She rolled her eyes. “Female, meaning naked women.”
I frowned in confusion. “Really? Why not a Chippendales sort of place?”
She arched an eyebrow at me. “Because cocks are good for one thing, and it’s not looking at. Objectively speaking, penises are ugly and weird. They’re only fun in a…um…hands-on way, if you know what I mean.”
I burst out laughing. “Yeah, I think I do.” I frowned, my laugh halting abruptly. “Not about dicks, though, obviously.”
She snickered. “No? So, you’re not a hands-on dick sort of guy?”
“Nope. Not so much,” I answered. “More of a hands-on tits sort of guy.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Nice.”
“So, you, a heterosexual female, didn’t see the point of a strip club full of naked women? Who’d’a thunk it?”
She laughed. “Yeah, well, I was with a group of girls who wanted to go to one, mainly because the drink specials were really killer, but I was just like…why? Why get all worked up and whatever about these strippers—who honestly weren’t all that hot anyway—and you can’t even touch them? What are you supposed to do, go in the bathroom and whack off? Yuck. I just didn’t see the point.” She shrugged. “The drink specials were good, though, and the men were all too mesmerized by the strippers to bother us.”
“I feel the same way. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like tits and naked chicks as much as the next guy, but like you said, getting all hot and bothered and then having to keep my hands to myself is not my idea of fun.” I winked at her. “I’m a hands-on kinda guy.”
Her gaze cut to the window. “Yeah, I noticed,” she muttered.
“What was that?” I asked. “Didn’t quite catch that.”
“Nothing.”
I laughed. “That’s what I thought.” We arrived at the outfitters and headed in. “You never told me what the credit card lesson was.”
Izzy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I ended up on my own pretty young, and got a job nannying for this family. Well, they moved up here to Ketchikan, and I came with them thinking I’d keep living with them. I was a live-in nanny, so I had room and board and all that covered as part of the job. But then once they got settled in up here, they kind of abruptly decided they didn’t want a nanny anymore. So I was here in Ketchikan, where I knew no one, alone, eighteen, with no job, no home, and a few grand in savings.” She was examining the backpacks and canteens and rope, just sort of looking at the all the various equipment as she spoke. “So I found a cheap apartment with some random chicks who needed a roommate—”
“Kitty and Juneau?”
She shook her head. “No, this was before them. These roommates are why, when I finally met Kitty and Juneau, I sort of latched on to them. These bitches, the first two girls I lived with? They were toxic.” She waved a hand. “But the point is, I found a place, and found a shitty job folding clothes in a department store. I wasn’t making it. The job didn’t pay enough to make ends meet, so just to survive, I opened up not one, not two, but three credit cards. The assholes were giving them away like candy, and I was so young and naive I didn’t really understand how they worked. So I was racking up debt and only making minimum payments, if that, most of the time.”
I winced. “Ouch. That never goes well. Three cards?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Three, with fifteen hundred on each, and I maxed them all out in less than a year. And I really was trying to keep them for emergencies only.”
“Except, when you have a credit card, everything feels like an emergency.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“How’d you get out of that one?”
She laughed. “Oh man, I didn’t. Not for a long time. I maxed them out and couldn’t pay them off, and the job still wasn’t paying shit, and the rent wasn’t getting any cheaper, and I was already barely eating, because that was the only place I could find to cut expenses.” She shrugged. “I walked by this storefront right as a lady was putting out a now-hiring sign. I asked if I could apply, and she interviewed me right then and there, and gave me the job—and she paid me double what I was making. So, I kept living like I had been, cutting corners and scrimping every penny, only I put every dollar I had into paying those cards off. And then, once they were at zero, I cut them up and never opened another one. I have a debit card for my one checking account, and that’s it. I pay cash for pretty much everything as much as possible, because if I don’t have cash for what I want, then I can’t afford it.”
I took down the backpack I thought she should get. “Yet you’re about to spend at least five hundred bucks on gear for a last-minute backpacking trip to prove a point to a guy you don’t even like?”
