by Ann, Jewel
After he reads it, his gaze flits to meet mine. I try to keep my smugness to a minimum like, Yeah, it’s an awesome shirt because I’m awesome like that, no big deal. Unfortunately, I suck at subtle.
Jake? He’s a master at masking his emotions—the opposite of an open book. A closed book, with no cover and no blurb.
“I noticed those shorts of yours are a bit loose around the waist.”
Taking quicker steps backward to keep him from trampling me, I glance down at my shorts. They’re a bit loose, but that’s not a surprise given my recent fasting.
“Yeah, so?” I glance up.
He pins me with a hard, expectant stare.
Shit.
“When’s the last time you mooned someone, Avery?”
“Jake.” I shake my head.
One side of his mouth curls a fraction as his pace picks up.
“No.” I hold out my finger.
“Yes.” He reaches for me.
“Jake, no!” I turn and run.
Where? Well, that’s just it. I have nowhere to go but in circles around the parking lot. But he is not pulling down my shorts in the parking lot of a grocery store.
His steps gain on me.
“Help!”
“Shh …” He laughs just behind me.
“Stop. Don’t! I’m going to fall in these heels!”
“Shh …” Jake’s hand snags the back of my shorts.
My fingers clench the waist of them as he pulls me to a stop and drags me back to the truck, wedging them up my ass in the process.
“Jake—”
“Shh … stop squealing like a damn pig. I’m not going to pull your pants down … yet.”
I wrap both of my hands around his wrist, tugging at his firm grip on the back of my shorts. He opens my door to the truck and tosses the bags in next to Swarley. After he shuts the door, he releases me. I jump into my seat and fasten the seat belt, hoping it aids in keeping my pants on me.
Resting his hand on the top of my door, he inspects me with that indiscernible look for a few moments as I start to mess with my hair then decide to just keep my hands idle on my lap to prevent him from making some stupid comment about lice.
“Can’t say I’ve ever chased anyone around a parking lot before.” He bites his lips together.
Screw him. I am not going to mirror that stupid grin he has on his mild-to-moderately handsome face. We are grownups. Playing chase is something ten-year-olds do. He’s reduced me to an adolescent again.
“Shut the door, short dick.” I grab for the handle, but he keeps a firm hold on the door. It’s not going to shut until he’s ready.
I huff a long breath, crossing my arms over my chest. Looking forward, I ignore the hole he’s boring into the side of my head. He knows I saw his big dick. I’m not going to acknowledge it.
Nope. Never.
The door shuts. He gets in, rolls down the windows, and guns it out of the parking lot, tossing a disapproving frown in the direction of my high heels.
“They were for the grocery store.”
“I’m sure the eighty-year-old woman at the checkout was very impressed with you.”
“Shut up. I dress for myself sometimes, you know? Is there something wrong with wanting to feel good about myself? Lord knows the rest of me is in dire need of some maintenance.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me.
I ignore his condescending look and try to put my window up as we pick up speed, but he’s locked it from his side.
“Put my window up.” I gather my hair and hold it back, but the wind keeps pulling at it. “Jake, put my window up. I can’t have my hair blowing everywhere!”
“What?” He holds his hand up to his ear.
“My hair!”
“Still can’t hear you.” He shrugs. “Tell me when we get back to the campsite.”
I scowl at him while Swarley pokes his nose up between the seat and the door to enjoy the wind as well. Traitor.
“My dad used to bring Sydney and me here for long weekends after our mom died. We rented a cabin that came with a fishing boat.”
Jake shoots me a glance, which means he can hear me. After a few seconds, he rolls up the windows. I inwardly grin.
Winner, winner, chicken dinner.
“There are at least four species of venomous snakes in the Ozarks. They’re most active midmorning and late afternoon. Maybe that’s when you should take your hikes while Swarley and I stay in the truck. Please leave the keys, in case you don’t make it back. Do you have family I can contact when you die?”
Jake responds with a twisted face. I return a toothy smile.
