Page 33 of Burn the Wild

The text readsFord “Flamethrower” Montgomery. He’s wound up in a typicalpitching stance, a resolute expression on his face. Phoenix Renegades is emblazoned across his jersey in bright colors of royal blue and orange, and his baseball cap has a pair of fiery wings.

Damn. The audacity of that uniform. Tantalizingly tight and accentuating all the right angles.

Against the better judgment of my brain cells, my mind rewinds to last night—Ford shoving food into my hands before abruptly bolting to get away from me. And the way he looked in those gray sweatpants… My stomach flip-flops.

No. It doesn’t matter what he did.

Sworn enemies until the day we die.

Movement across the floor catches my eye.

I smile. The black cat from last night is on the hunt. Mouse has her nose pressed close to the cement floor as she stealthily stalks her prey. I follow her deeper into the garage, where she climbs a stack of tires and curls up inside, sunbathing in the light streaming from an open window.

I run a hand over her glossy black fur, and a purr vibrates from her slender frame. “Pretty kitty,” I croon. I’m mid-pet when the squeak of wheels hits my eardrums.

Ford slides out from beneath the truck on some type of bench with wheels on it. It takes a full ten seconds for me to realize he’s been there the entire time.

He sits up slowly, peeling his long, lanky body off the bench. He’s shirtless, in nothing but a pair of greasy blue jeans. His lionlike mane of dark gold hair curls around the sides of his baseball cap.

When he sees me, his eyes dart to my hair before settling on my face. His frown deepens to a scowl.

I eye the ridges in his abs, the streaks of grease across his chest. Heat creeps into my stomach and takes up residence. It’s only intensified when he stands and prowls toward me. A solid wall of muscle. Of man.

I back up, but I slam into the workbench. A wrench drops from the backboard, mocking me.

“Goin’ somewhere?” he asks.

His languid drawl sweeps over me, and I force my gaze to his.

A mistake. The deep amber color hitches my breath.Beautiful.

Shaking my head to chase away my traitorous thoughts, I stand tall. “Yes.” I sniff. “I’ll take my car. To go, please.”

“You mean my little brother’s car?” He looks amused, lazily rolling a candy around in his mouth. I’m hit with the scent of cinnamon as he says, “It’s not ready yet.” His lip curls. “Had to order the part. Could be awhile.”

I flap a hand. “Look, I know you tell time by the passing of the seasons, Country Boy, but how long is a while?”

He gives his cat a scratch. “One to two weeks.”

“Great,” I mutter.

Ford saying it out loud makes my situation seem so hopeless. I am stuck out here in bumfuck Montana without a car. Without money.

I think of that little girl busking on street corners, singing in dive bars with my parents. We made it work. We survived. I can do that too. I’ll make my own money again. That way, Gavin has nothing to offer me.

“I need money,” I say.

He shrugs a broad shoulder, cleaning his stained hands on a rag. “Can’t help you there.”

“Listen, Ford.” I step up to him, conjuring my flirtiest smile. “I can work for it.”

“Christ.” He draws back, face creased in shock.

On instinct, I slam a hand against his rock-hard chest. Heat shoots through my fingers. Ford stiffens, his eyes never once leaving my face.

“Not like that, pervert.” Needing a better place for my hand, I prop it on my hip. My heart thuds at the loss of contact. “Look, you have a Help Wanted sign in The Corner Store. I can clean bathrooms or pour coffee. Anything. I just really need to make some money.”

I’m too desperate to be angry. To do anything other than beg.

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