She gave me a nasty look, taking the pack from me and examining it. “I’m not trying to prove anything to you.”
I just arched an eyebrow at her.
“Okay, fine then. I am, a little.” She toyed with zippers and compartments and straps and buckles. “But I’m also proving something to myself, via you.” She hefted the bag. “Why this one?”
“For the price, it has the features that are most important. It’s comfortable, wears the weight well, it’s durable, and it’s got great back ventilation.”
She frowned at me. “Back ventilation?”
I helped her put it on and clip everything into place, adjusting the straps to fit her properly.
“Yeah. You wear a backpack all day, the place you sweat the most is your back where the bag lays against you, and that shit gets miserable real fast—hello chafe city. So yeah, back ventilation is a big deal.”
“I never would’ve considered that.”
I sighed. “I know.” I tapped the list in her hand. “For most of this, you don’t really need to worry too much about brand or price, especially this being last minute, and probably a one-time deal. You don’t want to spend a fortune on gear.”
I helped her pick out the rest of what she needed until the list was completed and she had a sizable pile on the counter by the cash register. The young man checking her out was thin and whipcord lean, with blond dreadlocks under a slouchy beanie, and a wispy chin beard.
“First backpacking trip, huh?” he asked, grinning at her. “Where you goin’?”
Izzy shrugged. “I dunno. Ask him.” She jerked a thumb at me.
“I was thinking the Johnson Pass Trail,” I said.
He nodded knowingly. “Good one. Nice and easy. A strong hiker can do it in one day easily, but if you want to just go slow, you can make a couple nice fun days out of it.” He indicated Izzy. “Good choice for a first-timer.”
“Good to know.”
“Lots of bugs this time of year,” he said. “And I mean a shit-ton. You want to really protect against bugs.”
I went back and grabbed extra sprays and a few other sundries. When she was rung up, I watched Izzy gulp a little at the total, but she took out her debit card.
“Izzy, you don’t have to—”
“Shut up. I’m going.”
I held up both hands. “All right.”
She took a deep breath, glanced at the pile of gear, then at the total on the screen—and then at me, with a long, lingering stare. The stare hardened, and her jaw set, and she swiped her debit card with a determined lift of her chin.
Damn—she was really going through with it.
We piled the gear into the backpack and carried the rest that wouldn’t fit and piled it onto the backseat. Our next stop was a grocery store for food supplies—canned beans and fruit, beef jerky, things like that. Once her food was paid for, bagged, and added to the pile on the backseat of my truck, we sat in the parking lot for a moment.
“Now what?” Izzy asked, glancing at me.
“Now we go to your apartment, take your stuff out of the packaging, go through the checklist to make sure you have everything, and then pack it.”
“Okay.”
We drove in silence to her apartment, and I helped her carry the stuff up to her room. We sprea
d it all out, took it out of the packaging and ripped off the tags, and Izzy sorted it all piece by piece, going through the checklist.
“Okay, I think I’ve got everything,” she said, glancing at me as she handed me the list back.
I smirked. “I think you’re forgetting a couple things.”
She frowned. “I am?”
I nodded. “See, some of these items on the list have their own sub-lists. Like clothing.” I indicated the pile of shirts, jeans, hoodies, and thick socks. “You don’t have any bras or underwear.”
“Oh.”
I couldn’t stop a smirk. “I mean, I know you like to go commando under those sexy little skirts you wear, but that ain’t practical on a hike.”
“You don’t know that.” She went to her dresser and opened the top drawer. “Wait—regular bras, or sports bras?” she asked, holding up one of each.
I shrugged, leaning against her bedroom doorjamb. “Well I don’t fuckin’ know, I ain’t got tits.” I flicked a finger at the sports bra. “I guess since we’re hiking, a sports bra would make more sense, though.”
She grabbed a handful of sports bras and tossed them on the pile, and then rummaged in a different drawer, rifling through a dizzying rainbow of colors and styles of underwear.
