Page 8 of A Protector For Phoebe (Love will OUT 2)

“It’s cold out,” Ryker growls. “You’re trembling. Get in the truck before I put you in the truck.”

I have no doubt he’d pick me up and shove me inside. “Fine.” I huff and walk around to get into his beast of a truck.

Once I’m seated with my seat belt on, he fiddles with the ventilators until they’re aimed at me and blowing hot air my way. When the hot air hits me, I realize I’m absolutely freezing. I put my hands practically on top of the ventilators to warm them.

“Why aren’t you wearing gloves?” Ryker demands.

I’ve had enough of men demanding answers from me, but I’ll let him slide since he saved me and all. “I can’t take pictures with gloves on.”

He shakes his head as he puts the truck in drive and pulls out of his parking spot. He’s parked a block over from the Brown’s house.

“What are you doing in this neighborhood?”

I’m not expecting an answer, after all, he’s ignored all my previous questions, but this time he does give me one. “I’m a bounty hunter. I followed one of my skips to the area.”

My eyes widen and I swivel in my seat to gawk at him. “You’re a bounty hunter? How cool. You must have some great stories.”

He grunts in response. I guess I won’t be hearing any stories about him taking down a naked, oiled up man then. I’m not making stuff up. Hailey’s fiancé actually arrested a naked man once, although Aiden didn’t mention whether the guy was all oiled up. My imagination supplied that little tidbit. What? Chris Hemsworth is not the only hot body worth watching. Turkish oil wrestling is a thing.

Ryker pulls up next to my vehicle and stops. I take a deep breath, grab hold of my courage, and ask, “Can I buy you a drink for saving my behind?”

Despite wanting to forget every single thing my mother ever taught me, the good manners she drilled into me are too far embedded in my personality to be forgotten. It’s an automatic reflex to want to find some way to properly thank him for saving me.

I expect him to say no. Instead, he grunts. “Sure. I’ll follow you.”

I bite my lip to stop my jaw from dropping open. He said yes! Butterflies explode in my stomach. Oh wait. I don’t want a man. And I certainly don’t want a man who causes butterflies to explode in my stomach. What have I gotten myself into?

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