Page 10 of The Silent Mountain Man

I'm also ninety-nine percent confident he's not a serial killer.

Which all adds up to: I'm most likely not going to get killed, and I could end up getting some good mountain dick. I smile to myself. I always liked math at school.

"You good?"

I jump. "Shit. You scared me. You done already?"

"Mhmm." Harrick walks over to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. "You hungry? Thirsty?"

I eye him up, bent over with his perfect muscular ass on fine display in his tight black sweatpants.

I wasn't, but I am now.

He pops his head around the side of the door and looks at me, a long strand of brown hair falling across his face. He tucks it behind his ear.

"A glass of water would be great."

He nods, fills two glasses, and joins me on the couch.

"Thanks," I say, taking it from him.

His intense eyes never leave me. He's got the kind of eyes that make you wonder what's going on behind them.

What's he thinking?

What's he thinking aboutme?

Apart from me being a hot mess who almost got killed in a mudslide, has called him a serial killer multiple times, and inadvertently called him hot when I was talking nonstop on the way back to his place… And there I go answering my own question.

I put my glass down carefully on the wooden floor since Harrick doesn't have a coffee table. "I have an idea. Let's get to know each other better."

Harrick takes a sip of water, but doesn't say anything.

"All right. I'll go first. What would you like to know about me?"

I swear if water was chewable, he'd be chewing the ever-loving life out of the mouthful of it he's got.

"Okay. I'll just start rambling, and you tell me when to stop. Deal?"

Our eyes meet. A tiny smile surfaces on his lips. "Deal."

"Well, you already know my name, what I'm doing in the mountains, and the fate that befell my poor little Corolla. Let's see." I drum my fingers against my thigh. "What else can I tell you about myself?"

"I also know you like a good forearm flex." As he says it, he lifts his arm and makes a fist, the veins in his forearm popping like crazy.

Heat warms my cheeks. "You remember."

He drops his arm and drapes it over the back of the sofa. "As if I'd forget that."

"So, okay, yes, I have that little thing. Which is a nice segue to, okay, yes, I'm gay."

Our eyes lock. I'm studying him for any signs of a response, positive or negative. I get nothing apart from that full-on stare of his.

Okay. So he's not very talkativeandhard to read. Looks like I'll be the one doing the legwork then. "Are you gay?"

"I am."

"Cool. And are you…single?"

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