She shot me a look, catching me watching her. “Quit being creepy.”
“I’m not being a creep, I’m just surprised.”
“At what?” she asked, sounding like she was gearing up to be pissy.
“At the fact that you have so many pairs of underwear,” I said, ignoring the warning signs of an about-to-be-pissed-off female.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “What, you think I just traipse around commando all the time?”
I stifled a laugh, sidling over to her dresser to peer into her underwear drawer. “Yeah, kind of.”
“And you’re basing this on what?”
Her underwear drawer held a dizzying array of thongs, boy shorts, briefs, high-waisted French cut briefs, barely there lingerie bits—scraps of lace and silk in a profusion of bright colors. “I’m basing it on the fact that when I pushed your skirt up in the hospital, you were naked as a jaybird underneath. And also, I fully admit I’ve spent quite a lot of time staring at your ass, and I rarely ever see panty lines.”
She whacked my hand away. “Get your dirty paws away from my underwear!” She shoved me backward, and then snatched a thong out of her drawer. “Have you ever heard of thongs?”
I eyed her up and down pointedly. “You’re wearing underwear right now?” I smirked, trying not to picture what that’d look like, because I did want to go hiking, and if I pictured Izzy in a thong, we’d never leave. “You’re telling me you’re wearing a thong?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “It’s none of your damn business what I’m wearing.”
“What color?” I asked, moving to tower over her, invading her space. “Black? Pink?”
She backed up…into the dresser. “None of your business.”
I smirked, trailing a fingertip over the hem of her skirt. “If I tugged this up I have a feeling I’d find your pretty little pussy bare. Wouldn’t I?”
“Shut up. You don’t know that.”
“No, I don’t know. But your response tells me I’m right. You’d tell me if you were wearing a thong right now.” I slid my finger upward, past her knee, taking the hem of her skirt up with it. “What color is your underwear, Izzy?”
She knocked my hand away and squeezed past me, taking a handful of underwear with her. “Stop that.” She set the underwear with the pile of clothing and perched on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over her knee. “Anything I’m forgetting?”
“Yeah.”
She frowned at me. “What?”
“That I know you’re attracted to me. You can’t pretend you’re not.”
She shot to her feet, tugging the skirt down. “I’m not pretending. I’m just ignoring it, because it doesn’t matter.” She pushed me toward the door. “Now leave. I need to change.”
“We still have to pack.”
“After I change.”
I grinned, glancing down at her legs. “Why the rush?”
“Because you keep staring at my legs like you’re hoping I’m going to accidentally flash you or something.”
“I was kinda hoping for a Basic Instinct sort of thing, I admit.”
“Dream on, Bullwinkle,” she said. And with that, she closed the bedroom door in my face.
4
Izzy
I locked my bedroom door and slumped back against it.
What the hell had I gotten myself into? A three-day backpacking trip…alone…with Ramsey Badd? What the fuck was I thinking? God. My stupid ego, my stupid mouth, my stupid temper.
Three days in the middle of the fucking woods, eating beans out of a can, shitting in a hole in the ground I’d dug myself, getting devoured by mosquitoes, and sleeping in a tent.
Alone.
With Ramsey.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
There was no backing out now, though. Ego and pride had gotten me into this, and ego and pride wouldn’t let me back out. Ego and pride would also be what kept me going when I wanted to give up.
I shucked my blouse and fancy lace pushup bra, and then my skirt. Yes, damn the man: I was commando under the skirt.
And aching from the threat of his touch. All but dripping with arousal at his presence, his heat, his mammoth muscles and the shaggy beard with its woodsy scent, and those bright virulent blue eyes. Could he smell me? Is that how he knew I was commando under the skirt?
I sometimes thought he was part animal, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he had the scenting ability of a bear or wolf.
