They’re really twisting my arm here.
Making me move to the majestic Pisgah National Forest in the North Carolina mountains to watch a gorgeous mafia princess I’ve been obsessed with for years.
The suffering is real.
They don’t know I’m in love with Alena. They’d kill me if they knew, but that’s what it is—love.
Sure, I’ve never spoken to her. I wasn’t allowed. Me and my brothers hide in plain sight; most can’t even know we’re related.
We appear as the guy at the gas station, or your pastor, lawyer, and accountant. Not escaped Bratva brothers, whose evil father is really fucking pissed and looking for us.
So I’ve been just some guy in the crowd, watching our mafia princess blossom, while she became my secret obsession with rosebud lips.
For years.
But I’m a closet romantic. I read romcom books. They’re fucking hilarious. And hot. So let’s go withI’ve been in love with Alena Allen from afar.
It’s less stalkery.
Finally, the white SUV with a black front push bumper,light bar, and a green US Forest Service door emblem appears. It parks in front of the convenience store.
A tall woman in a khaki shirt and dark-green uniform pants emerges from the driver’s seat. Her lush curves and that ass—goddamn killing me.
Fuck, I’m in sixth grade again.
Boner wants to play.
A Forest Ranger uniform is about as sexy as a stomach flu, like a vomit of dull khaki and green. But damn, Alena Allen makes her uniform look dangerously hot.
Waving to the elderly couple filling up their hatchback, she tucks a tawny lock of hair that’s escaped her long braid behind her ear. She ignores the three teenagers leaning against their truck, catcalling with their bullshit, while I note their license plate and how big their graves will need to be. Swinging the glass door open to the store, she disappears inside, and it’s showtime.
“Stay here,” I tell Mutt. “And don’t hump my dash over that collie. You hear?”
If dogs could roll their eyes, Mutt just did.
Sliding out of my truck, I flip my dark-green baseball hat backward. I know my size; I’m going for cute, not scary as fuck.
I’m tempted to issue death threats as I stalk past the teen hecklers. I should tell them their little-dick energy shows every time they catcall a woman.
But I’m on a mission.
The chime above the door sounds as I enter, and I nod at the cashier behind the counter. Jesse and I have a little arrangement.
On cue, as I aim for the far wall with the soda fountain machines and days-old hot dogs spinning on a rotisserie, Alena brushes past me, telling Jesse, “Hey, um. You’re out of cups for the Slurpee machine.”
“What? Really?” I whip around, sounding surprised. “Yeah, man, I’ll need one too.”
“Just a moment.” Jesse stands, ramrod straight. “Please. I will. Get more cups.” He’s as animated as a robot, pivoting to go in the back, while I turn to Alena.
Heart pounding.
Dick stirring.
Soul exploding.
Face coolly grinning. “Guess Slurpees are popular here.”
That’s it? That’s my opening line?
