old occupation of trash collector. The titles have changed over the years: dustman, junk man, scavenger, garbage man, trashman, sanitation worker, etc..

  but at the end of the day, it's a dirty, thanklessly job that you men did with a lot of cussing, sweating, and sometimes at the loss of body parts.

  So to you, my hard-working ancestors, thank you

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  Love age gap romances? Check out the books in my Love Unexpected Series including the book that started it all, Falling for the Older Guy

  For some more Instalove, read the YOURS series.

  Feel like some more paranormal fun? Try The Dark Rider or Halloween Craving.

  Want to stay up to date on my latest books? Subscribe to my newsletter.

  And as always lovely readers, read on!

  When a reformed bad boy crosses paths with a spoiled Daddy’s girl, his heart might not be the only thing in trouble…

  JACOB

  I was a dumb kid when I committed the crime that sent me to prison and forever altered my life. I’ve paid my debt and put in my time. My job as a trash collector isn’t glamourous, but it’s honest work and keeps the bills paid. When I tangle with a spoiled little rich girl, I should keep my distance. My rough hands aren’t fit to touch a princess like her. Problem is I never was much good at doing what I should.

  Hauling Her In is a steamy & sweet, opposites attract, instalove romance with a swoon-worthy HEA.

  CHAPTER ONE

  JAKE

  Steam rises off the damp asphalt of the Clark Township Sanitation Department’s parking lot, and I can’t hold back my groan. It’s only five am and already it’s sweltering. My job ain’t glamorous or exciting. It’s dirty work, and the heat doesn’t do me or my nose any favors. After eight years hauling trash for the town, I’ve gotten mostly used to the stench. That don’t mean I like it.

  Checking in, I grunt and raise a hand in greeting to a few of the other guys while pocketing the keys to my truck. My heavy steel toe work boots splash through a few of the remaining puddles in the chain-link enclosed parking lot as I stride to the row of white and tan garbage trucks. There are some gaps in the truck line-up, meaning a few early birds already started their route.

  Early to start means earlier to finish- if you don’t have to backtrack due to complaints about missing some cans.

  A harsh exhale huffs out of my nose while my lips curve into a smirk.

  More like people don’t bother putting the cans out the night before, but they’ll swear up and down you zoomed by and didn’t collect them. That still happens even when you start your route right on the dot. People always trying to pass the blame and us poor trash haulers are left with the shitty end of things.

  Sweat collects along my hairline while I unlock my assigned truck and do a systems check. Several droplets merge into a long stream that weaves its way down my forehead, and before I can wipe the hanging moisture from my brow, it plinks into my eye.

  “Damn!” I growl, grinding a hand into my stinging eye.

  “Day got to you already, Jake? You so sweet you afraid you gonna melt or somethin’?” a rough voice calls out, far too cheerful for this early in the morning.

  Three trucks over from mine, a big burly guy in the standard dull blue pants and faded dishwater gray t-shirt that makes up our summer uniform is bent over checking the tire pressure, his red hair almost as bright as his sunburned face.

  “Tom, you happy asshole, shut your piehole,” I grouse after making sure the packer blade in the hopper, the huge container that holds the trash, is working correctly.

  My best friend gives a wheezing laugh and a one-finger salute before finishing up his truck’s inspection.

  A few years ago, we used to do a route together, taking turns driving and riding, but then the town dug deep into their budget, and we got new trucks fitted with hydraulic arms. Which meant a single guy could handle an entire route by himself, so manpower was cut, and layoffs happened. By sheer luck, I kept my job. I don’t love it, but it pays the bills and jobs aren’t easy to come by for guys like me.

  People want to smile to your face and slap you on the back, saying they support ex-cons that have done their time and that the slate is wiped clean. But you know you ain’t getting a call back when they give you that fake grin, showing all their expensive dental work, and send you out the door. If you even make it in for an interview in the first place.

  Sanitation is one of the few places that let a man’s mettle speak for itself. You pass a piss test and prove you’re physically fit and it gets your foot in the door. A few days of training, riding along with a seasoned guy, and boom, you got yourself a steady career with benefits and a pension. For a guy coming out of a seven-year stint in state prison, it sounded like a dream to me.

  Even the first month when I was blowing my breakfast from the hot stench of rotting garbage, I was thankful for the work. The driver Scotty, a guy with thirty years on the job, would laugh and toss me a warm bottle of water to rinse out my mouth. I tried a few times not eating before my shift, but that didn’t work either, and I would be doubled over spitting up bile. Losing my breakfast was somehow less unpleasant.

  Like all things, it was something you had to work through. The trash didn’t smell any less, but over time you almost- almost- got used to it and I put back on the ten pounds I’d lost.

  But summer was bad. And by the end of a shift while raking out the hopper at the transfer station, the reek was enough to curl your nose hairs even if your breakfast and lunch stayed down.

