Page 29 of Pretty Wild

Her chocolate eyes brighten. “A boat? You have a boat?”

“Sure do, Princess.”

“Can I go?” she asks eagerly.

Her question stumps me, because for the life of me, I just can’t see Ryan on a boat. “Really?”

“Yes, I love boats.” She practically vibrating from excitement.

“Uhh,” I reply, lifting my own ball cap and running a single hand through my hair. “I guess.”

“Yay!” She claps. “I’ll run and get ready,” she insists, turning and practically sprinting back the way she came.

Buddy jumps, ready to follow, but I stop him. “No, Buddy, let her go. We need to make sure we’re set.”

Hesitantly, he follows me back to the house, but I don’t miss the way he checks over his shoulder for her either. My dog has it bad for the woman.

Take a number, pal.

I go inside, trying to decide if I want to change out of jeans and into a pair of shorts. I rarely wear them, but if I’m going to unwind on the boat, I admit a pair of shorts and athletic shoes are a lot more relaxing, but it takes a lot of heat for me to step out of my comfort zone and May isn’t it yet, so I’ll stick to my boots and jeans for today.

I do change my shirt, however. I don’t know why, but I grab a fresh T-shirt and run my deodorant through my pits once more. I even throw a cleaner hat on my head, changing from the stained-up, dirty one I had on.

I refuse to dissect why.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” I tell Buddy, who’s waiting for me at the front door. We step outside, and I add, “Go use the potty.”

Never in my thirty-seven years did I think I would be a man who’d regularly use the termpotty, but here we are.

Buddy trots off the porch and does his business, meeting me at the cab of Grandpa’s truck. The moment I open the door, he jumps inside and gets settled in the passenger seat. Climbing in, I shut the door and fire up the engine, reveling in the sound she makes when she starts to purr.

“God, I love this truck.”

I drive from the garage and back to the hitch of the boat trailer. Grandpa made sure he could tow a small trailer with this baby, especially his Jon boat. Once the truck is in position, I climb out and hitch the trailer to the truck. Just as I’m raising the jack, I hear someone approach.

“Wait, we’re taking that?”

I glance at Ryan and smile. “What were you expecting, a yacht?”

She bristles and hides her eyes. Yep, that’s exactly what she was expecting.

“That’s not a boat. It’s a postage stamp,” she states, crossing her arms over her chest.

I stand up and glance at the fifteen-foot, flat-bottom Jon boat that has served its purpose since I’ve owned it. It’s not huge, but I don’t need big. I’m a simple man. As long as it runs well and holds me, my fish, and my cooler, that’s all I’ve ever needed.

Lifting my shoulders, I say, “Well, I guess you don’t have to go then.”

She steps forward, glancing inside the boat. “Where do I sit?”

Reaching in, I slap my hand down on the aluminum seat. “Right here.”

Ryan sighs and shifts her beach bag from one shoulder to the next. When she meets my gaze, she asks, “Is it safe?”

“Princess, I’d never take you out on something that I wasn’t one-hundred-percent confident in its ability to not only float but also make it back to shore. This ol’ girl is solid,” I insist, tapping my hand on her bow.

She inhales deeply and slowly lets it out, her eyes raking over the boat. “Okay, let’s do it.”

She walks around to the passenger side and opens the door, instantly greeted by Buddy. “Look at you,” she sings, scratching his ear before setting her bag on the floorboard and climbing into the cab.

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