It wasn’t even a little surprising when he kept quiet the rest of the way, me humming a Yuki song under my breath until I’d parked the car, and we both got out. There was a big truck with an even bigger trailer parked at the start of the UTV trail, and I waved at the customer I’d met who had told me all about his UTV business.
“Hi, Ora,” the man called out, already holding a clipboard with the papers he’d warned me would need to be signed.
“Hi, Andy,” I greeted him, shaking his hand when he extended it. Rhodes stopped right beside me, the side of his arm brushing mine. “This is Rhodes. Rhodes, this is Andy.”
It was Andy who extended his hand out first. “You’re the game warden in the area, aren’t you?”
My landlord nodded, giving him a solid shake. “I’ve worked with your partner before,” he told him, his tone still pretty pissy.
Andy made a funny face, I wasn’t sure what it might have meant before focusing back on me and saying, “Let’s get this paperwork done so you can get started, what do you say?”
“I say let’s do it,” I told him with a smile.
The arm at my side brushed it again, and I flashed Rhodes a smile too, earning a pinch of that mouth. But I didn’t miss the way his gaze went from my eyes to my mouth and back, and I didn’t imagine the soft sigh that he slowly let out before I turned back to the man renting out the UTV.
It didn’t take more than ten minutes to fill out all the consent forms and disclosures and for him to briefly explain how to use the UTV. I’d given him my credit card information over the phone, so the payment was already made. Andy paused to think for a second before pulling out two helmets from the back of his truck and throwing out a suggestion we wear sunglasses. Then he handed the keys over, and I finally looked back at Rhodes and asked, “Want to drive first?”
“You can go first,” he said in that grumpy voice.
He didn’t have to tell me twice. What he did do though was hand over one of the jackets he’d brought. I tugged it on, zipped it up, and then strapped my backpack down in the back before hopping into the driver’s seat. Rhodes got in too, his face still stony, and buckled himself in. It was then that he finally turned just a little and asked, seriously, “Do you know where you’re going?”
I started the UTV and smiled. “No, but we’ll figure it out.”
And then I hit the gas pedal and we were off.
*
What was maybe half an hour later, Rhodes slammed his hands down on the console in front of his seat and turned to look at me with the widest eyes—in shock? Alarm? Panic? All of the above maybe?
To give him credit, he wasn’t pale. His cheeks were pink under silver and brown facial hair, but he didn’t look scared. Honestly, his expression was closer to the rabid raccoon one than anything else.
I smiled at him. “Fun, huh?”
His mouth opened a little, but no words came out.
I’d had fun at least. The UTV had incredible suspension, so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have a bruised tailbone or anything—been there, done that before, and it was not fun—but even if I did end up with one, it would have been totally worth it. That had been awesome.
At one point, Rhodes’s hands had been formed into tight fists on his lap… when he hadn’t been gripping the closest rails at my super sharp turns.
And when I hit the gas and accelerated fast.
And when I didn’t tap the brakes and kept on going at the same speed I’d been at.
“What… the… fuck… was… that?” he asked slowly, every word coming out his mouth about two seconds apart from the previous one.
I unbuckled the seat belt and turned off the vehicle, deciding a water break would be pretty great about now. The windshield had kept a lot of dust from coming in, but just enough had—more than likely while I’d been laughing—to dry my mouth and throat out.
“Having fun?” I answered him. “Want some water?”
Rhodes shook his head slowly, his eyes still wide, fingers still gripping the console. “I do want some water, but first I want to know, what in the hell was that?”
“Did I scare you?” I asked him, feeling concerned all of a sudden. “I asked if you were okay a few times, but you didn’t say anything, and I told you to trust me right after we took off. I’m sorry if I worried you.”
“You just drove like a… like a…”
“Rally car driver?” I suggested.
I’m pretty sure the forty-two-year-old gave me the stink eye. “Yes. I thought you were going to drive, five, maybe ten miles an hour, and I saw… I saw the speedometer,” he accused.