Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ALENA
Nine soaring hairpin turns on a narrow road squeeze me and my truck between a mammoth mountainside on my left and a plunge to my death on the right.
I should focus.
Usually, I focus.
I’m not from around here, and I’m still getting used to this hand-sweating, gravity-defying drive.
But I can’t focus. All I can think about as my truck climbs the mountain is him.
Mr. Slurpee.
And I’m not talking about the drink. No offense, Mom. I’m thirsting for him, and I didn’t even get his name.
I was too busy being dumbfounded by his aqua eyes. My IQ plummeting, thunderstruck by his beefy muscles. I mean, who can brush their hair with biceps like that? Maybe it was the ink on his neck. It read, “No mercy,” when all I could think was Mercy me.
Or was it the way his hulking legs won the battle against his worn jeans? Could’ve been his backward ball cap, all cute and hiding his short brown cropped hair. Like he’s military. Or an assassin. I clocked the bulge under his zipper and under his tight green T-shirt.
He was packing.
A 9mm.
And a nine incher.
A girl can dream.
But that wasn’t it. Though that’s more than enough.
No, it was the way he was goofy. That Slurpee and asshole line? He blushed. He’s as slick as sandpaper, but he’s so gorgeous, it only makes him hotter. Especially when he loves Slurpees, too, and he admired my choice, calling it “classic.”
It was a sign, right?
The ultimate meet-cute?
It was so romantic, I wanted to slurp him up. Like, finally, let myself open up, have fun, and flirt.
I never do it with the guys at work or the locals around here. Hell, no. I’m too guarded, and a few are too pervy.
So when Mr. Slurpee walked into my little life, I rolled the dice.
And… craps.
Or is that when you win?
I don’t know because I didn’t win. I never win. I don’t know how to play The Love Game, being all sexy and cute. I’m too awkward. I said too much and got too emotional too quickly, mentioning my mom in the past tense, and “bye-bye, Mr. Slurpee.”
At least he bought me one.
It’s the closest thing I’ve had to a date. Ever. Not exaggerating. I’ve never been on one.
If I weren’t so into dirt—not the pornographic kind—I’m talking soil, samples, and testing. I’m talking science. I like it too much; otherwise, I’d make a great nun. But they don’t hand out hiking boots with nun’s habits, so forget it.
Besides, I think I’d really love sex.
A lot.
If I ever get to have it more than once.
Parking in front of my tiny cabin, I stomp on the emergency brake. I can’t afford for my truck to roll. I parked the patrol SUV at the ranger station and drove my trusty piece of shit home. I call her Anita Bath because she’s like me, constantly adorned with dirt.
Grabbing my Slurpee, I reach across and snag my pack. The sun hasn’t set. I still have time to quietly slurp on my porch, admiring the dogwoods blooming on the mountainside.
But…
Crunching gravel in the lot where I’m parked lifts my eyes. A fancy black Ram Big Horn truck stops in front of the cabin beside mine.
These tiny cabins are perched in a row on the mountainside. Mostly, tourists rent them for the weekends. Usually, I’m up here on the weekdays by myself.
But not tonight.
No, tonight, I’m glad I’m not alone. Someone will need to call a medic. Like the someone sliding out of his mammoth truck.
Holding a Slurpee.
Packing nines.
And staring right at me.
With aqua eyes.
Holy shit! He’s… here? Right next to my cabin?
I’m having a coronary, a conniption, and a cunt attack all at the same time.
What are my chances, and since when have they ever been good?
Hot stuff doesn’t happen to me. The most exciting part of my personal life is putting a new blade on my razor.
Otherwise, my legs see no action. I mean, other than swift water rescue action, but that’s work life, not thirsty-new-stranger-with-a-Slurpee life.
My jaw drops with my awkward question, “Are you stalking me?”
It’s a fair question for this feral irony.
Please, say yes.
But Mr. Slurpee sucks his red straw.
What’s one second, when he waits seven before he grins. “Yeah, I’m stalking you. I’ll be working with you too. I’ll shadow your every move, know everything you do, be your neighbor, and maybe even your friend. It’s all part of my master plan: Love the Slurpee Queen. Hope you don’t mind.”
Mind? I’m so lonely, I’m flattered. I’m so new at this… I’m a fool.
He’s not stalking you, Alena. Even if 50 First Dates is your favorite movie, you’re not Drew Barrymore.
All hail, Drew Barrymore; Mom loved her.
But still, who doesn’t want a guy who adores you? Who plays along, just to make you happy and keep you safe, even if you don’t know he’s doing it?
Are red flags flying? Yes. Is it technically stalking? Textbook. But when he’s this hot?
Exceptions can be made.
“Okay, well, hope you don’t get bored.” I shrug, forming plans to make this anything but boring, like boycotting the blinds on my windows, but…
Wait. Did he just say he’s working with me?
