Miss Trailerhood, Carina Taylor [ebooks that read to you TXT] 📗

him onto the small porch before he caught both my wrists and tugged me forward. I shrieked as I went tumbling toward the steps.

This was how I would go—killed on a pair of steps.

I never made it. Nate wrapped an arm around my waist from behind then lifted me up against his hip—sleeping-bag style. He spun around and carried me down the steps. It left me facing his single-wide as he carried me across the street toward my trailer.

Elise and Sam stood on their covered porch, watching with interest as Nate carried me across the street.

"I'm going to kill you for this," I gritted out.

Nate chuckled as he lifted me higher against his side.

"Riley!" someone called. It was Tony. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Tony, I'm all right," I replied with a heavy sigh. I kicked my feet, trying to break free of Nate's hold. We were definitely not on an even playing field anymore. He was much stronger now.

He set me down next to my trailer steps, but he planted a hand on the base of my neck as he opened the door. He guided me up the steps and inside. He pushed me down to sit on the futon.

"You seem a little grumpy today. Why don't you just rest for a while and then you can come over and play later?" He patted the top of my head then bent down to pick up my legs and swing them around to lay me on the couch.

Seething, I imagined all the ways I'd like to cause him bodily harm. Unsurprisingly, it helped calm me down.

"Nate, you don't belong in a trailer park. You're not one of us."

He straightened and slowly perused the trailer I'd carefully decorated. It could easily be featured in a magazine. It had been featured on many blogs. It was also the prime piece featured on my Instagram besides me.

"I think with a little time and tender loving care, my charming single-wide could be as homey as this."

"No, it won't." My inner twelve-year-old refused to be silent. She was a pesky little brat. "Don't you have a job?"

He tugged on his earlobe as he slowly turned back to look at me. "It's like you said. I have money and could live anywhere." He threw his arms out to the side. "I choose here. Well, not here, here. But that nice little home across the street."

"Nate, you don't know what you are getting into," I told him seriously.

He grinned, his dimples popping in on his cheeks. "I know, isn't it great?”

Chapter FourNate

Turned out, mobile homes were like living in a tent. There was absolutely no cushion between you and your lawn-mowing neighbors who decided they needed to work on their lawn mowers in the middle of the night.

Then, there was the guy whose motorcycle kept backfiring as he drove down the street. No, there was nothing between me and the loud noises of the trailer park. But because I didn’t want to give Riley the satisfaction of having told me so, I quickly shaved, dressed, and crossed the street first thing in the morning.

The vintage trailer Riley was living in was picturesque. There was a wicker couch along with old lawn chairs that looked like they had been redone. There was an outdoor rug and a large umbrella. Several potted plants sat around the area.

There wasn’t a yard, merely a gravel patch, but somehow, it still felt inviting. I glanced around the neighborhood. Most of the trailers didn’t have a yard. A few of the houses had tall fences that could have potentially hidden a yard, but it still made me wonder why there had been so much lawn mowing last night.

Since I didn’t get to sleep last night, I decided I would wake Riley up this morning. The Riley I knew loved to sleep in. It was her kryptonite. She was atomic before nine in the morning. High school had nearly killed her. The time I woke her up at four in the morning to take her fishing with me, I was convinced she would kill me on the spot.

It seemed like a fitting justice, after the way she acted yesterday, that I would wake her up at seven.

Payback was rich.

I knocked on the door.

A neighboring single-wide shook when someone slammed the door. The man stomped down his steps, yelling at the top of his lungs to his wife, who was presumably inside. She screeched something unintelligible back to him. The man glanced at me, but seeing me didn’t stop him from continuing their fight.

I knocked on Riley’s door again. These people were crazy. The only reason I would ever live in a trailer park would be for Riley. She wasn’t wrong when she told me, the day before, that I didn’t belong. I didn’t belong.

But the first day, when she told me, “I don’t want you in my life,” I’d seen the tears in her eyes. It made me realize how much she needed someone. Yesterday, when I saw that old spark of temper appear when she tried to make me leave, I knew I couldn’t leave her. That she even bothered to give me the time of day showed that she cared.

I loved that she thought she could muscle me out of the house, that she thought she could move me if I didn’t feel like moving. I’d seen her size me up as though she were a three-hundred-pound body builder. She was still as scrappy as ever.

Crazy girl.

“Come in!” a voice called in response to my knock.

Maybe she’d finally come to her senses and decided to not fight me on living here.

I highly doubted it, though. Knowing Riley as well as I did, I had been shocked to wake up and discover that my single-wide was still in the park. I would have expected Riley to back up a truck and hook up to the hitch before hauling the thing away.

Of course, her telling me to come in could be a