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“You liked kissing Sarah Jo,” Hunter says. Okay. He fucking bellows it loud enough to be heard two states away because the chain saw’s not shy about making noise. The blades roar through the back-cut, and the snag topples. For a long moment, the charred treetop hangs there in the smoky air, undecided which way to fall.
Hunter makes a give-it-up gesture at me. See that look of glee on his face? The way his eyes light up and the corners of his mouth quirk? The bastard got an eyeful when Sarah Jo kissed me, and now he thinks he’s getting details. Which he’ll then share with Lola, who will turn around and unload on Sarah Jo. Do I look stupid?
I smile. “Watch the sky, hotshot. You’re not getting me to kiss and tell.”
Calling a warning, I step back. Right on target, the snag comes down in a slow-motion, flaming arc. The clearing lights up like a birthday cake for an octogenarian.
Hunter Black is no talker, either. He’s the one who first made friends with the bunch of women who’d rented out a string of cabins ignominiously called Baby Bears Lodge. If you’re going to name your place after wildlife, you should at least aim for the top of the food chain. Pick a badass predator—not something cute and fuzzy. However bad the name was, however, the cabins are now well-stocked with hot, lonely chicks hosting some kind of summer camp for adults. Hunter confided once that the girls called themselves the Break Up Club and that they were working through the end of their most recent relationships. Since club meetings seem to involve pajamas and ice cream, I can understand why Hunter chooses to stick around. Hell, if they add naked pillow fights to the agenda, I’d join.
Although, on second thought, that might be more of Hunter than I need to see.
Hunter, of course, seems perfectly happy that his days are seemingly numbered. “So was that kiss a onetime thing?”
Let’s pause that line of questioning, okay? Anytime someone starts questioning the future of a relationship, it’s quitting time. Time to hit the road, to get the fuck out of Dodge before things get even stickier. Sarah Jo kissed me. And she didn’t protest when I kissed her back, did she? I’m thinking that if the movie preview is that awesome, I’d be crazy not to see the whole show. Still, I go with the safe answer.
“Sarah Jo’s the boss.” I’m no prize. Hell, I’m working-class all the way. In the off-season, I own my own garage where I work as a mechanic. I pay my bills, but I’ll never be a California billionaire. I’ll never wear a suit. I like Budweiser, Monday Night Football, and burgers. That doesn’t mean I won’t try other things—when I look at Sarah Jo, I can imagine all kinds of things I’d like to try on her—but I prefer my shit simple and straightforward. Sarah Jo is going to be complicated as fuck. If I’m a straight line about sex and relationships, she’s some multivariate calculus—in Mandarin.
She kissed me—and then she let go so fast I still have whiplash. She peeled that pretty mouth of hers off mine and then she’d danced back behind the serving table. As the guys had jostled forward, elbowing me, I’d stared at her like an idiot. Thanks, she’d said, like I was just the Mr. Helpful who’d popped a lid on a jar or passed the salt.
Thanks doesn’t begin to cover that kiss. My dick is still singing Hosannas, my fingers itching to find her waist again. Yet she wants to pretend that nothing happened.
Hell, I’d half-expected her to call next, and I still don’t know what I’d have done then.
Because I’m going to be her next and her last, at least as far as this summer goes.
Chapter Four
Sarah Jo
The door to my eensy-weensy, closet-sized cabin shudders, waking me from a deep sleep and a very nice dream about a Prince Charming with a shoe fetish. The sound of determined pounding fills my ears, and taking the hint, I bolt off the lumpy mattress and grab my go-bag. Which is really just an extra-large tote with all of my essentials and some clean underwear, but I’ve prepared. I haven’t quite managed to diet down to a size that will fit out the bathroom window easily, but I’m banking on desperation adding oomph to my wriggle.
