Dude in Distress

by Helena Hunting

  Table of Contents

  Dude in Distress

  Copyright

  Praise for Helena Hunting’s Novels

  Damsel Dude in Distress

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Author Helena Hunting

  Connect with Helena Hunting

  Other Titles by Helena Hunting

  Copyright © 2020 Helena Hunting

  All rights reserved

  Published by Helena Hunting

  Editing by Paige Maroney Smith

  Proofing by Julia Griffis and the Hustlers

  Formatting by Christina Smith

  Dude in Distress is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s twisted imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Praise for Helena Hunting’s Novels

  “Nothing hits me in the feels like a Helena Hunting romance!”

  —USA Today bestselling author Melanie Harlow on A Lie for a Lie

  “Helena Hunting delivers a smart, funny, emotional story that grabs you from page one.”

  —Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills on A Lie for a Lie

  “A sexy, heartwarming read!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Elle Kennedy on A Lie for a Lie

  “A Favor for a Favor is now my favorite hockey book of Helena’s! I loved how real the characters were. I loved the build of their friendship. It’s my favorite trope, and Helena did it superbly! A huge recommend from me. Also, it was really funny too. *wink wink*”

  —New York Times bestselling author Tijan

  “Stevie and Bishop are just as funny and hot as you’ve come to expect from Helena Hunting! Grab a pizza and crack it open because you will not want to miss the steamy shenanigans.”

  —USA Today bestselling author Sarina Bowen on A Favor for a Favor

  “A thoroughly delicious read.”

  —USA Today bestselling author L. J. Shen on Kiss My Cupcake

  “An absolute delight from start to finish, this delicious enemies-to-lovers romance sees an independent and driven heroine and an equally ambitious hero take a journey to love that is unpredictable and filled with hilarity, a dash of sweetness, and a touch of steam.”

  ―Library Journal, starred review, on Kiss My Cupcake

  “Perfect for fans of Helen Hoang’s The Kiss Quotient. A fun and steamy love story with high stakes and plenty of emotion.”

  —Kirkus Reviews on Meet Cute

  “Bestselling Hunting’s latest humorous and heartfelt love story . . . is another smartly plotted and perfectly executed rom-com with a spot-on sense of snarky wit and a generous helping of smoldering sexual chemistry.”

  —Booklist on Meet Cute

  “Entertaining, funny, and emotional.”

  —Harlequin Junkie on Meet Cute

  “Hunting is quickly making her way as one of the top voices in romance!”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Sexy. Funny. Emotional. Steamy and tender and so much more than just a book. Hooking Up reminds me why I love reading romance.”

  —USA Today bestselling author L. J. Shen

  “A unique, deliciously hot, endearingly sweet, laugh-out-loud, fantastically good-time romance!! . . . I loved every single page!!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Emma Chase on Pucked

  Damsel Dude in Distress

  A short story from the NYT bestselling author of the SHACKING UP series about a road trip that started with a broken-down car and ended with a questionable motel, an indoor campout and a set of Kama Sutra sheets.

  Nevah

  I thought I was helping a damsel in distress.

  Turns out my damsel was actually a hot guy with rock solid forearms, blue eyes reminiscent of an oasis in a desert, and some seriously bad luck.

  Lawson

  My day started with a bang.

  The kind that left me stranded at the side of the road in the middle of the desert.

  At least until a knight in shining armor shows up in a rusted-out convertible and saves the day. Said knight also happens to be a car savvy woman with legs for days, and a penchant for adventure.

  Roadside Attraction

  Nevah

  “I’M ON MY way to you. Other than Cactus Candy, is there anything else you need me to pick up?” I use my knee to control the steering wheel and pull my hair into a ponytail. It’s a gorgeous day and I want to drive with the top down as soon as I’m finished talking to my sister. Wind and phone conversations are not a winning combination.

  The body of my 1959 Cadillac Eldorado needs serious TLC, and the interior is worn and dated, but any car lover knows those things can be fixed. It’s what’s under the hood that really counts.

  Although, I will say that having AC on a drive through the desert is essential, and the one thing I made sure was in working order. No one likes underboob sweat on a cross-country road trip.

  I stroke the steering wheel with real affection. I have big plans for this car, and when I’m done restoring her, she’s going to be gorgeous.

  I plan to bring this beauty into the twenty-first century with a top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art sound system, so I don’t have to worry about things like being hands-free and not having access to my favorite road trip playlists. For the time being, my portable speaker will have to suffice.

  “I’m so jealous that you’re driving here.” My younger sister’s wistful tone makes me smile.

  “Must be hard to travel the world by private jet,” I tease.

  My Vegas born and bred sister is married to Griffin Mills, heir to a multi-billion dollar hotel empire. We grew up living a very middle-class existence. Cosy, who is two years my junior, has always been a bit on the nomadic side, traveling as far as her beat-up cars would allow, until she met Griffin and they fell hopelessly in love with each other.

