“I’m okay.” Though my ego isn’t. “Thanks for your help tonight.”
“Until next time, Hollywood.” I hear the thud of his cowboy boots on pavement as he and his deputy escort saunter back inside, a sour look on his visage.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, I push down the pain of my throbbing head, counting my blessings instead. “You saved me tonight, Catalina. I don’t know what in the hell would’ve happened with red shirt or one of those other bidders.”
She looks down at her hands, fingers twirling in her lap. “Gran saved you.”
Suddenly, a group of women from the auction surrounds the truck, tapping and knocking on the windows.
“Avery Ross, take us instead. This girl’s not good enough for a—”For a man they’ve only seen on TV, not the idiot trying to drive Catalina away from so much fucking drama.
I turn the key in the ignition, hoping the noise will make them step back. But to no avail.
Cracking the driver’s side window, I growl. “Move out of the way. We’re leaving.”
But the women continue to encircle my vehicle. I honk, and Christian reappears, shooing them off and scolding, “You’d better get the hell out of here before you cause any more trouble, Hollywood.”
I rant as we drive away, “Whoever thought a charity auction for a local animal rescue could go so haywire, thanks to a dude who played a firefighter on TV? It seems like a travesty considering the real heroes—firefighters, first responders, search and rescue, ex-military, and more—who remain lined up to take the stage for bids that won’t touch what my stupid face and faker-than-hell identity just pulled in.”
“Is it always like this for you?”
“Not usually this bad. The auction has brought out the worst in people.”
“So, you don’t have to worry about paparazzi or anything like that?” She knits her forehead.
“Not usually. I’ve been out of the news cycle for a while now. But anything that might bring a large concentration of people who enjoyedSoCal Hotshotstogether, especially in the presence of alcohol? Apparently, that’s a problem.”
The insistent twang of country love songs churns from the satellite radio. I take a few deep, cleansing breaths.
“That’s one thing to be thankful for,” she says in that smoky little voice that seems to have a direct line to my heart. Her big librarian glasses sit a little too far down the bridge of her nose, which is covered in a light dusting of freckles. So are the tops of her cheeks. She pushes her glasses back up, stoking flames of desire deep inside. She’s sunshine wrapped in cardigans and cat hair, and damned if it doesn’t undo me.
I’d love to blame this attraction on a lifelong infatuation with geeky girls. But when it comes to Catalina, it’s more than that. She’s curvy, sassy, no-nonsense. That’s a rare combination. “And you’re the other.”
“The other what?”
“Thing to be thankful for.”
The corners of her cherry-stained mouth turn up, and her snickerdoodle eyes snap with realization. She chuckles, agreeing, “Some of those ladies looked like hibernation-starved bears waiting on a rotisserie chicken, Ambrose. Gran and I did get you off the hook.”
“I wish you hadn’t seen that.”
A horn blares behind me, and I look up, realizing the red stoplight has turned green.
“Sorry,” I grumble. “Should probably keep my eyes and brain on the road.” I train my gaze forward, despite the temptation to have another look at the prize next to me.
“So, how is your grandma getting home tonight?”
“Tilly and her husband offered to drive Gran home and stay until my return.” Her face softens. “That’s sweet of you to worry about her.”
“Of course. What matters to you matters to me.”
She looks down, cheeks darkening.
“You know, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you perched in the tree. I need to know why.”
She counters, “I can’t blame you, considering the regrettable view you had of me, straddling tree limbs in a very unforgiving skirt.”
“I tried not to look.” I don’t want her thinking I’m a creep or anything. “But regrettable? No, ma’am, that was a view of a goddess.”
