Page 3 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

Regardless, I make a mental note to give Lily this story-nugget idea when I text her next.

In the world of suspense and horror novels, dead bodies—even dismembered ones—aren’t anything new, but I still like to pass on plot ideas anytime I have one.

You never know what will strike a writer at any given moment.

Plus, she’ll be impressed by my depravity.

My brain is way too Pollyanna for her liking.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s okay to be pissed or mad or anything other than happy. Toxic positivity is a real thing.

Even still, it’s my default mode. Like right now I’m already wondering if the woman in the story will have a happily ever after. Another occupational hazard, I suppose. Maybe she’s been set up.

I snap my fingers and point at the man as I share another brilliant nugget. “A handsome stranger in the airport swapped out her bag!”

“What’s happening right now?” he asks, looking over his shoulder like he expects cameras and a celebrity host to jump out and say, “Gotcha! You’re on America’s Most Awkward Encounters !”

“Nothing,” I mutter, shoulders slumping. My optimism is on a teeter-totter, and he just sent me plummeting back to the bottom with his apathetic demeanor.

“O-kay.” He has this deep, sexy voice, but his tone is all boredom. He extends my backpack toward me. “Here you go.”

“Right.” I take it from him, struggling a lot more with the weight of it than he had. “Thank you.”

I get a nod instead of "you’re welcome" or "no problem” or even “I’m calling security.” Why is indifference the most frustrating response to be on the receiving end of?

He steps past me and rejoins the steady flow of foot traffic. I watch him retreat, head and shoulders above the crowd, until he turns a corner.

Jerk.

Sure, he was nice enough to stop and help me, but would it have killed him to pretend I’m hilarious and charming instead of awkward and klutzy? Whatever. Hot girl summer, take two.

My next stop is the car rental line. The guy working behind the counter moves at an impressively slow pace and everyone shifts their luggage from shoulder to shoulder, inching forward with heavy sighs. When I finally make it to the front, his lips curve slowly.

“Hello. Welcome to Moonshot Lake,” he says like I’m the very first customer he’s had all day, and the greeting is a novelty.

“Thank you. I have a reservation?—”

“How are you today?” he asks, leaning forward with something like genuine curiosity on his face.

He looks like he’s in his early twenties.

His light brown hair is cut in a fade that reminds me of Billy Matthews’s second-grade picture and sends a wave of nostalgia over me.

The friendly smile he continues to aim at me takes me by surprise, while also making me feel like an impatient asshole.

“I’m doing well. Thank you. How about you?” I summon a little patience as I set my backpack on the floor between my feet.

“Not too shabby.” With that same slow, unrushed pace he stands straight.

He’s a big guy. Tall, although to be honest everyone feels tall to my five feet three inches, but it’s more than his height.

He’s wide shouldered and sturdy. He looks like the kind of guy who could wrestle a calf to the ground or block a doorway by simply crossing his arms over his chest. Admittedly, I may have binged one too many episodes of Yellowstone in preparation for this trip.

“Do you have a reservation?” No hint of an accent and didn’t call me darlin’. Pity.

“Yes. Ruby Madison.”

“Ruuuby.” He draws it out, finally hitting me with just a little of that Montana charm I was anticipating. He grins at me as he begins to tap on the keyboard. “Cool name.”

“Thanks.” I glance at his nametag. “Curtis.”

One side of his mouth lifts higher at my use of his name. “I’ve got you in a mid-size for…” He pauses. “Six weeks?”

“That’s right.”

“Cool. Cool. Plenty of time to see all that Moonshot has to offer. You’re in luck, it’s beautiful this time of year. It’s a little hot now that we’re in July, but better than shoveling snow, am I right?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m from Arizona. We don’t see a lot of snow.” Certainly not enough to shovel. Once, when Olivia and I were both still in high school, we got almost two inches at my parents’ house, and we were able to make snowballs and a very short snowman.

“Then you should feel right at home here.” He continues tapping as he adds, “I am going to hook you up with my favorite car on the lot.”

“Wow. That’s so nice.”

“I know,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone as he grabs a set of keys off a hook on the wall beside him and drops them on the counter in front of me. “You’re all set, Ruby. I hope you have an amazing time in Moonshot.”

“Thanks, Curtis.” A wave of fresh excitement washes over me as I pick up the key fob and flash him a grateful smile.

He leans forward over the counter. His dark eyes twinkle with amusement as he says, “My name isn’t really Curtis.”

“It’s not?” I feel my forehead crinkle as the guy stands tall again, still wearing an expression that is all boyish humor with a tinge of arrogance.

He shakes his head, then holds one hand up to cover the side of his mouth so no one can read his lips. “It’s Bobby but can’t have angry customers reporting me.”

For a change, I can’t think of a single thing to say. So, I wave the key fob, pick up my backpack, decidedly not filled with a human head, and leave the airport.

The first thing I notice in the rental car lot is that it is not, in fact, hot outside. Maybe it’s Montana hot, but it’s Arizona sweatshirt weather.

Cool wind whips across my bare shoulders. I’m not sure if I’m excited or stunned by this development. I don’t exactly love summers in Arizona, but I’m rethinking all the tube tops I packed.

I stop and let my hair out of its ponytail.

The long strands cover my back and shoulders, and I lift my head to the sun.

A smile spreads across my face at the clouds dotting the sky.

Big, fluffy white clouds that look like they’ve been crafted out of cotton balls and placed lovingly amidst the painted blue sky for aesthetics.

A car alarm beeps somewhere in the lot, bringing me back to the present.

It hits me then I have absolutely no idea what car I’m looking for.

I glance down at the key fob. Attached to it is a plastic keychain with the words “Mini Convertible” scribbled in permanent marker. I look up and scan the lot.

“No,” I say at the exact moment I spot the vehicle that I am certain is mine for the next month and a half. I hit the unlock button and beam as the lights flicker on the car.

Curtis, aka Bobby’s, favorite vehicle on the lot is a lime green MINI Cooper with black stripes down the hood.

In a sea of mostly black, white, and the occasional blue or red vehicles, it most definitely sticks out.

It screams summer and fun and adventure, carefree days, fun nights.

It’s over the top. It’s flashy. It’s the kind of vehicle that is impossible not to notice.

In any other situation I would be horrified, but not today. And not this summer.

It feels like a good omen. The perfect car to turn things around – metaphorically, although I bet it turns like a dream too.

“I think I misjudged you, Bobby,” I say quietly as I approach the vehicle.

Somehow the closer I get, the more in love with it I fall. Even as I struggle to fit my large roller suitcase in the trunk. If I had to choose between all my packed essentials (tube tops are absolutely an essential) and this car, I’d…pick my essentials but I would be sad about it.

Once my luggage is stowed, I pull out my phone and snap a selfie of me standing next to the vehicle, then fire it off to my sister with the words, “Hot Girl Summer Has Commenced!”