Miss Trailerhood by Carina Taylor (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📗

purchased from big name retailers. I had all the proper disclosure there, no thanks to the GDPR laws, but most people didn’t pay attention to that. They clicked and purchased, making me a happy woman.

And right now, I needed to take some pictures of my new planter to convince my followers they couldn’t live without it.

Nate leaned forward to rest his forearms on the hood of my Jeep. His T-shirt pulled tight across his shoulders. I could see defined muscles on his back. Shaking my head, I leapt down the three steps to the ground. His sunglasses shifted upwards as he smiled.

“Well, would you look at that!” He let out a whistle as he took in the flared skirt of my sundress.

It would be a lie if I said I didn’t appreciate that whistle. My social life was lacking. No boyfriends, no friends, and no time to look for either.

Unfortunately, Nate had always had the uncanny ability to know what I was thinking.

“Too bad you’re all dressed up for no one to see.”

“Excuse me, but there are a lot of people to see!”

“Really?” he asked as he lifted his sunglasses to rest them in the middle of his forehead.

“You look ridiculous when you do that. You know that, right?”

“I don’t want to mess up my hair.” He pointed to his short but still styled hair.

I shook my head and walked past him to where my planter sat next to my trailer.

It always felt strange to work while someone was watching, but I’d had to get used to it ever since moving into the trailer park.

There was always someone watching.

I knelt down and snapped a picture of my planter. I tilted the camera, trying to find the right angle.

I scooted backwards in a duck walk since I was still crouched down.

“That’s not going to help,” Nate commented oh-so-helpfully.

“Hush.” I tried from a higher angle, attempting to showcase the multiple levels of the planter.

“Stand up.”

“Then the levels won’t be as obvious.”

“Trust me, stand up,” he said from where he stood directly behind me.

I stood up, bumping against him as I did so. “Would you mind? I’m trying to get some stuff done here.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’m happy to help.” He grinned, that low dimple popping out next to his smile.

My nostrils flared as I tried to control my temper.

“Excuse me.” I bumped my elbow against his chest as I stepped to the side.

Adjusting the lens, I clicked another picture.

A warm body stepped behind me, and two large hands grabbed mine. Two sets of hands now held the camera.

“Let’s scoot forward a bit.”

Nate’s body pushed mine forward a foot. I stepped on his toes.

“And now we lift up.” He raised the camera above my head, keeping my hands on it. “Ah, there it is.”

Click, click, click.

His chest pressed against my back with each breath he took.

He tilted the camera. Click, click, click.

“Hmm.” He breathed, leaning forward to take a vertical shot. “That’s better.”

He lowered the camera but didn’t step back.

I breathed in through my nose and out with my mouth. It shouldn’t have felt so right standing close to him. It couldn’t feel right.

I stepped out of the circle of his arms. “Thanks, but I prefer to take my own pictures. What do you know about pictures anyway?”

“Oh, I still dabble. Who got you started on Photoshop?”

I dipped my chin down, acknowledging the score to him. “You did.”

He shrugged and smiled. “You don’t have to go on. I know I’m good.”

I snapped a closeup of a succulent in the top planter.

“I always thought you did it because you liked working with computers, not that you liked taking pictures.”

“It had everything to do with the pictures. Computers are an annoying part of taking pictures.”

“I don’t know about that. Computers are a great way to get those pictures out in the world.”

“True, but that’s usually so that people can experience things virtually. I prefer to experience life firsthand. Unlike you.”

I lowered the camera but kept a hold of it, not entirely trusting the strap that held it around my neck. “Excuse me?”

He stared at me, a challenge in his eyes. “You don’t experience life.”

“Of course I do. What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“You’re selling a pretend lifestyle to your followers. It’s all a farce.” He raised both eyebrows. His sunglasses fell, and what should have looked clumsy ended up being a seamless catch with his left hand.

“My life is full. I have friends. I have Wren. I’m making a living as an influencer. People would kill to have the kind of social media presence that I have!”

“But it’s all fake...” He gestured to my Jeep. “When was the last time you put that in four-wheel drive? When was the last time you moved this trailer and traveled the U.S. like you claim you do on your social media?”

Chink. He was hammering away at my already cracked heart. It wasn’t fair. He was right, and it hurt.

“I have a life!”

“You do—but is it the one you want?” He arched an eyebrow at me, and I had an overwhelming urge to swipe it off with a good right hook. I clenched my fist. But I wasn’t the little white-trash, trailer-park girl I used to be.

Now, I was an adult trailer-park girl who chose this life and would not be goaded by immature little boys.

Apparently, I said that last part out loud, because he laughed humorlessly. “Immature little boys. You know what I think? I think you’re attracted to me, and that scares you.”

“I am not scared!” I cried. “I mean, I am not attracted to you.”

“Oh, really?” He took a step closer, causing my heart rate to speed up. My heart decided it was time for a lively Irish jig.

“I’m not attracted to you. In fact, I have a date tonight.”

“You do?” He stepped back in surprise.

“Yeah, I do,” I stated, feeling more confident in my lie.

He smirked. “Well, who is he?”

I frantically searched my mind for a name. “J-j-johnny!” I exclaimed when I