Pulling out of the ranger station, I’m driving down Hypocrite Highway because all I can think about is how Imoaned Loch’s name last night. How I didn’t know I could orgasm that hard. Work rules evaporated with the glow I felt, falling asleep with his name on my lips.
“Ahem.” I blush. “So, is this the part where we get to know each other?”
His husky voice teases, “Or I can just stare at the pretty scenery.”
He can’t mean me?
I glance over.
Nope, he’s staring at the lush forest.
See? I don’t know how to do this flirting thing, and it’s for the best. This is work. No flirting allowed, so I talk shop. I can do that all day.
“Most of the time,” I explain, “campers manage themselves. But rowdy ones can cause a situation. Or worse. A retaliation.”
“A retaliation?”
“Yeah. A week ago, some yahoos raised hell until way past midnight. They didn’t follow camping etiquette, so the other campers woke them up at six a.m. by blasting ‘Who Let the Dogs Out’ on portable speakers.”
Loch chuckles, “Serves ’em right.”
“Yeah. But if they keep that shit up, it’ll be ‘Who Brought Their Guns Out.’”
Out of the corner of my eye, Loch mimics the song, barking, “Woof! Woof, woof, woof!” Dancing in his seat, he’s even pumping his fist.
He’s so goddamn goofy and hot, I laugh so hard, I get a tingle from my scalp to my toes. I almost pee my uniform pants.
Why do I suspect this man will soak them one day?
After we check the guilty campsite, finding the obnoxious campers long gone, the rest of the morning is fun with him.When I collect a soil sample, measuring for moisture and wildfire risk, his eyes don’t glaze over, bored.
He asks questions—lots of them.
For hours, I forget his sex appeal. It’s a scientific attraction. We both love nature. We see molecules and mountains.
Usually, rangers patrol alone. There are too many miles to cover and not enough staff. And I like being alone, but I’m loving Loch’s company more.
When it’s lunchtime, I risk, “Wanna see some waterfalls? It’s where most of the rescues happen.”
He pats the pockets on his khaki shirt that’s about to burst at the seams; his pecs are so big. “Sure, but my lunch is at the station.” It’s cute, like he forgot to pack his sandwiches there.
“It’s okay.” I nod toward the back seat. “I always pack two sandwiches for lunch.”
“Hell, yeah,” he crows. “She’s coming in hot with a PB&J for me.”
“Turkey and Swiss with mustard.” I grin. “I have standards.”
He winks. “You have a new best friend.”
Friend?
That’s not what I was picturing last night.
Finally, I had a sexy face to pair with the huge, manly member that’s captured my imagination for years. I didn’t need to go online and replay one of @LuvPounder’s OnlyFans videos. I had a real name to moan, a real man to want.
Loch: my real-life fantasy.
Is it sexual harassment if the sex is all in your head? Am I going to feminist jail for wanting an exemption from the rules I support?
