Miles’s raucous laughter echoes off the fucking mountains as he leans out to scoop my catch into the net. “Babe, you did it! You caught something!”
He pulls my catch up onto the rock, and he’s laughing so hard, he can’t speak. He keeps starting a sentence and then stopping, his body buckling over with hysterics.
I’m not laughing.
My tone is flat when I say exactly what he’s trying to say. “I caught a fucking bicycle tire.”
He’s roaring now, dropping down on his haunches and covering his eyes with his hands.
I’m glad he’s having such a great time because I am pissed. Really frickin’ pissed. “A tire? What the hell, Colorado? Way to keep it classy!” I shout to no one in particular. “God, I thought this was some great outdoors experience, and I seriously just reeled in a lousy old tire. My hands hurt!”
My last comment sets Miles off again, and I start to worry about him getting enough oxygen during his fit down there. Finally, he swipes tears away from his eyes. “Babe, how can you not see the irony of this moment? It’s a tire! You’re a smut writer who writes in a Tire Depot. This is fucking kismet.”
Well, when he puts it like that, I can’t help but see a little silver lining. I set my pole on the ground and move down the boulder to inspect my catch. I look up at Miles and ask, “Think I can mount this in my new office?”
He nods and smiles. “Fucking right, you can. I’ll help.”
“Are you ever going to tell me about this new book you’re writing that requires all this painstaking research?” I ask Mercedes as I scrape away the remnants of our burgers on the grate over the fire.
It’s dark out now, the night air full of the sounds of nature. Crickets chirping, owls hooting. The wind rustling the trees in the distance. Occasionally, you can hear the gentle waves lapping on the shore of the lake. And with the way the wind is blowing, I can’t even hear the other campers at their sites, so I get the illusion of complete and total privacy. All-in-all, a perfect day off work.
Mercedes and I went camping.
And fuck me, it was fun. She’s got a great attitude about pretty much everything. She even tried to bait her own hook at one point. She failed, but at least, she tried. We had some lunch, then went for a hike and worked up a sweat. Then we worked up another sweat back in the tent. We napped after that, and honestly, it was just one of those perfect summer days that you never want to end.
But looking at her in the lawn chair next to me, her red hair out of her braids, face glowing in the campfire light, cold beer in her hand, full moon above—I think the nighttime is shaping up pretty perfectly as well.
“It’s about a mechanic,” she answers finally.
“Your book is about a mechanic?” I ask, my eyes wide with total disbelief. “You’re fucking with me.”
She shakes her head. “Nope. The idea just sort of hit me.”
“When did it hit you exactly?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer while blatantly baiting her. She blushes, full-on blushes, and I feel a strong desire to pull her onto my lap just to feel the weight of her on top of me. “Tell me,” I urge.
She rolls her eyes. “I, um, was maybe ogling at you in the shop one day.” She covers her face with her hands and pulls her plaid shirt up over her cheeks to hide her mortification.
“Which day?”
She shrugs. “It was before you and I started…friends with benefitting. You looked so hot and sweaty, and suddenly, this character exploded in my head, and before I knew it, I had outlined a new story.” She pins me with nervous eyes.
“So it’s about me?” I ask, brows furrowed cautiously.
“No.” She scoffs. “It’s just about a mechanic. Get over yourself. Not everything in my life is about you, Miles.”
I chuckle at her eye roll but feel a sense of relief at her reply. “It’s going to be about a kinky mechanic. I like it.”
“Actually, it’s not going to be heavy erotica like my Bed ‘n Breakfast series.”
My brows lift. “No?”
She shrugs. “No. I mean, there’s still going to be sex, lots of sex, but it will be sweeter sex. Like, maybe I won’t write anal in this book.”
I mock gasp. “How will you handle that?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll probably still write it, but I’ll give it to my readers as bonus content or something.”
I chuckle at that idea. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t do something a little bit different.”
“Okay, enough about me,” she states, shaking her hair out. “Let’s play a game.”
“Like what?” I ask, looking around. “I didn’t bring any cards.”
She rolls her eyes and props her head on her hands. “Miles, we don’t need cards to play Truth or Dare.”
I sit back in my chair and take a drink of my beer. “Who goes first?”
“Me, of course. I’m the guest, and this is all still in the interest of research, so…Truth or Dare?”
I exhale heavily. “Truth.”
She jerks back, seemingly surprised by my selection. She taps her finger to her lips and says, “Okay, do you ever get horny in the garage at Tire Depot?”
Her question has me barking out a laugh. “What?”
She smiles a sly smile. “You know, are you ever working on a customer’s car and your hands get really dirty and you’re really digging into a repair, and you pop a boner?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I’m afraid not.”
She looks dejected.
“But classic car work, on the other hand…” My voice trails off as her eyes light up. With a chuckle, I add, “If it’s a classic car and I’m elbows deep in it, and I connect two pieces, and someone is behind the wheel, and I tell them to try to start it…and an old car that hasn’t run in fucking decades suddenly roars to life? Then hell yes, my dick totally gets hard.”
“Ha-ha! I knew it! Perverts attract perverts. My writing makes me horny way too much.”
I laugh at her and say, “Truth or Dare?”
“Dare,” she replies instantly.
I quirk a brow. “Oh, someone has secrets they want to keep in the dark. Interesting.”
Her face seems to flush, even in the firelight.
But I decide we’ve talked enough for one night. “Okay, I dare you to go skinny dipping in the lake.”
Her brows shoot up into her hairline. “The lake that birthed my blessed tire? No way! Who knows what the hell else is in that thing?”
I shake my head. “I knew you wouldn’t do it.”
“Oh, and you would,” she grumbles back.
“I’ve swum in that lake before. It’s not disgusting. One little bicycle tire doesn’t change my opinion on its cleanliness.”
She pouts. “But it’s probably going to be cold.”
I shrug. “It’s fine. I knew you wouldn’t do it. You’re all talk, no action.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep,” I reply, pinning my eyes to her.
“Need I remind you who’s been sneaking into Tire Depot for weeks on end now?”
I scoff. “You call that dangerous?”