“And now that you do?”
“Are you going to drill me about the bear situation?” I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets.
She checks the watch on her wrist. “Nope. I’m off the clock.”
“Then I guess I’m not mad anymore.”
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“You know,” she says, running a hand through her hair. I bet it’s as soft as it looks. My hands fist in my pockets. “You never let me tell you why I was asking questions.”
She’s right. I didn’t. The second I found out she was a reporter, I suspected the worst. “Okay, Amanda, Ms. Seattle Sentinel, why are you asking questions about bear attacks around Sitka?”
“Hey, I like that nickname,” she says, her face brightening with a smile that makes my knees a little weak. Why am I so attracted to this woman? “Want to get a drink while I tell you what I’m up to?”
This is it, I guess: the moment of truth.
We’ve met.
We’ve said hello and shaken hands and exchanged pleasantries.
If I’m not interested in her, it’s time for me to say, “no thanks,” wish her well and head home. But damn it all to hell, I am interested. She’s interesting, I realize, which is pretty awesome, because it’s in addition to her being the most effortlessly sexy woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Trying to get me drunk so I’ll spill the beans?” I tease.
“Is that likely to happen?” she asks with a soft chuckle. “If so, drinks are on me.”
“No, ma’am,” I say, “it’s not.”
“Then drinks are on you, I guess.”
She turns and heads to the bar.
And me? I’m helpless to do anything else but follow her.
6
Amanda
If watching my sweet, handsome savior speed away yesterday had filled me with something akin to regret, meeting him again this evening feels like a lovely twist of fate.
I didn’t get a chance to properly thank him for the ride, and it had gnawed it me last night to feel that I’d betrayed his trust, that I’d repaid his kindness with deceit. I’m grateful for a chance to meet him again, and for us to get to know one another a little better this time around.
Oh. And another thing…
Without the beard? With those dimples on full display? Oh, my ovaries, he is smoking hot, and I’m suddenly imagining wicked scenarios, most of which involve him and me, no clothes and hours of time alone.
Damn, but it’s been months since I had sex, and I want some. With him. The sooner the better.
We sit down at a quiet table in the bar area and I consider what to order. When he asks for a scotch on the rocks, I say I’d like the same.
“Scotch, huh?”
“Not always.”
“Why tonight?”
“Why not?”