Page 32 of Slay Ride

“Was that too hot?”

I nod. “Yeah, but only on the fingertips.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “You’ve done some damage, but you’ll heal fine with rest. Get back on the couch. I’ll open the fucking bottle.”

I wish this felt more like a win. Instead, I shuffle back to the couch feeling...strange. Even as I settle in and Bennett shoves the open bottle into my hands, I still can’t process what just happened. He was so kind. And gentle. He heard my whimper, and he rushed to find the snake that bit me.

He wanted to protect me.

If Maverick has golden retriever energy, then Bennett is a purebred German shepherd.

Careful to keep my fingertips away from anything and everything, I tip the bottle against my lips and take a small swig. Since I don’t often drink, I can’t place the type of liquor, but it burns like fire on the way down.

“Is there any more broth?” I rasp.

“No, but I have some warm water.”

I pop a thumbs-up over the side of the couch and dare to take another swig from the bottle of doom. Fire races through my insides. As does all that broth I had earlier. Jesus, when did my bladder start taking percussion lessons?

“Hey, Benny Bear? I gotta piss.”

He chuckles to himself before he says, “Sucks to be you,kitten. The outhouse is about twenty feet away from the cabin, and you ain’t making that walk in your prissy panties.”

“An outhouse? Ugh.” I take another swig for strength. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Lay down some of those newspapers in the corner and let her rip.”

“I’m not a fucking puppy, asshole. I need an appropriate place to go.”

Bennett places his hands on the counter and looks at the ceiling. His lips are moving. Is he...counting?

“Just worry about the food. I’ll figure this out.” I stand and look around, and a cramp seizes my bladder.

I yank my clothes from the hearth and begin putting them on as quickly as I can. Each time my fingertips hit an extra-warm spot, I’m forced to power through an intense pain. But no matter what, I will not piss on the floor like a dog. Nope. No way.

Peering through the tiny window in the door, I can just make out the outhouse in the moonlight. I turn toward Bennett. “I’ll be right back!” I yell in my scratchy voice as I rush through the back door and head into the darkness.

Chapter Thirteen

Bennett

Eleven minutes. That’s how long she’s been gone. I know, because I set a timer on my watch as soon as the door closed behind her. I told myself I’d give her fifteen minutes, but I’m already dressed. I might as well make sure she’s okay while the clothes are still warm.

I take the food off the stove. Despite my best attempts, I can’t get the pot of beans any warmer than cold. Cold is better than freezing, though. If Cat wants to complain, she can give it a fucking shot.

After pulling my gloves from the hearth, I slide my fingers into the slots and revel in the warmth. That will soon pass. The cold has a way of sucking every degree of warmth from anything it touches, and in Alaska, it touches whatever it wants.

Headlamps wait in the pantry, so I fetch one before I head out the door. If Cat hadn’t rushed outside on legs made of lightning, I’d have given her one.

I stop walking toward the outhouse. What the fuck am I doing? This sudden protective streak needs to stop. First I gorunning at the first sign of her discomfort, and now I’m trudging through the snow...for what? To make sure she didn’t get her ass stuck to the toilet seat? To help heragain?

And yet I’m walking forward once more, heading straight for that outhouse with the hope that she’ll just tell me to fuck off. That she’s okay and I’m a dirty pervert for trying to catch a peek of her with her pants down.

That’s not what I hear from behind the outhouse door, though. There are no words, just muffled thuds and thumps over the sounds of crunching snow beneath my feet.

“Cat?”

“Bennett! The door is stuck!”

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