And right now, that meant lying to one of my quad.
Maybe I deserved the face full of capsaicin.
Chapter 3
Liz
The knocking was relentless. It wasn’t the sharp rap on the glass; it was the heavy, muffled thud of someone using their palm.
I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. My brain felt like it was submerged in gray sludge, a parting gift from the three hours of adrenaline-soaked sleep I’d managed after fleeing the woods.
I’d shoved my silver sunshade into the windshield and draped some clothes over the side windows to keep the world out, turning the interior of my car into a dark, fabric-lined tomb.
The thud came again, vibrating through the frame of the car.
“Go away,” I croaked.
It didn’t go away. The person outside shifted, their shadow cutting off the sliver of light peeking through the gap in my makeshift window curtains.
I forced myself upright, my spine popping and my shoulder protesting the movement. My neck ached like it had been fused into a permanent ‘C’ shape. I pushed my ignition button to turn on ‘accessory mode’ and rolled the passenger window down a crack.
The shirt I’d hung there fell, and the sudden burst of morning light was blinding. I squinted, trying to blink through the glarebefore grabbing my sunglasses out of my cupholder and putting them on.
The silhouette outside solidified into a man. A really tall man built like someone who spent his free time moving boulders for fun. With dark hair, gray eyes, and an expression that suggested he regularly dealt with problems like me and was already tired of it.
“You can’t sleep here.” His voice was deep and rough, the type of voice that carried across mountaintops without trying.
“It’s an RV park.” I rubbed at my cheek where I could feel a crease from it resting against something. My seatbelt? A new stress wrinkle?
He leaned down, resting one arm on the doorframe. Up close, I could see lines at the corners of his eyes and the subtle gray in his stubble. Not young, but not old. Somewhere in that comfortable middle ground that I used to think I’d occupy someday. At the rate I was going, who knew?
“This lot is for campers and hikers, and there’s a county ordinance against sleeping in your car.”
“Right.” I stopped myself from going on a rant about that. It’s not like I was parked in front of someone’s home or business.
His eyes swept over my car—my very obvious, very sad, not-an-RV car—and something shifted in his expression. “You good?”
I almost laughed as the memories of last night came flooding back. The naked man. The running. The completely irrational decision to flee into the dark woods. “Oh, uh, Iwascamping, and there was a bear, so I came back to my car.”
He looked skeptical. Why did he look like he didn’t believe me? “What kind of bear was it?”
“Um… a big one?”
Was it my eyes still adjusting, or did his lips twitch? “Was it a grizzly?”
“Of course not. I probably wouldn’t be sitting here if it was. I even used my bear spray.”
I didn’t elaborate. I couldn’t. Because now that I was awake and the sun was out and there was a perfectly normal, fully clothed man standing at my window, I was wondering if I’d hallucinated the whole thing.
Maybe it had been a bear. Maybe my brain, desperate to make sense of the shape in the darkness, had invented a person. A very naked, very muscular, very real-looking person.
Was this another manifestation of my brain sensing things like burned toast when there was literally nothing?
“Bears usually stay far away from here, but I’m glad he didn’t attack you.” He straightened and backed away from my car. “Feel free to use the facilities before you leave. Unless you’re heading out on a hike or camping at an approved campsite.”
“Thanks.” There was no way I was staying.
“Make sure you replace your bear spray too.” He nodded once, a curt acknowledgment, and then he turned and walked toward a small building near the entrance of the RV park.
