Naked Love(32)

The letters J-O-C on a wide waistband come into view as I dangle them between us.

My nose wrinkles. I drop them like they’re on fire.

Jake, of course, grins. “The dirty ones are in the side pocket if that smell does it for you even more.”

I die—not like a peaceful passing, more like a slow, torturous death where the murderer insists on embarrassing his victim before inching the tip of a knife into his victim’s carotid artery.

“Nothing about you does it for me.”

His eyebrows slide up his forehead as his gaze dips to inspect my chest. “You sure about that?”

Mother trucker …

“I’m cold.”

“You have sweat along your brow.”

“It’s a cold sweat.”

“It’s like eighty degrees in here.”

“I have a sluggish thyroid.”

His grin grows a fraction as his gaze dips to my mouth again for a brief second. “You should sprinkle kelp on your food.”

“Where’s the key to the truck?”

“What do my underwear smell like?”

I squint at him, desperate for a really good comeback. I need one. He’s been one step ahead of me this entire trip. I NEED to get the upper hand, just once.

Vegan farts? No. That won’t give me the upper hand.

Asscrack cologne? No. That’s dumb.

Dick cheese? Maybe.

Putrid pubes? No. I’m not sure he has them. Maybe he’s shaven in that region. I direct my gaze to just below his abs. It’s too dark to say for sure, but I’m certain there’s a teasing of a happy trail, surely that thing doesn’t end in a barren convergence of skin, two low-hanging sacs, and a bobbing appendage.

Biting my lips together in contemplation, I glance back up at him. “Stop staring at my boobs.”

“Stop staring at my junk.”

“Oh my gosh!” I climb to my feet, finding the center of the tent where I can fully stand. “You are so full of yourself. I was not staring at your junk, I was just seeing if you had …”

He lies back, propping his head up on a bent arm. It does nice things to his abs.

Avery … you suck.

“If I had what? Junk?”

“Hair.” There. I just said it.

He runs his other hand through his thick head of hair. My nipples are screwed.

“I used to have a shaved head, but I’ve had hair for several years.”

My teeth work side to side. One chance. I just need one good chance to get the upper hand, but he snags it every time.

“But … that’s not the hair you were looking for. I’m guessing.”

“The key, Jake.”

He grins, scratching just below his navel at the start of his happy trail. “It goes all the way.”

“The key, now.”

“The sun’s not up. I’m not letting you start my truck. There are other campers nearby. You don’t need to make noise and fill the surrounding air with exhaust. Settle in with your dog and you can charge it in a few hours.”

I glance back at Swarley, now sleeping in my spot. “I need to pee. I’ll be back later.” I shove my feet into my flip-flops. “Or not at all if I can find a kind soul to take me to the nearest airport. My sister will pay you a lot of money for returning Swarley to L.A.”

Jake sits up, pulling on a tee and grabbing a flashlight. “Your sister can keep her money. If you find this kind soul, then I’m certain they will figure out a way to get your sister’s dog back to her.”

“Where are you going?” I ask as he stands close to me—too close.

“I’m taking you to the toilet up the hill.”

“I know how to get there.”

He moves past me and unzips the tent flap. “I’m sure you do.”

“Then why are you taking me?” I follow him out of the tent and chase his long strides.

“Because there could be a few strangers in this camping area that are not kind souls.”

I stumble on a rock and catch myself before landing on my face. “I took a self-defense class. I have skills.”

Jake stops, letting me make it out in front of him, strutting all of my confidence.

“Ahhh!!!” My scream muffles in his large hand as he covers my mouth with it and restrains my arms to my sides with his other arm snaked around my body. I wriggle and scream, but I go nowhere, and my screams are muted to nothing more than a soft pulsing hum.

“Show me your skills, Avery,” he whispers in my ear.

All of my attempts to twist free, headbutt him, elbow his ribs, basically anything, are thwarted by his solid body encasing me like a concrete tomb.

“What if a kind soul held you like this? What would you do? Let me tell you …”

Unexpected tears sting my eyes.

“You would shit your fancy pants, ruin your manicured nails trying to unsuccessfully claw at Mr. Kind Soul’s arm, then you would end up tied to something cold while he made you feel absolutely anything but sexy. You’d long for the days of dick cheese buying you expensive shit then using you for a good lay.”

Before I blink out a single tear, he releases me, takes my hand, and pulls me up the hill to the toilet.

“False confidence is dangerous to your health, your self-esteem, and your entire soul. You need to be something a helluva lot more than a compilation of expensive labels.” He lets go of my hand at the door to the shithole with four wood walls and no sink.