Page 6 of A Real Goode Time

I slogged on, tugging my hood up.

What only moments before had been a steady rain was quickly worsening into a downpour. My boots began to squelch. My hair started to feel damp even under my hood. The wind blew buckets of cold rain sideways, splattering and battering me. Within a hundred yards I was as soaked as could be.

Within half a mile, I couldn’t get any wetter if I jumped into a pool.

I was shivering, angry, and cursing my luck.

Even if I called Lex right now and begged for help, I’d have to turn around and walk back home, and this rain did not look like it was going to let up anytime soon. So, I was screwed. I may as well carry on with the plan, and just get used to being wet.

I still had another couple of miles to go, and then I had a bus ride in wet clothes to look forward to. My backpack was probably soaked, along with everything in it, so I’d have no dry clothes to change into.

What a stellar start to the trip this was turning out to be.

A car flew past, spraying me.

I finally turned onto a main road and every few seconds another car sped past, flinging muddy water onto me. So now I was muddy, dirty,andwet.

Super.

It’s hard to not to be depressed in a situation like this—wet, alone, cold.

I was wallowing in poor-me thoughts, bemoaning my shit luck, my shit life, my shit self.

Splash—another vehicle bashed through a giant puddle; this time it was a semi, and if I’d thought I was soaked to the bone before, I was even wetter now.

“FUCK YOU!” I screamed at the semi.

Immediately behind the semi was a giant red jeep—an older one, with a lift kit and huge mud tires and a flapping soft top.

Instead of barreling past me and splashing me, the Jeep slowed, went another twenty yards or so, and then rolled to a stop.

My heart leapt, skittered—I desperately wanted to hitch a ride, but for all my blasé assurances to Jillie and Leighton that I’d be fine, the idea of getting into a car with a stranger made my knees quivery and my palms tingly. Leighton’s parting words this morning rang in my head: “Remember, priority number one is don’t get raped and murdered!”

I approached the red Jeep with trepidation. The emergency flashers were on, and the driver’s side door flew open. A long, lean leg and hip emerged, followed by the rest of a hard male body in a mechanic’s coverall, the upper portion knotted around his waist, leaving a plain black T-shirt on his upper body. He jogged around to the passenger side and yanked open the door as I approached.

“Hop in!” he said, with a distinct southern twang to his voice. “Ain’t a fit day for man or beast, let alone a pretty lady like you.”

The most mesmerizing puppy dog brown eyes I’d ever seen in my life looked me over, met my eyes. His smile was wide and genuine, with an amused quirk to his lips. Sharp features, hawk nose, chiseled, granite jaw, expressive lips, a two- or three-day stubble. Jet-black hair, messy, sexy in a don’t-give-a-shit-what-I-look-like way. Just-fucked hair begging to have my hands run through it.

Those eyes, though.

Amused. Intelligent. One long look into his eyes told me he’d be funny and sharp-witted, quick with a comeback.

Shit.

My savior had to be the single hottest male I’d ever laid eyes on. Of course.

I climbed up into the Jeep, slid onto a cushy black leather bucket seat, tossed my backpack into the foot well, and reached for the seat belt…only to discover it was a complicated five-point racing harness.

My savior closed the door after me and jogged around the hood, hopped up into the driver’s seat, clicked his five-point harness into place, shoved the clutch down with his foot and smacked the shifter into first.

He grinned at me, extending his right hand to shake mine. “Name’s Rhys.” He pronounced itReez, with the final sound somewhere between a soft S and a hard Z.

Holy moly. That grin. Those eyes.

This was bad.

My belly was flipping, my knees pressed together, and my hoo-ha was taking notice of the way the black T-shirt was molded to his lean, lithe, iron-hard body.