His knee is busted, his ego is intact, and he’s chewing at his leftover steak like he’s auditioning for the role in a movie calledNeanderthals Take the Lake, Part Deux.
And now—thanks to a discount rental app with zero customer service—I am trapped in a lake cottage with him for God knows how long.
Withone bedandno callbackfrom the property manager or the owner. Nope. Just an email reply following my phone call:Thank you for contacting LakeStay. We value your rental experience. A team member will be in touch within 24 hours. Please do not reply to this message, as this inbox is not monitored. If your matter is urgent, we encourage you to visit our Help Center, where you’ll find frequently asked questions. Sit back, relax, and enjoy your stay. LakeStay: Where the view is serene, and your comfort is our top priority.
Which, translated from Customer Service to Human, means:Good luck, sucker. You’re on your own.
This is how murder mysteries start. Or enemies-to-lovers romance novels. Frankly, I don’t trust myself not to fall intoeithercategory because I’ve already caught myself wondering if I actually find his grumpiness sexy or if I’m high from the change of scenery.
Probably both.
He’s limped to the living room, white T-shirt straining over his back when he lowers himself into the leather chair.
I try not to watch.
Apparently, though, my hormones havezero survivalinstincts and think now is the perfect time to notice how his arms are unfairly veiny and that his neck is thick. That his jawline is strong and cut and shadowed with dark stubble I would find droolworthy under normal circumstances.
Maverick exhales, flips open a magazine he absolutely doesn’t care about reading, and proceeds to pretend I don’t exist. Which, of course, only makes me want to existlouder.
The silence stretches.
Not peaceful silence. No. It’s the kind of silence that hums with unresolved energy, making me shift on my heels and rack my brain for something to say, or do.
You should text Lucy. She’ll know how to handle this.
But if you text her, she’ll call freaking out, and that beast over there is going to overhear everything you say.
Go outside, then.
Outside? Hell no, the bugs are coming out!
I casually stroll past him toward the large floor-to-ceiling windows, pretending to stare out at the lake while he flips page after page.
I cross my arms.
Uncross them.
Check my phone for the sixth time in ten minutes, as if LakeStay is suddenly going to wake up and realize they’ve turned my staycation into a hostage situation.
I look at him over my shoulder, only to find him actively ignoring me.
“I know you’re not reading that,” I declare.
He doesn’t look up.
“I’m serious,” I say, louder this time. “You’ve been on that same dumb page for at least two minutes.”
His lips barely twitch. He is a master of self-control.
Unlike me.
“Blink twice if you’re conscious,” I mumble.
Nothing.
“You’re not impressing anyone, you know.”
Still nothing.
