Page 21 of The Hotshot's Prize
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off gently.
“I’ll send a truck for you. One of the crew guys. Give me a five-minute head start to get into signal range, and I’ll have someone heading your way. They’ll meet you right here.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to do that,” he says.
I nod slowly, trying to keep my face neutral. “Right. Of course.”
He pauses, his eyes locking with mine. There’s a flicker of something there…but then his phone buzzes and he glances down to read the message, swearing softly at whatever he sees there.
“Be good, okay?”
And then…he turns around and leaves.
No number. No promise. No “I’ll call you.”
Just a quick look over his shoulder and then he’s jogging toward his truck, leaving a trail of boot prints behind him.
And I’m standing there like an idiot.
A lump builds in my throat as the dust settles.
What the hell just happened?
I mean, I know what happened. I’ve still got the aching soreness between my legs to prove it. But I thought it meant something. To both of us.
My chest starts to tighten, a familiar pressure crawling up the back of my throat.
He didn’t even ask for my number.
Maybe it was just sex. Maybe he always looks at girls like that. Maybe I read too much into every tender touch, every soft word, every moment that felt like it belonged in a dream.
God, I’m so stupid.
I drop onto a nearby rock and press my palms to my eyes, trying to breathe through the sudden wave of anxiety rising in my chest.
This is exactly why I don’t do this. Why I don’t let people in. Because when they leave—and they always leave—it hurts.
I thought it was different this time. I thought I was ready to open up. But maybe I was just…lonely.
I dig around in my bag for my phone, even though I already know what I’ll find. No signal.
Tessa’s probably panicking. She’s probably called every ranger station and rescue service in the state by now. I need to find her. I need to get back to reality, shake this off, and pretend none of this happened.
But I can’t. Not yet.
Because even now, all I see is Zack’s face. The way he looked at me when I touched him. The way his voice sounded when he whispered my name.
And worst of all, the way it felt when he held me, like I was safe. Like I belonged.
Snap out of it, Ella. One night together means nothing.
A truck rumbles up the gravel path, a dusty Forest Service rig with peeling paint and the faint smell of smoke even from where I stand. I square my shoulders and breathe in through my nose.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
The passenger window rolls down and a guy in a ball cap leans out. “You Ella?”
