Darian drove an oversized, dark red pickup truck with a black liner sprayed into the bed. On each side of the cab was a step up, but Stacy still had to hold onto the inside of the door to climb in. The seats were black, not leather but nothing chinsy, either. The interior still smelled new, though there were enough screws and bolts scattered around the floor and down in the seat to tell him Darian had had the truck for some time. As he looked around, impressed, he felt a gentle hand on his leg, easing him aside. “Let me just put this here,” Darian said, setting the toolbox on the floorboards by Stacy’s feet. “Don’t want it sliding around in the back and scuffing off the shell.” He stood up, his touch gone, and cautioned, “Watch yourself.”
Stacy pulled his arms in as Darian slammed the doo
