If only Nick and Beck could see me now.
They’d probably keel over laughing.
And I wouldn’t even blame them.
I’m the last person you’d expect to upend his life and go chasing after a woman, even one as amazing as Lucy.
Too bad you didn’t figure it out sooner, dumbass.
If I had, I wouldn’t be wedged in this too-small bed like a goddamn sardine, listening to her quiet breathing.
Fuck.
Could Lucy be right about me?
I pride myself on being charismatic and engaging, the approachable Hart brother, but despite all the networking and politeHow are you?exchanges, there are few people I know well. And fewer still who know the intimate details of my life.
Because, as it turns out, I don’t even know Lucy, despite our close working relationship.
If you’d asked me three weeks ago if I thought she’d sell all her stuff, buy a bright red anything, and set out on a cross-country adventure, my answer would’ve been a hard no.
And I would’ve laughed my ass off during the delivery.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued by this new Lucy. She’s bold. Unapologetic. Sassy. So different from the woman who’s spent the last two years following orders without question.
The woman who wore black dress pants and modest blouses.
The woman who would never have paraded around in a short white T-shirt with those curvy legs on display.
Legs I definitely should not be thinking about.
I flood my brain with thoughts of sports and work, of my busted life, but it’s no use. My mind keeps circling back to Lucy—to the sexy white T-shirt—and the fact that we’ll be sharing these cramped quarters for two weeks.
Fucking fuck.
Keep it in your pants, Hart.
Acting on a fleeting moment of physical attraction isn’t worth the risk of destroying our professional relationship. There are millions of beautiful women in the world who enjoy uncomplicated, no-strings sex as much as I do, but there’s only one Lucy.
And I need her in my office, not my bed.
I just need to ignore the attraction. To think of something else. Anything else.
A quiet, metallic squeak pierces the air.
I stiffen, listening intently.
It comes again, a little louder this time.
What the hell is that? I’m pretty sure it’s coming from inside the camper, but that makes no sense. The windows are closed. The door locked up tight.
A new kind of squeaking begins—a familiar sound that sends my pulse skyrocketing.
Rats.
No. Not rats. Gremlin.
It’s the damn hamster. It has to be. Lucy mentioned it sleeps during the day, which means it’s probably nocturnal.