My gaze shifts to the gravel road that goes to our campsite. I inspect my nails. They are a disaster. I am a disaster. This torture needs to stop.
* * *
Jake
There are good Samaritans and there are saints.
I am a saint.
The god of patience. The greatest man who ever lived.
A couple weeks ago I would have settled for the simple hard-working, nice-guy label. A couple weeks ago Avery Montgomery, Diva Bitch, wasn’t on my radar. Hell, she wasn’t even in the same state.
“I think I’m getting jungle rot.” She slips off her Barbie shoes and rubs her toes.
“Jungle rot?” I shoot her a quick glance, getting out of the truck and taking a deep inhale of mountain air as Swarley jumps out behind me.
Diva Bitch hasn’t taken a single deep breath over the course of our journey. However, she hasn’t missed one opportunity to whine about the scuff marks on her toe-mangling shoes or the damage to her hair from the hard water at the campgrounds and the wind.
“Haven’t you watched G.I. Jane?” She frowns at my lack of engagement while opening her door.
I chuckle, fighting to keep my sense of humor. If I lose it—she’s a dead diva bitch. I’ve been out of the ring for a few years, but I’m certain I could end the misery—my misery—with one quick move.
“Jake …” She whines again. It’s too much to handle.
“It’s a fucking blister, you materialistic, chronically pessimistic, vain, grouchy, dog-hating, bit—” Okay, I may have already lost my sense of humor. My best guesstimate … it scattered in the wind a few miles back when Avery threw her tantrum over me rolling down the windows, adding even more irreparable damage to her hair.
“Bitch? Were you about to call me a bitch?”
She’s not stupid. I get it. Flaunting her looks instead of her intelligence has probably suited her needs over the years. Until now …
Her mantra of all-men-are-lying-cheating-monkey-spanking dick cheese will not win her points in the male community, even if she is a walking wet dream. I can’t even acknowledge her word choice. Dick cannot be an adjective to cheese. Nope. No fucking way.
“Bitter. I was going to say bitter woman.” Bitch. Total bitch.
“Typical. Men love to break women down, use them for dick warmers, and cry bitch when we decide to stand up for ourselves.”
I hold the flap open for her to get her bitchy ass in the tent. The quicker she goes to sleep, the quicker I can have some peace and quiet.
“Tomorrow we get a hotel.” She huffs.
“The only luxury tomorrow may bestow upon you is me not killing you. My trip. My truck. My choice where we stay. I make this trip every year. And every year I stay at campsites along the way.”
“It’s been a week and we’re not even halfway to L.A.! My sister is probably home and wanting her dog back, but I wouldn’t know because my phone is dead half the time and we don’t have a signal the other half.”
I grit my teeth, fisting my hands to keep them from encircling her neck. “I said I take my time getting to the West Coast. You said ‘I’m in no hurry.’ You said ‘I don’t want to be an inconvenience. Just pretend I’m not here.’”
Avery grimaces while sliding her jungle rot feet back into her high heels. She pushes out her chest and tips her chin up. I bite back my grin as she hobbles like a b
roken princess to the tent.
“Come, Swarley,” she says.
The elderly Weimaraner lumbers to all fours from his spot in the cool grass. I bet he’d rather sleep right there than share space with Avery. I’m sure he’s tired of hearing her drone on about how he ruined her life.
I lock up the truck and enter the campground gates of Hell.
“Out!” Avery holds her wadded shirt up to her chest. “You’re supposed to ask if it’s okay to come in here.”
I shrug, zipping the tent flaps behind me. “I’m taking your advice … pretending you’re not here.”
“But I AM here.”
I shoot her a barely detectable smile while moving to the center of the tent, the only part where I can stand straight. It’s also where my hitchhiking leach happens to be. Her blue eyes widen as she stiffens a little more.
“Swarley, did you hear something?” I shrug off my shirt.
Avery’s lips part.
I shrug. “Me neither.” As if she’s not gasping just inches from me, I unfasten my cargo shorts and let them fall to my feet. I didn’t think her eyes could get any wider. I was wrong.
