His brows shoot up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Wait, no—that’s not how it was supposed to come out.”Shit!
“How exactlywasthat supposed to come out? Because I’m about to call the police. Are you having a stroke?”
Ugh! “No! I’m just. It’s been a day, Ok?! First I handed the border patrol a tampon—”
“Ma’am?”
“Hiccup.” Dammit. “Then I nearly died by elk, and now I’m stuck in the woods while the romance mixer of the year is happening without me but I’m trying to make the best of this situation by flirting with you!”
The bear just blinks.
“Sorry. A bit more than a one word answer but I get chatty when I’m nervous or about to get murdered.”
He turns on his heel, muttering, “I’m leaving. Walk to fucking Toronto, for all I care.”
“No! Wait!” I scramble after him, tripping over my own regret. “I’m sorry—I’mreallysorry—I—hiccup.”
He spins around, glaring. “What are you, two years old? The hell is up with the hiccups?”
“I get the hiccups when I’m nervous, too!”
He lets out a sound—part growl, part sigh—and honestly? I like it. Way more than I should.I like it a lot.
“If you wouldpleasegive me a ride to somewhere I can call a tow truck and still make it to Toronto, I’d really, really appreciate it.”
He rubs his jaw like he’s weighing the possibility of abandoning me to the elements. “It’s after six. You’re not getting a tow truck out here ‘til morning.”
I deflate, my voice cracking. “Okay. Then could you please take me to the nearest hotel?”
He exhales like I just asked him to donate a kidney. “Get your things.”
I scramble back to the car, grab my purse, and pop the trunk. Before I can even reach for my suitcases, he lifts them like they’re stuffed with feathers and tosses them into the back of his cab with a casual flick of the wrist.
And his truck? Not what I expected, either.
Not beat-up. Not rusty. Not even “rugged.” No. This thing is a fully-loaded black-on-black chariot with leather seats and a cabin that smells like cedarwood and manhood.
He gets in, and I swear I hear music playing in the background.It might be angels singing.
Since my coat is wet, from my ever so graceful exit from my rental, I quickly take it off before the chill sets in and I step into the cab. I buckle my seatbelt. “Thank you. I know this is probably the last thing you wanted to do tonight, and…well…thank you.”
“It’s fine,” is all he says back.
Silence. Heavy, awkward silence. I don’t do well with silence when my nerves are all over the place.
I clear my throat. “How far is the hotel?”
“About twenty kilometers.”
“Okay. That’s about…twelve or thirteen miles?”
He glances over at me, just a flick of the eyes. “Most Americans don’t care to learn our metric system.”
“Well, I’m not most Americans.”
“No,” he mutters, “you’re not most humans.”
