Naked Love(36)

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

“There are at least four species of venomous snakes in the Ozarks. They’re most active midmorning and late afternoon. Maybe that’s when you should take your hikes while Swarley and I stay in the truck. Please leave the keys, in case you don’t make it back. Do you have family I can contact when you die?”

Jake responds with a twisted face. I return a toothy smile.

My gaze shifts to the gravel road that goes to our campsite. I inspect my nails. They are a disaster. I am a disaster. This torture needs to stop.

*

Jake

There are good Samaritans and there are saints.

I am a saint.

The god of patience. The greatest man who ever lived.

A couple weeks ago I would have settled for the simple hard-working, nice-guy label. A couple weeks ago Avery Montgomery, Diva Bitch, wasn’t on my radar. Hell, she wasn’t even in the same state.

“I think I’m getting jungle rot.” She slips off her Barbie shoes and rubs her toes.

“Jungle rot?” I shoot her a quick glance, getting out of the truck and taking a deep inhale of mountain air as Swarley jumps out behind me.

Diva Bitch hasn’t taken a single deep breath over the course of our journey. However, she hasn’t missed one opportunity to whine about the scuff marks on her toe-mangling shoes or the damage to her hair from the hard water at the campgrounds and the wind.

“Haven’t you watched G.I. Jane?” She frowns at my lack of engagement while opening her door.

I chuckle, fighting to keep my sense of humor. If I lose it—she’s a dead diva bitch. I’ve been out of the ring for a few years, but I’m certain I could end the misery—my misery—with one quick move.

“Jake …” She whines again. It’s too much to handle.

“It’s a fucking blister, you materialistic, chronically pessimistic, vain, grouchy, dog-hating, bit—” Okay, I may have already lost my sense of humor. My best guesstimate … it scattered in the wind a few miles back when Avery threw her tantrum over me rolling down the windows, adding even more irreparable damage to her hair.

“Bitch? Were you about to call me a bitch?”

She’s not stupid. I get it. Flaunting her looks instead of her intelligence has probably suited her needs over the years. Until now …

Her mantra of all-men-arelying-cheating-monkey-spanking dick cheese will not win her points in the male community, even if she is a walking wet dream. I can’t even acknowledge her word choice. Dick cannot be an adjective to cheese. Nope. No fucking way.

“Bitter. I was going to say bitter woman.” Bitch. Total bitch.

“Typical. Men love to break women down, use them for dick warmers, and cry bitch when we decide to stand up for ourselves.”

I hold the flap open for her to get her bitchy ass in the tent. The quicker she goes to sleep, the quicker I can have some peace and quiet.

“Tomorrow we get a hotel.” She huffs.

“The only luxury tomorrow may bestow upon you is me not killing you. My trip. My truck. My choice where we stay. I make this trip every year. And every year I stay at campsites along the way.”

“It’s been a week and we’re not even halfway to L.A.! My sister is probably home and wanting her dog back, but I wouldn’t know because my phone is dead half the time and we don’t have a signal the other half.”

I grit my teeth, fisting my hands to keep them from encircling her neck. “I said I take my time getting to the West Coast. You said ‘I’m in no hurry.’ You said ‘I don’t want to be an inconvenience. Just pretend I’m not here.’”

Avery grimaces while sliding her jungle rot feet back into her high heels. She pushes out her chest and tips her chin up. I bite back my grin as she hobbles like a broken princess to the tent.

“Come, Swarley,” she says.

The elderly Weimaraner lumbers to all fours from his spot in the cool grass. I bet he’d rather sleep right there than share space with Avery. I’m sure he’s tired of hearing her drone on about how he ruined her life.

I lock up the truck and enter the campground gates of Hell.

“Out!” Avery holds her wadded shirt up to her chest. “You’re supposed to ask if it’s okay to come in here.”

I shrug, zipping the tent flaps behind me. “I’m taking your advice … pretending you’re not here.”

“But I AM here.”

I shoot her a barely detectable smile while moving to the center of the tent, the only part where I can stand straight. It’s also where my hitchhiking leach happens to be. Her blue eyes widen as she stiffens a little more.

“Swarley, did you hear something?” I shrug off my shirt.

Avery’s lips part.

I shrug. “Me neither.” As if she’s not gasping just inches from me, I unfasten my cargo shorts and let them fall to my feet. I didn’t think her eyes could get any wider. I was wrong.

“I’ve seen it and … I-I’m not impressed. Also, I don’t like tattoos. Or … or bulky muscles.” She shakes her head, nose wrinkled. “Your hair is too short … and blond. I like men with dark hair. And your eyes are the wrong shade of blue. And your …”

Keeping my head bowed, I toe off my shoes, hiding my amusement behind twisted lips. “My what? My cock is too big?” I glance up as the horror intensifies, reddening her cheeks.