The Jerkhole Next Door: An Enemies to Lovers Romance by Minx Melinda

Author:Minx, Melinda
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Darkstar Press
Published: 2021-08-08T16:00:00+00:00

Mezz

When I turn the corner and spot Greyson’s truck, there’s a few traitors from Dorfville lining up still. I’m hoping our boisterous crowd shames them into getting out of line and leaving Greyson’s high and dry.

I was planning on parking right next to Greyson’s, but then I get a better idea.

I hold my hand down on the horn and flash my highbeams as I drive right toward the line.

“The hell, Mezz?” Ilia says, grabbing my thigh.

I look over at her, the big hickey on her neck catching my attention. I love looking at it, a big visual indicator that shows that she’s mine. That I’ve claimed her.

“Relax,” I say. “I’m not going to hit anyone...as long as they move out of the way.”

I rev the engine a bit to scare the shit out of everyone, and the line in front of Greyson’s starts breaking apart as people move out of the way of my truck.

Soon everyone is out of the way, and the poor bastard who just got his tots spills half of them as he tries to scramble out of my way.

I pull the truck right up in front of Greyson’s, put it in park, and jump out.

Nathan Greyson himself, dressed in a grease-stained apron and stupid chef’s hat, is standing there to greet me, his hands planted on his hips. His scowl is deep, and his unibrow is dipping all the way down, threatening to jump onto his nose.

“Do you have a permit to park here?” He shouts at me. “We have a permit. This whole strip of road is ours.”

“Call the cops then,” I say. “See if the Dorfville cops will stand up against Mezz McEvans and Maurice’s Diner to support fucking Greyson’s from Shelby Bluff.”

Maurice falls in behind me, crossing his arms and nodding encouragement. Ilia looks at me as if I’m embarrassing her.

“I will call them,” Greyson says.

“Just pack up your shit and drive back to Shelby Bluff. Our brisket is the end of your tots.”

Nathan Greyson narrows his eyes at me. “My employees told me you ate here a few hours ago.” He looks around at the gathering crowd. “That’s right. Mezz McEvans ate here! He’s a hypocrite.”

I take out my phone, open my “Messages” app, and hit “send” on the pre-prepared text I’ve had lying in wait.

Greyson starts going into some big spiel about his tater tots, and how many “faces he recognizes” in the crowd from his restaurant all the way over in Shelby Bluff. Just as he’s about to get to his big point, and his final attack, another truck roars up with its high-beams flashing and horn blaring.

Greyson tries to speak louder, the but engine revs as the truck pulls up.

“Free beer!” I shout, pointing to the truck, which is loaded with three kegs full of beer.

Doug, one of the other line cooks from Maurice’s, jumps out of the truck and opens the bed. Doug and I work to get the kegs down and positioned in front of our truck. We get the taps in, and the beer starts flowing just as the cops pull up.

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