I slid on a pair of baby-blue cotton boy short underwear, wriggled into a sports bra, and then stepped into a pair of jeans. God, they felt weird. I hadn’t worn jeans in years—not since I got the job with Angelique Leveaux, owner of Couture Ketchikan. Once she hired me, she gave me a hefty discount on her clothes so I could afford to look the part. And, after that, I just got addicted to the feel of silk and lace and cashmere, the knowledge that I looked expensive and successful. I enjoyed dressing nicely—yes, for myself…and, I had to admit at least to myself, because I did enjoy the way it felt to be admired, desired.
I buttoned the jeans, wiggling my hips and tugging them up higher. Ugh. Who wears these things? Stiff, rough, and so…so…casual. I shoved my hands in the various pockets to smooth out the lines, and then checked myself out in my mirror, twisting this way and that. Okay, well…fine—I looked pretty hot. The jeans fit me great, cupping my butt and giving it a lift, making it look nice and round and taut and firm. My thighs were strong, my calves slender. Flat across the front, a nice bell-shape to the hips. Okay, okay…I could get into this.
A soft, swift knock on my door was followed by Juneau and Kitty both entering—and they opened the door wide enough that Ram, standing in the hallway, got a nice little glimpse of me in jeans and a sports bra. His eyes widened, his brows raised, and his chest swelled—he looked me over head to toe twice before Kitty closed the door behind her.
“Um, hi?” I said, grabbing a retro Sonic the Hedgehog T-shirt from the pile.
Kitty and Juneau stood against the door, staring in confusion at the array of supplies.
“What’s going on, Izzy?” Kitty asked, her voice hesitant and wary. “What is all this?”
I shrugged into the shirt and frowned at myself in the mirror; the ensemble needed something. But what? Ah! I grabbed a thick brown leather belt from the floor of my closet and threaded it through the belt loops, loosely buckling it and then tucking just the front edge of my T-shirt in behind the buckle. There…much better. Still something missing, though. Hmmmm. I cast a glance around my room, ignoring Kitty’s question.
I spied the solution to my fashion conundrum on the top shelf of my closet. Sitting long forgotten, half buried under a pile of old purses was an old, faded Tennessee Titans ball cap of my father�
�s. I’d brought it with me when I’d run away all those years ago, and had long since forgotten it. When I was a little girl, he’d worn that hat every Saturday. He’d wake up, make Mom and me breakfast—scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast—and then put on that hat and mow the lawn. And then, when he was done with the lawn, he and I would ride bikes to a local ice cream stand.
I went to the closet and took the hat down, and I couldn’t resist sniffing it—it still smelled like him: grass clippings and gasoline and old sweat. The room was silent as I gently adjusted the snapback tighter, threaded my ponytail through the opening, and settled the hat on my head.
I don’t think I’d ever worn a ball cap in my life; it felt strange.
And strangely right.
I let out a long, slow, sad sigh.
Juneau looked truly, genuinely worried. “Izzy, talk to us. What’s going on?”
I rarely showed emotion like that, rarely gave away any clues as to the past I’d left behind; I had to cover my slipup.
I gestured at the gear on my floor and bed. “What’s it look like? I’m going hiking.” I kept my voice brusque and breezy.
Kitty and Juneau traded glances.
“Um…say what?” Kitty asked. “Hiking?”
“Yes, hiking.” I sat on the edge of my bed and put on a pair of thick socks with padded heels and soles designed specifically for hiking, and then began lacing up my new boots. “Surely you’ve heard of it. Apparently you just sort of…go walking in the woods or something.”
Another long glance between Kitty and Juneau.
“Izzy—you’ve never once gone hiking in the years we’ve known you.” Juneau eyed my outfit. “I don’t think I’ve even seen you wear jeans and a T-shirt, much less a hat.”
“Because I haven’t…not for a long time, at least.” I eyed them. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, please.”
Kitty just blinked at me. “Izzy. Izz. Isadora. Honey.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “You don’t hike.”
“First time for everything,” I said.
Juneau moved to my other side. “How long is this hike?”
Badd Medicine Page 6