Page 7 of Pucking Around

“Okay, well it’s gonna get a bit windy,” I say. “You might wanna—”

“I know how Jeeps work,” she huffs, clicking her seatbelt on.

We both go still as we sit in the silence of her response.

Then she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, shit—I’m so sorry. That was the bitchiest thing to say ever.”

“It’s okay—”

“No, I’msosorry, I’m just—god—I’m so tired,” she says, a note of desperation in her voice. “I think I might be getting a bit delusional.”

I swear, if I have to deal with a tentacle dildoandtears in the same car ride, I’m gonna ask for a raise. Airport runs already aren’t in my job description, but I’m trying to pull my weight, be a team player. Look what I get for my trouble.

“I haven’t slept in like two days,” she goes on.

Yeah, those are tears in her voice. I am now officially uncomfortable.

“And I’m so hungry. I haven’t had anything but a bag of pretzels since this morning. But that’s no excuse,” she adds quickly. She turns to me, her fingers brushing lightly against the ink on my forearm. “I’m sorry. God, I’m such a mess that I don’t even remember your name. I feel like a total bitch. You put it in your text, but I was in such a rush, and I couldn’t check it again. And you were waiting for me for so long, and I’m sure you think I’m a total jerk, but I’m not—”

The words only stop because she’s out of air. Yeah, this girl is a total swirling vortex of mass chaos.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then she opens them, those dark brown pools sucking me in. “Can we start over?Please, let us start over.” She holds out her hand to me. “I’m Rachel Price. I’m the new Barkley Fellow, and I’ve had areallyrough two days.”

I look down at her offered hand. She’s tugged her hoodie sleeve up a bit and now I can see that she has tattoos.

Be still my cold dead heart.

A pair of hearts outlined on her wrist, a small, detailed sketch of an electric guitar on her forearm. There’s a signature alongside the guitar.

Sy chooses this moment to pop his head between the seats, nosing her open palm, which diffuses the tension. She giggles, giving him a pet between the ears. “At least someone wants to give me another chance. I swear I’m not a bitch. No, I’m not,” she croons in that sugary sweet talking-to-a-dog voice all people seem to have. “No, I’m not. I’m really nice. Yes, I am.”

Sy eats it up, licking her hand as she laughs out loud.

With a groan, I gently push him back and put out my hand, letting her shake it. “I’m Caleb Sanford, Assistant Equipment Manager.”

She smiles. “Wow, tough job. You guys work crazy hard.”

“Yep.” I drop her hand, placing mine back on the wheel.

“And who is this angel?” she asks, turning in her seat to give Sy more attention. “His eyes aresogorgeous. I could just eat you with a spoon. Yes, I could,” she coos.

The furry idiot is a total chick magnet. Too bad he warms them up only for me to put them right back on ice.

“His name is Poseidon,” I reply. “I call him ‘Sy’ for short.”

“Ooo, how regal,” she says, her fingers scratching the thick fur of his neck. “You feel a bit salty, Sy. Were you swimming in the ocean with daddy earlier today?”

I go stiff.

Wait—no. My arms—my—shit, not my dick. My dick is definitely not going stiff at hearing a gorgeous woman call me ‘daddy.’

With a groan, I turn away from her, my eyes firmly on the road as I jerk the Jeep into gear. At the same time, I crank up the radio, blasting the air with my favorite mix of rock music.

She fishes a pair of sunglasses out of her bag and slips them on, leaning back in her seat with a smile the moment we hit that Florida sunshine. Between the wind and the music, it’s hard to have a conversation in a Jeep…which is one of the reasons I like driving with the top off.

She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seems to relax her. Within minutes. she’s got one arm propped on the side door, her hand weaving to the beat of the music, as I coast us onto the interstate.

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