Page 4 of Wild Eyes
“What?” The question is breathless and hushed, but the expression on her face is pure disbelief.
“I know. Can you believe that?”
She stares at me like she’s wondering if I’m for real right now. “Hand-to-hand combat?”
I nod down at her before peeking up over the top of her head.
No bear.
I push up onto my knees and twist to look back over my shoulder.
No bear.
I flop back onto my haunches and run my palms over my close-cut hair as I take in a full three-sixty view of our spot on the backroad.
No bear.
Just bluebird skies and warm yellow sunshine.
It’s with a ragged sigh that I finally glance back down…to see I’m straddling Skylar Stone.
My eyes catch on the graceful line of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts pressed high over the neckline of her shirt. I close my eyes and shake my head, but no—she’s still there. Under me.
With one hand, she wipes at her eyes but makes no move to escape me. She lies flopped on the road looking beautiful, and stunned, and completely exhausted. Her teeth strum at her bottom lip as though she’s thinking hard. And she doesn’t let go of my shirt. Her arm is straight, and her knuckles are still white as she grips the cotton.
Finally, a giddy laugh shakes her shoulders. “When they say six percent, though…it’s probably more.”
I sigh, and then I laugh with her. “Yeah, you gotta rule out children and the elderly.”
Her pointer finger taps at my thigh. “And women.”
“What?”
She rolls her eyes at me now. “Only a man would think he can fight a grizzly bear with his bare hands.”
“Rich coming from the woman who just tried to take her photo with one.”
“It was a video!”
I push to stand on wobbly legs and reach a hand down to pull her up. With a grin, I say, “Right. For your socials. That makes itsomuch better.”
Her eyes slice to my hand, but all traces of earlier humor have been erased. Tensions are already running high, and now she’s annoyed.
“Don’t judge me. You don’t even know what I was doing.”
“Okay, what were you doing?”
Her chin lifts. “Creating relatable content.”
“To be decided. I’ll have to search up the percentage of Americans who have been charged by a grizzly in their lifetime.”
She pauses for a beat, as though shocked by my offhanded joke, then she grits out, “You don’t know me well enough to mock me.” A frustrated growl rumbles in her throat as she claps her palm against mine aggressively.
With one firm tug, I haul her up. She’s lighter than I expected, though, and I pull too hard, which throws her off balance.
Her free hand lands on my chest to steady herself, the tips of her fingers awfully close to that hole in my shirt. She stares for a beat and pulls away abruptly, like she’s been burned.
I may not know her, but I know her face has been splashed all over the headlines lately for freezing up in front of the camera.
