"Not much scares me, sweetheart."He towers over me, so big he occludes the whole world, filling my entire frame of view with his body.His eyes seize mine and refuse to let go."But a pissed-off bull moose?"He shakes his head slowly."I'll wrestle a mama grizzly before I tangle with a moose."
I frown."It's a big deer."
He snorts, pointing at the ruined truck."Youdidseethis, didn't you?That big fuck wasn't even trying.I've seen what happens when a moose wants to destroy something.It ain't pretty.And they don't give afuckabout people.Bears are scared; they'll run before they attack.A moose?He'll stare you down, andthenhe’ll fuck you up just for the hell of it.You saw it happen."
"Point taken."I eye the truck."I guess I should thank you, huh?"
He shrugs."All good."
"So…now what?Do I call triple A?"
He grumbles—a laugh, I think that gravelly sound was.“Triple A?Right."He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at his vehicle."Get in.I'll have Kenny come get this and take it back to wherever you got it from."
"It's a rental from Fairbanks."
"Whatever.Don't really care where it's from.You have insurance?"
Rude.“Yeah, of course,” I answer.
"Rental contracts out here have moose damage provisions, usually.Hopefully you're covered."
"Wait, really?Moose damage provisions?"
"Fuck if I know.”He grins, and the sun seems to brighten, somehow.“I live here, so I don’t rent.I'm just messing with you.No idea what they'll say about your rental getting fucked by a moose."
Annoyance burns in my gut—this guy is a real jackass."It didn't fuck it, it headbutted it," I point out.
"Whatever.Get your stuff and let's go.I have a shift."
"I could just call an Uber.I don't want to bother you."
The man turns in a slow circle, miming looking for something."Uber?You really think there's an Uber within a thousand miles?"
"Yes?"I sigh."Fine.I guess you're my only option, Moose-Man."
"Name's Noel."
"Cool.I don't care."Except, he's my ride out of here, and what if he's an axe murderer?I shouldn't piss him off."I'm kidding.I'm Demi Kaplan."
I grab my suitcases out of the back seat—they're heavy enough that I have to let them smack to the ground before heaving them up onto their wheels.I roll them toward his truck—a sleeker, cooler, more badass version of a macho-man pickup than the overcompensating-mobile I was driving.He grabs one of my suitcases with each hand and tosses them both into the bed at the same time with a grunt.
"Jesus, lady.You packin' bricks?"
“Yes," I answer."To throw through the windows of the patriarchy."
He blinks."Okay."
I grin, shrugging."I'm from California."I figure that explains it.
That's when the most unexpected part of the whole situation occurs.
He follows me to the passenger side, opens the door, and hands me up and in as if I were a Bridgerton getting into a coach at dawn after a ball.
His hand is positively hot, rough as a cinderblock, and enormous.
His dark blue eyes cut like razors as he pauses, and then, standing on the running board, leans in and draws the buckle across my torso, neatly settling the strap between my breasts.
He smells like cedar oil and woodsmoke.
