Page 39 of Things I Read About
“Probably,” I say, without really thinking, which is a bad sign. I’m so comfortable with him now, I’m forgetting who and what I’m supposed to be this week. Risk taker. Flirt. Go getter. With a hint of Femme Fatale.
“All right.” I look up at him when he says it, surprised. He grins again, just barely. “You look hot when you’re pissed.”
I blush, which was probably his goal. I look away, channeling that Femme. “That’s not going to work.”
He lets out a small half-laugh. “Worth a try.”
We make our way out front, and a snowmobile pulls up as if it was valet parked. It seems just like the motorcycle, only dirtier, older, smaller, and even less safe. I focus on breathing normally and not looking terrified.
Nate hands me a helmet, places me on the seat and sits down in front of me. He doesn’t have to remind me to hold on tight. Or to lean in close. Though the latter does send my brain on a bit of a serotonin journey, because of his scent. That woodsy smoky smell that raises my internal body temperature by multiple degrees.
We push off into the snow, which feels way different than his bike on the streets, but still exposed. Jerky, bumpy. Windy, cold, loud. At least I get to feel him and hug him, I guess, but even that’s frustrating. When is he going to hug me? Touch me?
“Are your eyes open?” he calls back to me, slowing the crazy sled down.
“Yeah.”They are now.
I gasp. It’s beautiful, like we’ve gone to a secret world, or back in time. There is no one around, just snow and trees. The sun reflects in the tiny crystals, coating everything, like glitter.
We weave around the mountain for a long time. Nate seems to know all the perfect lookout points, just like last night. He’ll take a turn and suddenly the trees clear and all of Utah is spread out before us. We go by a river, some cliffs, it’s magical.
Then he takes a few more turns and, out of nowhere, we’re in a mountain town. It’s quaint and rustic, just a few weathered buildings, including a diner. Nate parks us out front.
He turns and pulls off his helmet as the engine cycles down. “You hungry?”
“Sure.”
He helps me climb off. As we walk toward the door, he holds up my left side, almost carrying me, yet again.
The inside is as worn and cozy as the town outside the foggy windows. We slide into a booth and listen to the hostess rattle off some specials.
“How do you find these places?” I ask once the hostess walks away.
“Eh, I know the area.”
The server comes by and drops off our waters. Nate orders a bacon cheeseburger and insists I get one, too. A rare glimpse of genuine excitement from him, about beef. I’m not a burger person, but I don’t want to disappoint him. Plus, there will be fries. I lean forward to talk to him. “You come here that often?”
“Yeah.”
He’s not looking at me. Is he lying? “For work?”
“Yup.”
“You said your clients have NDAs, are they famous people?”Like my family?
“Some,” he takes a sip of water and I stare at his mouth again. “Mostly wealthy moguls, dignitaries. Not necessarily famous.”
“And what do you do for them?”
He grimaces.
“Okay, well is it fun? Do you enjoy it?” His grimace remains and I let out a giggle. “So you travel all the time doing something you don’t really enjoy. Isn’t that lonely?”
He barely lifts one hand. “I mean, I’m never alone.”
“Hm.” I watch him, and he watches me, too. “Where are you headed next?”
“San Francisco.”
