And just like that, I followed him out of the roadhouse—heart pounding, margaritas humming—and straight into possibly the worst or best decision of my life.
4
DEVON
This was the worst idea I’d ever had—which, inconveniently, also made it the best.
I was driving a half-million-dollar piece of emergency equipment up a mountain road with a slightly buzzed woman who’d just told me she wanted to see my boxers again.
Professional. Real professional, Devon. But hey, I was a volunteer. It wasn’t like it could get me fired from my construction job…but it sure as hell could get me kicked off the roster and stripped of my training duties.
"This is amazing," Rylie shouted over the rumble of the engine, her face angled toward the passenger window. "I can see everything from up here."
Yeah. So could every other driver on the road, which was why I'd taken the back route up the mountain—less traffic, fewer witnesses to my spectacularly poor judgment.
The engine handled the incline like it was nothing, all that power thrumming beneath us. Rylie had her hands braced on the dash, big grin on her face, and I couldn't stop glancing over at her.
She was beautiful. That wasn't news—I'd noticed that the second she'd cleared her throat in the fire station kitchen. But up here, with the late afternoon sun catching the gold in her hair and her cheeks flushed with excitement and tequila, she was something else entirely.
Dangerous. That's what she was.
"Where are we going?" she asked, finally tearing her gaze from the window.
"Overlook. About two miles up. Figured you'd want the full experience."
"The full experience," she repeated, and there was something in her voice that made my hands tighten on the steering wheel.
I needed to get a grip. She'd had two margaritas and just confessed she'd never been with anyone. This wasn't happening. Thiscouldn'thappen.
Except she'd also said she couldn't stop thinking about my boxers, and that image—her thinking about me, wanting me—had been playing on loop in my head for the past twenty minutes.
The overlook came into view—a wide pullout with a guardrail and a view that stretched for miles. Mountains layered in the distance, the sky turning pink and orange as the sun started its descent.
I pulled the truck to a stop and killed the engine. Silence rushed in, broken only by the ticking of cooling metal and Rylie's soft exhale.
"Wow," she breathed, staring out at the view. "This is…”
"Yeah."
She turned to look at me, and the setting sun caught her eyes, turning them amber. "Thank you. For this. For today. I know you probably had better things to do than chase a cat and drive me around in a fire truck."
"I didn't." The words came out rougher than I'd intended. "Have better things to do, I mean."
Her lips parted slightly. We were sitting too close in the cab—or maybe not close enough. I couldn't tell anymore.
"Devon," she said quietly.
"Rylie."
"I meant what I said. At the bar." She shifted in her seat, angling toward me. "About the boxers. About wanting to see them again."
Every responsible thought I'd ever had evaporated. "You've been drinking," I managed.
"Two margaritas. I'm buzzed, not drunk. I know what I'm saying." She reached over, her fingers brushing my arm. Her voice trembled, but her words were steady as she said, "And I know what I want."
"Rylie, you told me you've never?—"
"I know what I told you." Her hand moved higher, trailing up to my shoulder. "And I'm telling you now that I want this. I want you. Unless you don't want me, which?—"