“I’ve seen it and … I-I’m not impressed. Also, I don’t like tattoos. Or … or bulky muscles.” She shakes her head, nose wrinkled. “Your hair is too short … and blond. I like men with dark hair. And your eyes are the wrong shade of blue. And your …”
Keeping my head bowed, I toe off my shoes, hiding my amusement behind twisted lips. “My what? My cock is too big?” I glance up as the horror intensifies, reddening her cheeks.
Her jaw unhinges. “Listen, short dick, I want nothing to do with your cock. Or any cock ever again.”
“Thank god … my cock threatened to hold its breath until it turns blue and falls clean off my body if I even think of sticking it in your battery-acid lined cu—” I stop myself, clinging to the tiny bit of control I have left.
Another gasp. Can she really be that shocked?
“Cu? Cunt? Was that the word tripping out of your mouth? You are the most vulgar man I have ever met.”
Really? She’s from L.A. I’m not vulgar. This infuriating woman just brings out the fighter in me. I need to let this go and take the high road.
“Sorry. Lady bits? Vajayjay? Hoo-haw? Quim?”
“Vagina! Vagina, vagina, vagina, vagina.” She balls her fists.
I lift a single brow. “Okay.” I bow. “Good night, Your Royal Vagina.”
“You’re such a dick,” she mumbles as I turn, retrieving my toothbrush and toothpaste from my backpack.
“Penis. Penis, penis, penis, penis. If we’re being anatomically correct, you think I’m such a penis.” I shove my toothbrush into my mouth and wrap my lips around it to ward off my amusement.
“My boyfriend stuck his penis into another woman … but I’m certain I hate you more.”
I pause my brushing motion, jerking my head back. Damn! What a declaration. I’m not sure if I should be offended or honored. Honored. Definitely honored. I continue brushing.
Avery huffs and turns, keeping her back to me as she removes her bra and slips on a satin nightie. Yup … I’ve been camping for the past week with a stranger hell-bent on torturing me in every possible way.
I unzip the tent’s entrance and spit out my suds.
“Wait …” she mumbles over her toothbrush, crawling toward the opening.
Before I can get the flap pushed completely open, she spits … all over the inside of it.
“Nice, Ave … real nice.” I shake my head.
She wrinkles her nose, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as her wide eyes flit between the mess and me. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” I grab the first thing I can find and wipe off the nylon flap.
“Hey!” Avery grabs my wrist. “That’s my shirt! That’s an eighty-dollar shirt you’re using like some bar rag.”
I nudge her to keep her away, refusing to relinquish the overpriced white T-shirt until the inside of my tent is free from her spit-up mess.
“Stop! Give it!” She attacks my arm, pressing her satin-clad body to my bare back.
Swarley barks.
“Get off me. You’re upsetting him, you crazy freak.” But I still don’t give her the shirt. I wad it up, throw it outside, and zip the flap.
“Bastard!” Her hand flies through the air toward my face.
I intercept it just before she connects with my cheek. The prissy princess with fake lashes, too much lip gloss, Barbie smooth hair, and miles of attitude drives me to the brink of murder. But … this hot mess with windblown hair—albeit curiously flawed—and a face devoid of anything God didn’t give her … she’s fucking beautiful.
Wild.
Lawless.
Lively.
So. Damn. Sexy.
“Get. My. Shirt. NOW!”
I nod to her taped fingers. “I think it would have hurt you more than me.”
“Get my shirt!”
The grin on my face feels incredible. “Let it be.”
Avery dives for the door. I stand on my knees and block her with my body, holding her to my chest with one arm around her waist.
She shoves my shoulders.
“Ave …”
Breathless, with anger staining her cheeks crimson, she huffs out a long exhale just inches from my mouth.
“Let it be,” I repeat.
“It’s—”
My other hand fists the back of her hair, giving it a firm jerk until her neck begs for my mouth. “Let. It. Be.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Avery
I like older men in suits who don’t feel the need to express themselves by marring their skin. I like hotel suites. Sit-down dining. Air-conditioning. Daily showers with hot water. Luxury beds. Silk pillowcases. Expensive cars with leather seats.
