Page 14 of Roughing It

As Kirk unloads my bags—two, thank you very much—I position myself in front of the building and take advantage of the lighting. Angling my camera so the Peak Adventures sign is visible, while also granting myself a flattering angle, I snap a variety of shots. I thumb through the pics, deleting the obvious nopes until I narrow it down to the top two. Slap on a filter, add a caption, and voila, post done. The second I post, the number of likes jumps.

Seeing those hearts gives me my fix of serotonin. This is going to work. I’ll spend thirty days away from the drama of fake friends, creepy college boys, and my lonely apartment. When I return to Austin, it will be with scores of new followers and a clear head, ready to tackle what the future holds.

Stretching my neck and back, I ask, “So, where is this guy?”

Kirk gives me a slight frown. “He’s in the office. He texted me saying he’ll be out shortly to greet you, but I have to get back on the road, or I’ll miss my flight.”

My nose wrinkles. I thought he’d be here out front. It’s kind of rude, but oh well. Whatever.

“Yeah, you get going. Don’t leave Marcus waiting too long; you know how anxious he gets when you travel without him.”

A dreamy smile lights up Kirk’s face at the mention of his husband. I’m not jealous at all. Totally happy for them. I don’t wish someone missed me enough to worry when I travel.

Sure, Jan. Keep telling yourself that.

“You’ve got this, BB.” Kirk wraps me in a hug. “It’s going to be life-changing. Beyond ratings or followers, I hope this brings you whatever you’re really searching for.”

His words stay with me long after the car disappears into a speck in the distance. WhatamI searching for?

When the universe doesn’t answer me—that bitch—I sigh and spin, crashing nose-first into a solid wall of muscle. Two large hands reach out to steady me before dropping away. The warmth of their grip, even for that brief moment, sends tingles down my spine.

Righting myself, I say, “Thanks, sorry about that. I didn’t see you…” My words trail off as I catch sight of who I ran into.

Holy shit. My walking wall is gorgeous.

Drop your jaw, melt your panties, please have my babies gorgeous. His tousled dark brown hair is perfect for tugging. And no man this rugged should have such full, kissable lips. Mix that with his square jaw, almost hidden by his dark, trimmed beard and strong brow, and my ovaries are dancing a conga.

But the real kicker? In a startling beautiful contrast only the human face can hold, this brawny, burly, built by the outdoors man has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his straight nose and cheeks. Cute wouldn’t be the first, second, or tenth thing to spring to mind when describing a man like this, but damn if those freckles don’t scream the word. They give a boyish charm to what would otherwise be a brutally handsome face.

He’s delicious.

The sound of his throat clearing pulls me from my perusal. My cheeks burn as I meet his gaze, and what I see there knocks the air from my lungs. The pine trees surrounding us have nothing on the green of his eyes, but it’s the intelligence,curiosity, and—if I’m not mistaken—annoyance shining out of them that locks me in place.

The next thirty days will either be the best thing I’ve ever done or the worst mistake I’ve ever made.

Extending my hand, I introduce myself. “Blakely Bradshaw, but I’m sure you already know that. You must be Hudson Brooks?”

He doesn’t take my hand. Which… awkward. He studies me, starting at my roots and ending at my toes. I shift from foot to foot, uncharacteristically squirmy just from his presence.

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you.”

Ouch. That’ll leave a bruise on the ego.

Already chafing under his stare, I snap, “Do I pass inspection?” If I’m a teensy bit bitchy, I don’t think that can be held against me. He still hasn’t taken my damn hand.

A smirk—as if this sex god incarnate needs anything else to push him into thedo me nowcategory—tugs at his lips. “Load your bags. We’ve got an hour on the road and need to get there before full dark.”

“Load my bags? You aren’t going to help?” I glance around, hoping Kirk will miraculously reappear.

“Nope. You’re on my time and turf now, Princess.”

My mouth drops open at the nickname.

I’m set to give him a proper tongue-lashing, but he continues. “And rule one is you schlep your own shit. If you can’t load it, you can’t bring it.” He spins on his heel and climbs into the waiting Jeep.

Well, hell. Mistake takes the lead.

CHAPTER FIVE

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