Page 1 of Must Love Alligators

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“Get it!”

“I’mtryingto get it.What do you think I’m doing?”

“It’s anotter.Just grab it!”

“Yeah, it’s anotter!They wiggle!”

Chase Dawson rolled over and blinked at the ceiling.He’d been awakened by alarm clocks, phone calls, sirens.Even roaming female hands.But never by an otter.Or, more specifically, by two big, loud Cajuns yelling at each other about an otter.

Yeah, he knew those voices.Josh and Owen Landry were banging around outside the house Chase was staying in.Sounded like they were in the backyard.Right under his window.

It was Louisiana, not Virginia, and even though it was December, he had these bedroom windows wide open.He couldn’t do that in D.C.He’d freeze his nuts off.But down here, at least for this Yankee, the crisp fifty-degree weather overnight was bliss.

“Son of a bitch!They also bite!”

Chase sighed.Being awakened in that cool morning air by the two guys who were, at least in part, responsible for his hangover, however, was not bliss.Chase pulled a pillow over his head and squeezed his eyes shut.Apparently, they’d found the otter.Now they just needed to grab it and get the hell out of here.Then he could go back to sleep for a couple of hours before he headed to Ellie’s bar for some good old cheesy grits to soak up the poison they called bayou whiskey.It was really just homemade moonshine.And it was evil.

But of course he hadn’t been able to resist their taunts that he’d been “up north” for so long that he’d forgotten how to hang with the bayou boys.A jar and a half of moonshine later and Chase regretted everything.Including the fried alligator and boudin balls he’d consumed for the first time in four months.He’d eaten them like he was a starving man.

‘Round about two a.m.he’d sworn to never eat a fried ball of anything ever again.

“Dammit, you scared him!We’ll never find him now!”

Chase groaned.

“Tori is going to freak out,” Josh, Tori’s fiancé, said.

“You can handle Tori,” Owen said.“Baileyis the one we should be worried about.”

Chase sat straight up in bed.Then realized what he’d done.Damn.His head pounded and his stomach roiled with the motion, but that wasn’t the worst part.

He’dreacted.At themention—and not even a mention directed at him—of her name.Just her name.Just her first name.

But here he was, now wide awake, sitting up straight, heart pounding.

Son of a bitch.

Bailey Wilcox.

The last woman on earth he should be reacting to.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a more awkward interaction with a female in his life.And that included the great-aunt of the girl he’d gone home with in college.The girl who had left for class the next morning without waking him up—or warning him that she lived with her great-aunt, who only spoke German, and swung a baseball bat like a major leaguer.He was still thankful for exceptionally good reflexes and that, even half-asleep, he could outrun a riled up sixty-something-year-old.

August…

“If you needany help studying for ananatomyexam, I’d be happy to help.”

Chase looked down at the gorgeous blonde in front of him.Fuck yeah.He’d love to go over her dips and curves.Carefully.With particular focus on how auditory stimulation—aka, dirty talk—affected her heart rate and skin temperature.

At least thatshould have beenwhat he was thinking.Her beautiful anatomy was showcased in a tight tank top that left her stomach bare and short shorts that put her long, smooth legs on display.She was not only beautiful, she was clearly into the idea of a weekend fling with the Yankee visiting from D.C.

But no.All he could focus on was why Bailey Wilcox was still wearing the dark green polo shirt that had Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries embroidered on the left side?Her khaki pants that were at least a size too big on her.She also still wore the brown work boots she wore to tromp around studying fish and frogs and whatever else she did all day with her job.

She hadn’t even wanted to change hershoesbefore going out?

She didn’t seem to really beoutthough.She was sitting at the end of the bar, alone—except for the two guys who’d tried to talk to her before she’d waved off their offers to buy her a drink—cradling a mug of beer in one hand while she bent over a small stack of papers.She had a plastic basket of something on her left side and a yellow highlighter in her right hand.She alternated taking a bite, then a drink, then running the highlighter over something on the page she was reading.Bite, drink, highlight.Over and over.She didn’t look up.She didn’t even make eye contact with the bartender.She seemed totally lost in her own little world.

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