Page 1 of Love Quest

1

WINTER

“There’s a naked man outside the hut next door,” I say to my best friend Lana on the phone.

“Is that why we’re whispering?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“And why is he naked? Are you in a naturist resort?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Okay, but when you say ‘naked man,’ are we talking elderly pal who forgot to put on his pants, or—”

“No,” I interrupt her. “We’re talking six foot five of prime beefcake, white butt cheeks gloriously resplendent in the morning sun.”

“Uh-uh, attagirl. So, what’s the stud doing in the nude? Besides providing a nice view, I mean.”

I raise my gaze upward from the tush region, which so far has monopolized my attention, and take in the whole scene. “He’s shouting profanities at a monkey perched on the roof of his hut.”

“Why?”

I squint my eyes against the sun’s glare. “The little bugger has stolen his phone. Bah, the dude should’ve known better.”

“Hey, I don’t think he volunteered the phone.”

“No, but the resort is right at the edge of the jungle, and there’s warning signs everywhere recommending that people keep their doors shut at all times and to beware of the monkeys. He must’ve forgotten to lock the door, and the little thief ran in while he was showering. Why else would he run outside naked—oh, crap!”

The man turns, and, for fear of being spotted, I squat behind my hut’s bamboo railing, dropping my phone.

“Sorry,” I say into the AirPods mic while retrieving the phone.

“What happened?” Lana asks.

“Dude went back inside; I had to dive for cover.”

“Oh, gosh. Did you get a full frontal?”

“No, I was too quick in dropping to my knees.”

“But why are you still hiding if Mr. White Cheeks is gone?”

“I don’t know. He may come back.”

“FaceTime me,” Lana says.

“Why?”

“If you lift your phone’s camera above the railing, I can tell you what’s happening.”

“You’re a perv,” I joke. “Isn’t seeing the Sexiest Man Alive naked any time you want enough for you?”

My best friend is in a relationship with Hollywood’s number one heartthrob—totally by accident. Fate brought them together when she needed him the most, and, while I don’t envy the circumstances of their epic meet-cute, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the teensiest bit jealous.

“Hey,” Lana protests. “My interest is purely anthropological.”

Out of curiosity, I do as she says, turning on the camera. Lana’s face appears on the screen. I wave, smile, then flip the phone around and raise it an inch above the railing.

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