My heart has been broken too many times to count. I’m not sure it’s really a heart anymore—just a fleshy doormat.
Things make me feel good. Not everyone gets the same happily ever after. Maybe mine is an empty bed but a closet full of shoes and handbags. So what?
I grew up without my mother—she died. My father is a preacher. That fueled my rebellion from an early age. I hated boundaries, laws, and scriptures that made me feel guilty for the thoughts I couldn’t control.
I’m a girly girl who likes all things feminine, sexy, flowery, and pink—NOT muscle-bound vegan chefs with pickup trucks and a shit ton of tattoos. Yet, in spite of his vulgarity and complete disrespect for my shirt, I can’t keep my heart from hammering into my chest as he fists my hair.
“My hair,” I whisper. He’s going to damage my hair, and that should matter more than anything right now … but it doesn’t. His added tug on it confirms that he feels the same.
“A raccoon could steal my shirt.”
He brushes his lips along my neck, not kissing, not tasting … just feeling. I shiver.
“Do we really care?” he whispers in my ear.
Normally, yes. I would care very much. But at the moment, I can’t stay focused on the shirt because there’s a large hand sliding over my ass.
“Ouch!” I jump when he squeezes it—hard.
He chuckles, fisting my hair tighter.
Fuck! He’s going to pull it out!
Double fuck! I don’t even care.
His mouth opens against my bare shoulder. His teeth tease my skin for a few seconds before his hot tongue flicks out like a whip.
I swallow hard. “I … I don’t think this is a smart idea.”
Jake lifts his head, blinking several times before cocking it to the side. “You have a better idea?”
Wetting my lips, I rub them together. I wasn’t expecting that response. “Not … necessarily.”
He nods slowly, letting his gaze slide along my body. “Clearly you’re a pain in any man’s ass. But I’d say most men would overlook that. Unless …” His eyes meet mine. A cocky grin teasing the corners of his mouth.
I squint. “Unle
ss what?”
“Unless you’re incredibly bad at sex.”
“How dare you—”
He smashes his mouth to mine.
Wrong.
Stupid.
Impulsive.
His tongue taunts mine until I surrender. Dear sweet Jesus … he tastes better than champagne, perfectly ripe strawberries, the smoothest milk chocolate, and my favorite … everything.
He breaks the kiss. My lungs claw for air. His tongue makes a lazy stroke across his lower lip, ending with that damn grin. I’m a mess. What’s he smiling about?
“I’m not bad at sex,” I whisper between breaths.
“No?” He slides the spaghetti straps off my shoulders.
My nightie slips a few inches.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Show me what you’ve got, Ave.”
I just did that. I showed him my stuff. Well … my de-pants and run. Maybe that didn’t count as sexy in his book. My smile twitches. “Why are you calling me Ave?”
“Figured you preferred it to Diva Bitch.”
I scowl. “I still hate you.”
He chuckles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Bastard. Sexy … delicious … irresistible … bastard.
Jake holds his hands out to his sides. “Let’s see it, Ave. Do your worst.”
What the hell? I wait, but he remains on his knees, statuesque. I slide off my nightie. His eyes follow with curiosity. Maybe … or is it disinterest? Gah! I don’t know. Men have seriously messed with my head, chipping away at my confidence. What’s left is artificial. A complete façade.
Resting my shaky hands flat on his chest, I lean in and press my lips to the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t move. Ghosting more kisses over his jaw, I wait for him to respond … join in.
Nothing.
“Aren’t you going to touch me?” I whisper, teasing my teeth across his earlobe.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
I freeze. What’s going on? My body jerks back, but his expression gives away nothing.
“Is that the best you’ve got, Ave?”
I frown, shoulders deflating, but not as much as my ego. I survey his body. The prominent outline in his briefs gives me hope that I’m making progress. My hand slides down the front of them. His Adam’s apple makes a quick dip. That’s good. Right?