“Fuck! Shit!” I yelled, now kicking the canister. “Just my fucking luck!”
“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay,” the guy said, holding up a hand and coming closer, trying to calm me down. “I’m Trent. Looks like you’ve got plenty of food, right?”
“Brought enough for two,” I growled, crossing my arms and admittedly pouting a little.
His eyes darted to my chest, and I knew what he could see. I’d worn a tank top with a wide, deep V-cut that was both nice and cool… and revealing. His gaze drifted to the tattoo stretching across my chest, and I felt a little warm. Some guys didn’t like chicks with as many tats as I had. If he didn’t, he could go fuck himself.
But he didn’t seem to mind my ink. If anything, his eyes sparkled as he took me in, and my cheeks flushed. I wasn’t used to guys like this one giving me looks like his. After a moment he licked his lips, and smiled. “For two? You brought enough food for two?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, uncharacteristically twisting a bit of my hair around my finger.
What was it about this guy, besides the fact he and his friends were hotter than shit, that had me acting like some idiot teeny bopper?
“I was supposed to be up here with my best friend who knows how to do this nature shit. But she bagged on me, only letting me know when I was already here. Her boyfriend popped the question and they’re flying to Vegas to elope.”
“Ah,” he said, his lips twitching.
I nodded, looking around my site. “Yup. So here I am.”
“If you want, our site’s got a campfire ring. We can share with you. Can you cook over a fire?”
I grinned because he’d mentioned the one thing I was good at. Cooking.
“You give me food and a heat source, and by the end you’ll be on your knees begging for more.”
Wait, was I flirting with this guy?
I was in so much trouble.
“On my knees, huh?”
“I’m just sayin’,” I teased, holding my hands up as if in surrender. “Only thing I’m missing is some decent protein. My friend was supposed to bring that with her.”
He clapped his hands together. “That we can take care of. See my friend Roman over there? He can practically talk fish up out of the lake. But first, maybe I should make sure you like fish.”
He pointed over at his friends, one of whom was on the ground, a small hatchet in his hand, splitting lengths of firewood.
“I love fish,” I said.
“And if by chance we don’t catch any, which has never happened, we’ve got some supermarket stuff. Hotdogs, hamburgers, canned chili. Nothing exciting, but you won’t starve.”
“Cool,” I replied, feeling better by the minute. “By the way, I’m Fiona.”
“Fiona, huh?” Trent said, and I nodded. “Cool name. Why don’t you come over and say hi to my friends?”
* * *