“I won’t make it in time.”
Warner waves that off.“They’re maybe ten minutes down the road.That flyer said it went till nine.”
“Ten minutes if I was driving,” I mutter, doing the math in my head.
It’s already seven thirty.If I hustle, I can probably walk three miles in an hour.Still enough time to introduce myself around and crochet a few rows.
Might be worth it.
“Did you walk here, Zoey?”
“Yes.”
I don’t pay Warner much attention as I stare down the dark road toward town.Time isn’t the biggest problem.I’m not contemplating walking miles through a bustling metropolis.Pine Falls is a small town with nature pushing in on all sides.
“Do you all have issues with wild animals?”I turn back to Warner, glad to have a local on hand.
He stares at me, his expression seeming to war between confusion and fascination.“We’re in the Rocky Mountains.So, yeah, there are wild animals.”
Well, that makes things trickier.
My hand dives into my bag, pushing through the assorted items that have congregated in the bottom, eventually grasping hold of what I’m searching for.The flashlight I brandish is small but powerful as I flick it on.
“Do you think this would scare them off?”Personally, I find the beam of light impressive.
His headshake is slow, his smile amused.“Maybe a skunk, but a mountain lion wouldn’t give two shits.And there are larger predators than that in these woods.”
Shoot.I sigh and point the beam in the opposite direction, toward my grandma’s cabin.A shorter, safer distance away.
“Are you going home?”
His question has me turning, and that’s when I realize I was about to march off without another word to Warner, the biker guy.
“Yeah.I’m staying just over a mile down the road.Had to walk here since my truck wouldn’t start.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have shared that.Too late now.
“You know”—he steps forward, situating himself in my path—“I could drive you.”
“You could what?”
“I could drive you,” Warner repeats.“To The Wild Rabbit.”
He’s close.The warmth of his body presses against my exposed skin, warding away the growing chill in the night air.It’s intoxicating.But just because something starts out feeling good doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way.
My father is part of a motorcycle club in Denver.The sight of Harleys and leathers is normal for me.I’ve been to plenty of their barbecues and even ridden on the back of my dad’s bike a few times when I was a kid.Seeing so much chrome was a taste of home.
I’m not wary of Warner because he rides.What I’m trying to remind myself of, even as my body is tempted to lean into his radius of warmth, is that he’s a stranger.
Stranger danger.
Maybe if I were a badass black belt, I’d climb onto the back of his bike, no problem.But if he tries something, I’m more of a flight than a fight.And flight doesn’t work as well if he’s driven me to an unfamiliar part of town.
“What if I say no?”
He looks confused.“Um … then I don’t drive you?”
“And you’d go inside and leave me alone?”
