Page 30 of Pretty Wild

I double-check to make sure everything is connected and slide into the truck. “Might wanna roll down the window. No air-conditioning,” I tell her, putting the truck in first and slowly pulling away.

“This truck is…cool. I’ve never ridden in one this old. Actually, before Friday, I don’t think I’ve ever ridden in a truckat all. SUVs, yes, but never a pickup truck,” she says, running her hand over the cracked dash.

“It belonged to my grandpa,” As I drive to the dock used by the locals, I tell her the story about my grandpa purchasing it brand new in 1959, and how it was the only truck he kept until the day he passed. “He’s the one who taught me how to work on anything with a motor. I used to sit in his shop and hand him tools, soaking up anything and everything he shared with me.”

I glance over and catch her watching me. “That’s pretty cool.”

I nod in reply, keeping my eyes on the road and not her legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her gently stroking Buddy’s fur. His tongue is hanging out as he sits in the middle of the bench seat, enjoying the ride.

By the time we get to the smaller dock known to the locals, they’re both sitting up a little taller in the seat. I carefully back the trailer into the water and engage the parking brake on the truck. Glancing over, I can’t help but note the way the breeze gently blows the long hair pulled through the back of her hat. “Ready?”

She smiles. That one gesture reaches into my chest and squeezes my heart. Not to mention what it’s doing in the front of my pants. Whoever thought a grin could do so much to a simple guy like me?

“Let’s do it.”

10

MARCUS

Ican’t stop looking at her.

She’s so distracting, I’ve almost wrecked my boat. Twice.

Wearing nothing but a pair of little cutoff shorts and a tank top, Ryan has her feet up on the bow of the boat, her pink toenails for the world to see. Those ever-present long, toned, tan legs are on full display, and it’s doing a number on me.

Ryan gazes up at the sun, letting the warmth pass the bill of her hat and heat her face. “So, this is what you do to relax, huh?”

“One of the ways,” I confirm, trying to keep my eyes on the horizon and not on her legs.

Spinning around to face me, she places her feet on the bottom of the boat and reaches out to pet Buddy. “What are the other ways?”

I shrug, motoring along as we head for my favorite fishing spot. “Fishing, sitting out on the deck, walking through the woods, four-wheeling. That kinda stuff.”

Her nose scrunches up. “I haven’t done any of those things,” she says almost absently to herself.

“You’ve never walked in the woods or sat on a deck?”

“Well, not like you have. I’ve walked in the rain forest and other exotic places while on vacation, but nothing like Pine Village. And the decks I’ve sat on are attached to penthouses and yachts, not cabins.”

I nod, understanding what she’s saying. Her lifestyle and mine are totally different. She’s caviar and I’m hot dogs, champagne and cheap draft beer. That’s never bothered me before—not that it bothers me now—but the difference just feels so drastic.

Feeling her eyes on me, I meet her gaze and do everything I can to ignore the bolt of lightning that strikes my guts. It’s crazy how fast my heart starts to beat and how shallow my breathing becomes with just one glance.

“So, where are we going anyway?”

“My secret spot,” I tell her, making a left into a narrow inlet.

“Like…the spot where you take all your victims?” she asks, worrying her bottom lip as she glances around.

I snort. “Nope. Just a special place I go that isn’t inundated by visitors and boats. I catch lots of fish back here.”

She sits up straight on the aluminum bench. “Fishing? We’re going fishing?”

“Sure are,” I tell her, steering the boat up the waterway.

“Like…catching them?”

I can’t help but smile. Her Hollywood is showing. “Yep.”

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