Page 42 of The List
He takes a step closer, studying us both a little too intently for my comfort. “We’ve had a rash of poaching in this area recently,” he said. “Deer hunters. I don’t suppose either of you has a gun?”
Is it my imagination, or did his eyes just drop to the front of my jeans? I’m pretty sure I got my pants zipped, but my hard-on hasn’t fully subsided. I shift a little so Cassie is in front of me and clear my throat.
“No, sir,” I tell him. “No firearms of any kind.”
“Good. That’s good.” He looks around like he’s trying to figure out why two people would be up here in the middle of nowhere in February with their hair disheveled and the scent of sex in the air. I have no idea if what we’ve just done is illegal, but I’d rather not find out.
“We have a permit,” Cassie says.
My brain is still filled with sex, and I turn to look at Cassie with surprise. There’s a permit for outdoor sex?
“For native plant collection,” Cassie continues. “The permit’s in the truck.”
“You’re collecting plants in the middle of winter?” The ranger gives her a skeptical look. “In the snow?”
“It’s the perfect time.” Her voice is surprisingly breezy, or maybe it’s just a contrast to my own racing pulse. “Everything’s gone dormant this time of year, so it’s much easier to transplant.”
The Forest Service guy frowns, probably wondering why we don’t have any tools, but Cassie continues with her story. “We’re scouting for a few good specimens before we start digging,” she says. “Ceanothus velutinus, Arctostaphylos patula—that’s snowbrush and greenleaf manzanita.”
“Uh-huh.” The guy nods slowly, and I can’t tell if he’s buying it.
I pat the tree trunk next to us and try to look casual. “We were just admiring the Pinus—uh?—”
“Pinus contorta,” Cassie supplies, shooting me a look that suggests I should probably shut up. “Obviously, this one’s a little big.”
“Quite large,” says the Forest Service guy, folding his arms over his chest.
“Right,” Cassie says. “We’re not digging it up or anything. Just admiring the specimen.”
“Admiring the specimen.” He looks at us for a few more beats, and I could swear he’s smiling a little under that moustache. “So, that’s what the kids call it these days?”
I clear my throat. “Yes, sir.”
With a sharp little laugh, he turns on his heel and stalks back to his truck. “Just be careful out here,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you getting eaten by wild animals.”
I watch him go, stifling the urge to laugh. “Too late, officer,” I murmur as the truck door slams and Cassie dissolves into giggles.
Chapter 12
Cassie
Several days pass, and believe it or not, I don’t spend every waking hour thinking about the stupid-hot guy who’s been having sex with me.
After a long week of evaluating soil nutrient levels at a vineyard, I find myself at home in my PJs on Thursday night with a bowl of Cheetos in my lap and my computer on the coffee table in front of me. I’m sipping a glass of pinot noir from the aforementioned vineyard while compiling a report on sludge management and nonhazardous process wastes.
Sometimes I’m so glamorous I can’t stand myself.
I’ve just shoved a handful of Cheetos in my mouth when the phone rings. I glance down to see Simon’s name on the readout, and my stupid heart does a kicky little tap dance in my chest.
Reminding myself that I am a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to open her jars or hit her G-spot, I finish chewing my Cheetos and hit the button to accept the call.
“Hey, Simon.”
“Hey, sexy.”
I catch myself grinning, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the compliment or because I’m actually pretty un-sexy right now. My cupcake-patterned leggings have a hole in one knee, and I’m wearing a sweatshirt that says Soil scientists know all the dirt.
I hit save on my computer file and lean back against the couch with the phone cradled against my ear. “How did your work thingy go last night?”