  They’re a totally unlikely pair from completely different backgrounds and worlds, but they work. It gives me hope that I’ll find my soulmate one day. Maybe. If I can stop being attracted to the wrong kind of guy.

  “I’m not going to complain about comfortable travel, but I miss road trips. We need to take one before Griffin knocks me up.”

  “Amen to that, sister. I assume if you’re bringing it up, it means that’s high on his list of priorities.”

  “He’s been sending me links to baby name sites. He’s also marked my fertile days on the calendar for the next six months.” I can’t tell if Cosy is amused or irritated by this. Probably the former over the latter.

  “You’re not even thirty.”

  “Yeah, but he’s closing in on forty and he’d like to be done with teenagers by the time he’s sixty.”

  “I can see the validity in that.”

  Griffin Mills is a very type A, yet slightly impulsive guy. When he’s in, he’s all in, which is how he is with Cosy. He doesn’t half-ass anything about their relationship. It’s part of the reason I’m driving to Colorado to celebrate her birthday, along with what I’m suspecting will be about two hundred other people. And that’s a conservative estimate.

  Cosy loves Colorado and live concerts, and her favorite band just happens to be playing at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre this weekend. What’s even more impressive is that Grif
fin somehow managed to plan this event far enough in advance (probably before he even proposed to her) and secured the band and the amphitheatre for a private concert—Cosy happens to be unaware of this fact.

  I don’t even want to consider how much money he spent on this, or what Cosy is going to say about it when she finds out. Cosy has always been very practical with money and extremely thrifty. Much better at financial management than I’ve ever been.

  I’m not proud to admit that for a number of years I dated highly emotionally unavailable men who showered me with gifts and provided me with a shallow, empty, but comfortable existence.

  So when my very practical, bargain-shopping, somewhat relationship averse younger sister ended up with a guy almost eleven years older than her with enough money to buy several small countries, I was surprised. I was also appropriately wary due to my own experiences with older, wealthy men, although I did cash in on his desperation a few times when he screwed things up with Cosy in the beginning.

  I’ve matured a lot since then.

  Okay, I’ve matured a little.

  And I’m still working on making better choices with men, hence the reason I’ve spent the better part of the past year on self-improvement. Which also means I’ve been on a lengthy dating hiatus. My lady parts haven’t seen action in so long that I almost feel like a born-again virgin.

  I’m equal parts excited and nervous about this party. The Mills family knows how to throw a shindig. There will also be an inordinate number of insanely financially well-endowed dudes there. I’m going to do my best not to fall off the wagon and get involved with one of them. Not even just a fling.

  Well . . . maybe a fling wouldn’t hurt. Get back on the bike once to make sure I haven’t forgotten how to ride.

  “Anyway, enough about baby names and me getting knocked up. Do you think you’ll be here in time for dinner? We’re planning to have a campout. Griffin even set up the Airstream and there are yurts and everything!” I imagine Cosy bouncing on her toes with excitement.

  I’ve seen Griffin’s Airstream. It’s nicer than the apartment Cosy and I used to live in back when she first met him. And close to the same size.

  I glance at my phone, which is set in a mount on the dash. “According to the map, I’ll be there in nine hours and seventeen minutes, but that’s based on me driving the actual speed limit, so there’s a good chance I’ll be there sooner than that.”

  “Just don’t get a speeding ticket.”

  “I’ve talked my way out of the last three, so don’t you worry, little sister.” I take my foot off the gas, though, because there’s a car on the shoulder up ahead, and while I’m sure I can get myself out of another ticket if I need to, I’d rather avoid the delay.

  I’m currently on an open stretch, having just passed the Arizona-Utah border. The road before me is flat and straight, with the desert spanning on both sides, not a cloud in the sky, and the sun is beating down, hot and bright. I adjust my sunglasses, slowing a little more as I approach the car.

  It’s old, definitely a classic. Those happen to be my kryptonite. When I moved to New York to be closer to my sister, I managed to score a really cool job restoring classic cars at a very exclusive body shop.

  My recent trip to Vegas was spent checking out a couple of options for one of the shop’s very regular clients. I’m being paid to drive across the country and tell him whether or not I think it’s worth it to purchase and restore the car.

  Obviously, I’m going to use the opportunity to check out a few more on the way home, and make a stop in Colorado for the weekend to hang out with my sister on her birthday.

  I let out a low whistle and slow even further as I drive by the beautiful car that’s apparently experiencing some engine trouble based on the propped up hood. “Oh man.”

  “Oh man, what?” Cosy asks.

  “I just passed a 1969 Alfa Romeo Spider.” I glance in the rearview mirror, noting long blonde wavy hair.

  “Uh, I’m guessing that’s a car and not an actual spider.”

  “Ha-ha. It’s not just any car, Cosy. It’s one of the top ten convertibles of all time.”

  “I’m taking it that’s a big deal.”

  “It is if you know anything about cars.” I glance in the mirror again, the car turning into a pinprick.

