That One Night: A Pucking Around Prequel Novella (25)

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down,” she replies, raising a dismissive hand.

Oh no she didn’t.

“Calm down?” I seethe. “I haven’t begun to be un-calm. You’re the one who said my bags weren’t even in the system two seconds ago—” I choke back the rest of the tirade desperate to burst out of me. It’s not worth it. I just want my bags and I want out of here. “Please,” I say again. “Just tell me—”

“Got it,” she murmurs, her eyes back on the screen. “Looks like two of the bags were misdirected during your connecting flight in Charlotte. We can have them rerouted here sometime tomorrow morning.”

I sigh with relief. “Thank god. What do you need from me?”

“Nothing,” she replies, sliding the bag receipts back across the counter at me. “We’ve got all your contact info. Someone will be in touch letting you know when the bags have arrived.”

I snatch up the receipts, stuffing them in the top of my open purse. “Thanks,” I mutter, only adding the ‘for nothing’ inside my own head.

“Welcome to Jacksonville,” she deadpans, already waving at the next person in line.

I fight with the strap of my purse, which is now wrapped in my backpack strap and hooked around my metal water bottle. At the same time, I reach down for the handle of my checked bag. It’s one of those boxy, black rectangles with a rusty zipper, lumpy down the front with all the odds and ends I’ve crammed inside. The thing weighs a ton! Whatever, it rolls. And now I’m on a roll.

I hurry away from the lost baggage desk, dragging my one lonely bag behind me. I don’t think it’s all in my head that the air feels lighter the further away I move from the desk where dreams go to die. I’ve got my purse strapped across my body, so my left hand can be free. I’m already tapping the call button on my phone. It rings and he picks up immediately.

“Hello?” His voice is deep. He sounds annoyed.

“Hi—” Shit—what was this guy’s name? “This is Rachel Price,” I say. “I’m so sorry! My bags are lost and then my phone was stuck on airplane mode—it was a whole thing. I’m coming out now!”

“I’m pulling around again,” he says. I can hear his music rocking in the background. “Blue jeep.” Then he hangs up.

I race over to the double doors marked with a big number 2 and rush outside. The Florida heat hits me like a slap to the face. It’s so steamy, like a big outdoor sauna. I’m use to the dry heat of a California summer, not this swamp. Thank goodness my hair is already up in a knot. I’ve got to get this hoodie off pronto.

A topless, dark blue jeep pulls to a stop at the crosswalk about ten yards away. A surfboard is strapped to the top rails, and a dog peeks his head out of the backseat. He’s adorable—black pointy ears and face, with a white snout like a border collie. His pink tongue lolls from his mouth.

Not waiting, I run towards the jeep, the wheels of my bag rattling against the cement. I lift my hand holding the phone, awkwardly waving the jeep down. The guy in the driver’s seat nods. He’s wearing aviators and a ball cap with the brim pulled low.

“Hi,” I say, breathless as I stop at the passenger side of the jeep. “I’m Rachel Price. I’m so sorry again! My phone wasn’t working, and two of my bags are missing, and I’ve been up for 36 hours, and I’m just a red-hot mess. But I’m here now, and I’m ready to go and—ohmygod, you are so cute—”

The guy in the front seat stiffens, his mouth opening a little in surprise, but I’m not actually paying attention to him right now.

As I spilled my guts, the dog in the backseat hopped between the seats, popping his face over the edge of the passenger door, panting in my face. He’s got gorgeous icy blue eyes, so bright and curious—and fine, I’m a huge sucker for animals, okay? I could never have one growing up with the way we always traveled, so now I become painfully awkward in social settings if there is a dog involved.

“Sy, back,” his owner commands, cranking the jeep into park.

The dog wiggles his whole body, his tail flapping in the guy’s face before he hops dutifully into the backseat.

“Need help with your bags?” my ride asks.

“Oh, no. I can get it,” I say, my eye going back to him.

Oh…shit.

Well, this should show you just how much I lose it around animals. Here I am fawning over a cute dog when his owner is even cuter. He slips his aviators off, tucking them into the top of his t-shirt, and I get the full affect of those dark eyes and cheekbones for days. He’s got a day or two of stubble along his jaw, and the sexiest bow pout to his lips.

“I—”

He raises a brow that all but disappears under the bill of his hat.

Girl, get yourself together.

I snap my mouth shut.

Shit, when did it open?

“I’m fine,” I repeat. “Let me just…” I don’t even bother finishing the sentence. I just duck my head in shame and move around the back of the jeep.

“Here, let me,” he calls out. “The door can get jammed sometimes.” That’s when he unfolds himself from the driver’s seat and—oh my sweet heavens. He’s a surfer dream boy. Sculpted perfection. I could see the shoulders from the jeep, but I wasn’t betting on the height too.