I make my brain rewind his creepy soliloquy, and… yes, he did.
Seriously?
Fuck you, Fate. You mean, he’s my colleague and off-limits?
Finally, I notice his baseball cap with the Forest Service emblem, how he’s turned it back around, making a dark shadow mask his handsome face.
“So, you’re a ranger?”
His chin jerks. “Seasonal. I start tomorrow and hope they bring me on full-time.”
“What’s your specialty?”
“Law enforcement. Search and rescue. Mainly swift water.”
“Huh.” I blink. “Me too.”
“Really?” He looks impressed.
“Yeah. So, why are you up here and not in park housing?”
He shrugs. “It’s full. What about you?”
I shrug too. “Got my reasons.”
Like I sleepwalk. I have since my mom died. I have the most vivid dreams of being ten again, of searching for her and not being able to find her until I wake up crying, realizing she’s gone.
I don’t need my coworkers seeing that side of me. No one does. It’s been a battle just earning their respect on the job.
Scanning this towering specimen, I don’t know yet if Mr. Slurpee will be a work daddy or a work dude. Translation: Daddies treat you like their daughter, like you’re a child; Dudes treat you like a party girl, like you’re a game.
Both of them are bullshit because I have a biology degree, years of job experience, a black belt, and my dad taught me how to be a better shot than any man, so I’m Ranger Allen. I’m a woman in a male-dominated field who knows better than to fuck with her colleagues. Literally.
Though scanning Mr. Slurpee—all inked, bursting with muscles, and tonguing his red straw—my lonely body is not pleased with my stance.
But my pride is in charge, telling him, “Well, welcome to the neighborhood and the job.”
“Thanks.”
He angles back, whistling, and the cutest golden furball jumps down from his truck, running to me.
“Hey there, cutie.” I squat, petting him. “You gonna be my new neighbor?”
He licks my face, I laugh, but his master barks, “Mutt! Let’s go.”
The dog turns, obeying, as I rise. “Your dog is sweet.”
“So are you,” he answers. “You just saved Mutt Damon and me from a bunch of boring stalking.” Throwing up his massive hand, he calls, “Night.”
And he does it again.
He turns, about to ghost me with my heart racing, but not this time. “What’s your name? I’ll need it for the restraining order.”
Over his burly shoulder, he glances back, his sexy smile rising, but my self-esteem won’t let me believe it’s for me.
Nope, too many years of being bullied made sure my ego doesn’t get too big for my britches. That was my bully’s joke: me and my curves in my britches.
“Loch,” he offers. “Loch Waring. And you’re?”
Still, with the way he turns, casting his sparkling eyes at me. With the way the light hits them, like sunset over a blue ocean, I can pretend his warm smile is for me.
“Alena Allen. Your new neighbor, fellow ranger, and if you’re not a total big dick, yeah, we can be friends.”
“No big dicks?” Dramatically, he shudders. “Should I just cut it off now?”
Did I just laugh? Yes.
Did I just ogle down at his big bulge? Yup.
Did I just flash back up? Wide-eyed and guilty with my cheeks on fire? Kill me now. Because he’s busting me with that smile again.
“If you insist”—he sighs—“but I’ll need a two-man saw to cut it off.”
“Is that who you’re into? Two men?” I cock a brow, totally seducing, totally sucking at it. “I’m cool with it.”
No, I’m not. I’m all hot and bothered by thoughts of Loch being into anyone.
Particularly me.
He smirks. “Glad you’re cool with it because it doesn’t matter, right? You’re boring to stalk. So, stalking two men…?” Theatrically, he taps his chin before laughing. “Nah, that’s way too much dick for me, but thanks though.”
He turns, calling over his shoulder, “Night, Alena.”
I admire his firm ass. Thick, tapered back. Strapping shoulders. His corded forearms, adorned with ink. His holstered gun and whatever else he’s hiding.
And I love the sudden way my heart is beating. How he left me smiling this time. How I won’t have a nightmare tonight. I’ll have a sweet, dirty dream…
Of him.
“Night, Dick.”
“What took you so long?”
“What?” Vale huffs back. “You texted thirty minutes ago.”
“But I texted nine-one-one eggplant.”
“And knowing your history with eggplants,” she quips, “I figured it was for a Parmesan recipe.”
My best friend gives me shit. And smiles. I love her. I call her every night.
“Well, this is a real eggplant. A really sweet, big one, living next door to me, and working with me, and,” I word vomit, “I’d swear he’s stalking me, but he’s making it too obvious, so he’s not.
Besides, he’s too hot to need to stalk. You should see his blue eyes.
And his huge package. He’s a mountain range of muscles.
I bet pussy purrs right up to him, and—”
“And he’s next door?” Vale interrupts, “I want pics! Now.”
“I’m not going on my porch to pop pics of him!” I mutter like he can hear me. “I’ll wait until it’s dark, and he turns on the lights.”