Page 11 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

“Need a ride? I could put your bike in the back of the truck.”

Sully’s a good guy, and we’re friends, sort of. Three summers ago, he was my first, and while he was kind to me that night, he was clear it wasn’t the start of something. Despite telling myself I’d be fine, I was a broken mess when I woke up alone.

Every now and then, like tonight, I get the vibe that he’d like to make hooking up a habit.

Pass.

“I’m good.” I force a smile.

He nods. “All right.”

Like I need your permission.

After a goodnight wave to the group, I weave through the crowd to the back exit. I scan the street for Hayden’s black jeep before continuing to the bike rack, the rough gravel crunching under my feet. I could have borrowed Grandma’s station wagon, but driving at night makes me sleepy. And I try to reduce my carbon footprint whenever possible.

I lean down to my bike lock and spin the combination when someone calls out, “Calling it a night already?”

I turn to the porch, my guard up. But it’s the blond city slicker from the bar. He’s alone.

“Some of us have to get up early,” I say, then regret being snarky. I am definitely tired. And maybe a little annoyed at myself for checking him out earlier.

“What was that name you called us?” the guy asks.

“Cheechako?” I tug on my lock, but it doesn’t open. “It means tenderfoot.”

“That obvious, huh?” With a chuckle, he stuffs his hands into his pockets. That he’s not offended while also being friendly is, well…kind of cute. And refreshing.

I refocus my attention on my lock again. Right, left…

“Maybe you want to help us out?” he asks.

My lock doesn’t open, and I could cry. “No, actually.”

“Look, it’s been a while since D.J. and I had some fun. There’s so much to do here, but we don’t even know where to start. Take fly fishing, for example. We have no idea where to go, what gear to bring.”

“You need a guide.” I’ll try this stupid lock one last time. If I can’t get it open, I’ll walk to the bus stop and come back tomorrow with bolt cutters.

“Exactly,” the guy says. “Maybe you can help us?”

This guy seems harmless, so I do something I haven’t done in a long time. “How about you help me instead?”

“Well, sure,” the guy says, hurrying over. “What’s the combination?”

I rattle off the numbers and he starts spinning, the task taking his whole focus. Up close like this, he smells…expensive, almost exotic. Lemongrass and cedar. In Alaska, a girl is lucky if her date wears deodorant.

An engine’s low rumble from down the street makes my hackles jolt. I don’t have to look to know who is cruising this way.

“Hurry,” I hiss.

The guy shoots me a puzzled look, but must see the fear in my eyes because he stands, his face tensing.

Hayden’s black jeep rumbles down Harbor Street. Any minute now, he’s going to notice I’m standing here.

“Quick, laugh like I just made a great joke,” I say to the guy.

“Seriously?” he replies, blinking.

Hayden’s engine revs, making me jump. “Just…please, okay?”

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