  And today looks to be a rough one. First the unrelenting heat and now the conversation last night with my Ma replays in my mind in an unpleasant loop as I do my route. She wanted to know if I was bringing anyone with me to our monthly Sunday dinner. Like I ever brought anyone. Apparently, my kid sister Amy was dragging her fiancé along and the family was going to be going over wedding plans, which was putting my Ma in the right frame of mind for wanting to pry into my single status.

  Oh, and me and Matt, as my sister’s big brothers, were we planning to throw Kent a bachelor party? I barely knew Kent, I argued. Why couldn’t his friends throw him a party?

  Kent- a pompous name to go with his stick-up the butt attitude- was some sort of high-powered executive that worked in Atlanta before being transferred to the local branch of the company here. He said it was a promotion, yet I don’t see how being sent away from the city to the middle of nowhere Delaware was some career making move. Sounds more like he fucked up.

  Ma’s silent disappointment wasn’t hard to miss, and I grudgingly agreed to throw a party for the tight-lipped, pretty boy that had swept my impressionable sister off her dainty feet.

  Smirking while envisioning the horrified look on prissy Kent’s face, if we took him to a strip club, I was on autopilot cruising along my route through one of the swanky developments. If you could even call a handful of houses spread out over acres of painfully manicured glaringly bright green grass a real development. A bit of dazzling pink catches my attention in the truck’s big side mirror and my smirk edges up into a true shit-eating grin.

  Well, hello.

  A short woman with a huge mass of blonde hair is charging after the truck, waving her hand in the air like she’s flagging down a 757 jet while clutching a small plastic bag in her other hand.

  This is the first interesting thing that’s happened today and I’m all for some excitement to shake up the boredom. I ease up on the gas, shift gears, and come to a stop.

  Opening the door, I swing down and watch as she skids to a halt in front of me in her fluffy pink slippers. I barely control the chuckle that’s fighting hard to get out while taking the rest of her in.

  Besides the unsuitable for a morning jog slippers, she’s in tiny silky shorts and an equally silky looking little top, all in the same loud shade of pink. Her chest heaves, threatening to burst open the three buttons holding her top closed as she braces her hands on her knees and pants for breath.

  Being a red -blooded male, I can’t help checking out the deep valley of her glistening cleavage while trying to ignore the way my dick gives a kick of interest in my pants.

  Which is hard because silly slippers aside, she’s a sexy little thing. She reminds me of one of those fancy cupcakes with the too-sweet frosting that makes my teeth ache. The kind that despite the ache I can’t help from gorging on a few when I’m given the chance.

  When she gets her breathing under control, she rises, and I miss the delectable view. Her slim nose crinkles and her pink lips pucker up while she takes a shuffling step back. My grin widens. No doubt she’s getting a whiff of the mostly full hopper. This rich development is second to last on my route, so things are quite ripe at this point.

  Bad news princess, trash is a part of life. Even a privileged one like yours. Just like shit happens, so does trash.

  “Thank you so much for stopping. I almost missed you.” Flashing a bright smile, she thrusts the white plastic bag dangling from her fingers at me and the cloying scent of citrus comes with it.

  It’s scented. Somehow, I expected nothing less.

  Lifting a brow, I make no move to take the bag, keeping my hands relaxed at my sides even while my heart picks up at the sound of her voice. It’s small and sweet, like everything else about her. She really is a freaking cupcake.

  “You could have waited for next week. Or I dunno, tossed it away at work or somewhere else along your way.” My grin widens as her perfectly arched eyebrows furrow and her tiny snub of a nose scrunches up. Fucking adorable.

  If she were on the menu, I would gobble her up in one bite.

  Her little pink tongue sneaks out and makes a quick pass along her lower lip. I can’t help following its progress, my cock giving another interested twitch as her tongue disappears. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  Chuckling, I finally reach out and take the small bag from her. “No worries. Just something to remember next time. Much easier than chasing down the garbage truck in your pajamas.” I can’t help tacking that last part on.

  Except she doesn’t blush or seem at all embarrassed. Instead, she gives me a wide smile that could easily bring a lesser man to his knees.

  “Thanks again. Have a great day.” With a jaunty wave goodbye, she takes off.

  In disbelief, I watch her jog across a lawn that most definitely doesn’t belong to her and dart into a wall of fifteen-foot-high hedges. When the last bit of pink vanishes, and I’m left grinning after her like a dope with her trash still in my hand, the spell over me finally breaks.

  Shaking my head, I backtrack to the truck and press the button opening the hopper. I toss her small bag up into it and then climb back into the truck to finish my route.

  Except I can’t stop my thoughts from returning to her.