  The road ahead of me is empty, not another car in sight. It’s only nine-thirty and the temperature is already registering in the high eighties. It’s only going to get hotter and there isn’t a gas station within a five-mile radius.

  I’d hate to leave a fellow woman stranded in the sweltering desert with a broken-down car. I’ve been that woman before. Thankfully, I know how to fix cars and I also know self-defense, two skills not all women possess, but probably should.

  I take my foot off the gas and drop to the shoulder. Giving myself enough room to pull a U-turn, I spin the wheel all the way to the left and hit the gas. Gravel and sand spray across the road and my back end fishtails before the tires hit the pavement again with a screech.

  “What the hell was that?” Cosy shrieks.

  “I’m going back to help.”

  “Whoa, what? Aren’t you in the middle of the desert right now?” The sound of things dropping filters through the speaker. “You are totally in the middle of the desert right now! Oh my God! You’re in Utah! I can see you on the tracking app! You are not going to stop and help some random person on the side of the road, Nevah! What if it’s a trick? What if they kidnap you and stuff you in the trunk and you end up in some polygamist compound?”

  “I’m not going to end up in a polygamist compound, Cosy. It’s a woman. Alone. And there is literally no room in that trunk for a body, at least as long as it’s in one piece. I can’t leave her out here without stopping to see if I can help. I’m almost at the car. I’ll ring you back in ten.” I end the call in the middle of her screaming at me not to hang up.

  I check my rearview mirror before I cross the yellow line and pull onto the shoulder facing oncoming traffic.

  The blonde lady bangs her head on the roof of the car as she tries to look over her shoulder.

  That is when I realize the blonde lady isn’t a lady at all. She’s a dude.

  So much for helping a damsel in distress.

  Miss Ratchet

  Lawson

  “SONOFA—” I RUB the back of my head and duck out from under the hood of my awesome, but crappy new car.

  Awesome because it’s a classic, and it’s damn well beautiful. Crappy because as sexy as it is, it spluttered and coughed and stopped moving, so now I’m stuck in the middle of the desert sweating my balls off.

  I don’t even know why I bothered checking under the hood. It’s not as though I know what to look for. I’ve changed my oil before, once, when I was a teenager, and I filled my windshield washer fluid last year, but otherwise, professionals always deal with my cars.

  The woman in the shitbox convertible calls out an apology. I shield my eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off her windshield, blinding me.

  “You need some help?” She opens the driver’s side door of her dusty, rusted out Caddy. It boasts a Nevada license plate.

  One of her sandal clad feet hits the ground. Her toenails are painted hot pink. Her legs are cut off at the ankle by the door as she steps out of the car.

  “Looks like you’re having a little trouble with your baby.” She uses her hip to close the door and I get a full view of my potential knightess in rusted steel and chrome.

  Holy shit.

  This woman’s body is the thing wet dreams are made of. Her legs go on forever, long, toned, and tanned, and they’re encased in a pair of denim shorts that ride high on her thighs. Three inches of equally tanned and toned stomach peek out from under the hem of her cropped tank, which has the letters STW stamped across her chest along with a set of cherries over her right boob.

  She’s wearing a baseball cap that casts a shadow over her face, and a huge pair of sunglasses.

  “Hello
! Everything okay there?” She runs her finger along the hood of her car, stopping when she reaches the grill.

  I realize I’m gawking. “Oh, uh, yeah, I mean, no. My car broke down.” I thumb over my shoulder at the propped up hood.

  “Yeah, I kinda figured.” One side of her mouth tips up in an amused smile. “Any idea what’s wrong?”

  I rub my beard and give my head a shake. “Uh, not really? And I can’t get a signal, so calling a tow is tough.”

  “Yeah, the reception out here can be spotty depending on your carrier.” She tucks a thumb into her pocket and tips her chin up. “Want me to have a look?”

  I can’t imagine what she’s going to be able to do for me, but she’s offering assistance and she’s got a rockin’ body, so I figure why not let her check under my hood? That way I can appreciate her very nice legs without coming across as a leering jerk.

  “Sure.” I shrug and step aside.

  It’s hotter than a sauna out here and windy, so my hair is blowing all over the place. I gather it up and use the hair tie wrapped around my wrist to secure it in a topknot. Sweat trickles down my spine and my balls are sticking to the inside of my thigh. Commando is probably not the way to go in the desert.

  She takes a few tentative steps closer. “I’m Nevah.”

  “Never?” I’m struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.

  Up close I can see that she has a delicate jawline and full lips. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and threaded through the snapback of her ball cap. She has a dainty nose and high cheekbones, and for some reason, she seems familiar.

  She grins. “Not quite. It’s haven spelled backwards, but pronounced like neva eva.”

  “Were your parents fans of En Vogue or something?” I want to punch myself in my nuts for asking that.

  Especially when she arches a brow. “If you start singing that song, I’m getting back in my car.”

  “Sorry. That was bad. And I can’t sing, so I will definitely not offend you further by doing something so heinously disrespectful.” I extend a hand. “I’m Lawson.”