Page 38 of Things I Read About

“I will, if you come snowmobiling with me.”

“No thanks.”

He leans forward and puts his huge hand around my wrist. Even through the layers, I feel some kind of magnetism, like static electricity between us. It takes all the will I possess to keep my eyes on my Kindle screen.

“Sally.”

“Nate,” I say without looking at him.

He squeezes. “Please?”

I hold firm.

“I packed better snacks.”

I give in. I look up at his deep, dark eyes, almost a medium brown in the bright sun. The same light also exposes a few gray hairs in his scruff.How old is he? Who is he? What the hell am I doing?

“It’s come to my attention that I don’t even know your last n—”

“Brenner. Nate Brenner. It's Irish.”

“And where are your coworkers? Why are you always alone?”

“That’s good,” he says, sounding proud.

I pull my wrist away. As if having full range of motion of my hand will help me resist him in any way.

“My coworkers were with me the night we met, just at a table. One came and took care of our skis when I took you to the clinic, remember?”

“Hm.” I stop myself from admitting I noticed a few men dressed like him, walking with him, the previous night. When I first saw him. Like a fantasy at the bar. A walking talking fantasy man, who is asking me to go snowmobiling with him.

The smirk is back. Meaning he’s likely registered my decision to give in and go.

I lean back. “You have to answer all my questions today. And I have many.”

“Anything I can answer. I sign NDAs with my clients.” He scoots forward and puts his hands on the arms of the chair, ready to stand.

“But I don’t have to answer all of your questions.” I cross my arms. “Those are my terms.”

He glares at me, wordlessly sharing his disapproval. “Deal. Let’s go, we only have a few hours of daylight left.” He stands and hands me my bag.

“Let me just text Kat,” I say digging in the front pocket.

He tsks. “So, your phonewasin the bag. You realize that’s connected to your banking information, probably your social security number?”

“Nate!”

He looks away, jaw clenched. He takes a breath and looks back down at me. “Sorry.”

I text the girls and toss my Kindle in my bag. As I throw the bag over one shoulder, Nate grabs it, presses it into my chest instead, and then lifts me up.

“I’m much better today, you don’t have to do this.”

“We’re on a time schedule.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay”

He tightens his grip on me. “Are you going to be mad at me all afternoon?”