  Naturally, I remember that curvy little body when I’m in the shower scrubbing the day’s filth off me. I don’t even bother stopping my soapy hand from stroking my cock. And the groan of pleasure that bursts forth from between my gritted teeth when I spray cum all over the shower wall doesn’t feel wrong.

  Though it feels incomplete. Like it would have been more satisfying if I could have bellowed her name while coming.

  Rinsing off, I thought that would be the end of things. Yet that evening, sitting at the cramped little desk in the second bedroom and paying my bills, she comes to mind again. And again, later, when I’m stretched out on my couch watching a hockey game, I can’t get the memory of that smile out of my head.

  It's been a while since I’ve been so hung up on a woman, probably since back when I was a stupid teenager. A teenager that had a hell of a lot more to offer a woman than I do now.

  Fuck!

  Plowing my hands through my dark hair, I give the short strands a vicious twist, hoping the pain will bring me to my senses.

  Why am I so caught up on a little rich girl that probably didn’t even really see me when she was tossing her trash at me? I could pick her out of a lineup of a dozen other blondes, but I bet she could walk right past without recognizing me.

  Been too long since I was laid last. Time to change that. Grabbing my phone, I text Tom.

  Jake: Drinks and pool, Friday?

  Tom: Ready to lose again? You’re on.

  I don’t bother replying to that. I whipped his ass last time we played pool and I’ll do it again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SAVANNAH

  “And then I raced after the trash truck in my pajamas!”

  Blaire, my best friend and fellow fundraising coordinator, squeals, and slaps both hands over her mouth, casting a guilty look over her shoulder to make sure we’re still alone. “You didn’t!”

  Shrugging, I grin. “I was in panic mode. I couldn’t let Margaret see the pregnancy tests. She would go to Daddy right away.”

  Lowering her hands from her mouth, Blaire grabs my arm, a remorseful pout on her angelic face. “I am so sorry. I don’t even know what I was thinking, being so careless. I didn’t even like that guy.” She lets out a gusty sigh before her red lips inch up in a naughty grin. “He was super hot, though. He would make gorgeous babies.”

  “Ladies.”

  Blaire and I both freeze at Leland’s greeting, our eyes going wide. The beige carpeting muffled the thump/clop of the director’s crutches, and we didn’t hear his approach. He walks by with a stern frown on his lean face and Blaire’s eyes follow his slow progress as he goes into his office.

  Those two have been tiptoeing around each other for months now. I don’t understand what the holdup is when it’s obvious there’s some vibe between them. “You could ask him out,” I say softly.

  My bestie rounds on me, a flush on her face and her green eyes wide. “That’s just rude!”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s…” Blaire trails off and gestures towards her legs. “You know…”

  Cocking my head, I cross my arms and prop my butt against the edge of her desk. “And that bothers you?”

  The pink of her cheeks clashes horribly with Blaire’s red hair. “It doesn’t…” She nibbles at her lower lip. “But what if he can’t...” she makes an O with her thumb and index finger and thrusts her other index finger through it.

  I lose it and start giggling. “You peed on a stick in front of me, but you can’t say fuck? Come on, girl.”

  “I’m just a sexual person and if he can’t, it just wouldn’t work. I don’t want to start something that would disappoint us both. Plus, I love working here with you and if I had to leave because I couldn’t face Leland again, I’d be crushed.”

  She makes a good point, but I can’t help feeling sad for my friend and our director.

  Most especially Leland.

  Is this why he’s single? Women are afraid to give him a chance. My heart hurts for him. If I ever have a man look at me the way he does Blaire, I would be all in for giving him a shot.

  ***

  Driving around the back of the imposing three-story brick house to the six-car garage, the door to the far-right bay smoothly lifts. I coast the sleek black BMW convertible into my spot next to my father’s drab green Range Rover. Once I’m in my apartment above the garage, I kick off my heels and pad barefoot into the huge living area. The moment my feet hit the thick cream-colored faux fur rug, I sink my toes in and let out a moan. No clue why, but it feels so freaking good. I could stand here all night.

  Ugh, but I can’t. I promised Daddy I would meet him for tennis at the club.

  I walk over to the leather sofa and flop down with a sigh, grabbing a bright blue accent pillow and hugging it to my chest. I have a few minutes to grab a snack and change before I head over. Which is good because I need time to decompress and mentally sort through a few things. My earlier conversation with Blaire has been nagging at me all day.

  Seeing her and our director sneaking peeks at each other during our afternoon meeting didn’t help. Dave, the grant coordinator, rolled his eyes at me and made kissy faces while jerking his thumb their way. It was all I could do to hold in my laughter. When the meeting ended, and we were walking out of the conference room, I jabbed my elbow into Dave’s stocky side and hissed at him to behave. Dave elbowed me right back, mock-whispered no, and then took off toward his office, laughing his head off.

 

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