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ALEXIS FONTAINE, AKA NOT AMANDA HUNSAKER
Even the savviest womancan find herself trapped in a trailer park. My situation wasn’t a direct mockery of my independent gal skills. No, in fact, I proved my grit by living there without losing my mind. If anything, getting stuck in Fork Falls was a sign of my mastery at life!
And it’s not as if arriving in Tumbling Rock is a huge step up. The quaint—some might say dumpy—town nestled in the West Virginia hills has its charms, but it’s no Rockwell. I really ought to aim higher, considering my savviness.
Instead, I’ve returned to my father’s hometown, where most of Gary’s family lives. My cousins—sisters Zelda and Juno—invited me to stay at the duplex they’ve nailed down. I’m the current resident of a couch in the tiny upstairs half of a house.
Yeah, on paper, that sounds tragic. But it’s still better than at my aunt and uncle’s place with their big dogs and zero privacy. Eventually, I might even adopt a cat if I can find the space for its litter box. One day, I’ll live out of a dresser rather than a suitcase. I’ve got wildly impressive dreams for my future. Hell, I might even live alone one day!
But until that fantasy becomes a reality—along with owning a car—I make do with the walking boots I inherited from a dead aunt.
Most of my better belongings were castoffs of dead relatives. My nice black dress was from Aunt Kim Anne. My single five-pound barbell belonged to Uncle Big Boy Mikey. My lime-green, locking suitcase was inherited from Uncle Little Man Mikey. And my beloved crystal ball was something I found in Aunt Vicky Anne’s storage shed out behind where her RV was parked.
Even the straw hat I presently wear to protect my freckled face was discarded by my second cousin, Michelle Anne.
While I’m currently exploring Tumbling Rock’s Main Street, I wonder if I’ll run into that hunky asshole from years ago. I heard he threatened to burn down Aunt Beverly Anne’s house if she didn’t fess up to my whereabouts. In my family’s harrowing story, they stood up to the heartless criminal and protected their blood. Whenever this tale is shared, the Toomey clan applauds their refusal to back down to the bully.
I usually roll my eyes when they repeat the story to me. After all, what was “I’m West Mercer” going to do if he knew I was in Fork Falls? Drive a hundred miles to ask my name again?
Okay, so I sometimes imagined the biker hunk riding up to the trailer park where I remained bravely trapped. I might have occasionally fantasized about him stealing me away to a magical place with air-conditioning and decent Wi-Fi.
But, of course, that never happened. And I didn’t want it to, anyway. I’m not a damsel in distress or a helpless dingbat waiting for a man to buy her a clue.
I’m my mother’s daughter!She read books, took art classes, and knew what chicken tikka masala tasted like. I don’t have to think trailer park small.
I mean, here I am, living in a duplex with my cousins, starting a business, and exploring a new town. I have so much promise!
Except I’m hot, and the air is too thick. Plus, I just got kicked out of a pizza place for only ordering water and soaking up their apparently “not-free for non-paying customers” air-conditioning.
I don’t know what to do next. I sit on the street curb and fan myself with my hat. My bare knees immediately turn extra hot from the sun’s affections. Like all gingers, I require shade to survive.
I’m mumbling the lyrics to “Paper Planes” to keep from passing out when I hear a motorcycle. I think back to Fork Falls. Only two kinds of men rode the loud metal beasts—old grumps pretending their dicks weren’t flaccid and dirty thugs always willing to organize “dates” for me if I was looking for extra cash.
With Tumbling Rock in the denim pocket of the Rawkfist Motorcycle Club, I guess the approaching bike could be ridden by my future pimp. I look up from under my hat. I’m already panting before recognizing the muscled hunk who absolutely dominates my spank bank. Have I masturbated in the last five years without at least a fleeting stroke of his memory? The answer is most definitely no.
“Hello, Amanda Hunsaker,” says the blond hunk after his motorcycle falls silent, and he dismounts by throwing one of his tree trunk-like legs over the side.
West Mercer’s a muscled monster with a Hollywood smile. I peer at him from under my hat and think about how evil his kind of man actually is underneath all the sexy exterior stuff. He’ll chew me up, spit me out, leave me with a bastard kid he won’t support, and ruin my pussy for other men. I ought to kick him in the balls right now for the horrible future he plans to hand me.
However, I’m too damn hot for such violence. Besides, I bet he has enough cash to get me back into that pizza place.
“Who?” I ask, standing up and smiling at him. “Is that your name?”
“No, babe, it’s the name you gave me five years ago.”
“Has the heat made you crazy, dude? You and I haven’t met before. I’d totally remember.”
West narrows his blue eyes and considers my words. I step closer, working up a sexy vibe despite the hundred pounds of sweat dragging me down.
“I was meeting a guy here for a blind date,” I say and gesture at Pam’s Pizza.
West snarls immediately as if he must now kill this imaginary man before fucking me into servitude. Typical evil caveman madness. I already hate him so much, even as I flash my best smile and pat his wide shoulder.
“He stood me up. I assumed he’d pay for my lunch, so I didn’t even bring money. Such a loser move on my part. Now, I’m hungry and maybe dying of dehydration.”
West’s snarl turns sideways into a slick grin. “That asshole was a fool.”
“He probably didn’t like my family. I’m a Toomey. Have you heard of them?”
