by Karina Halle
And today I’m listening. Because honestly, I am an idiot. I should have gone home last night right after I left The Bear Trap Pub, but instead I headed over to Altitudes bar, which I know is the hookup place in town. I’m not sure what I was thinking, other than that The Bear Trap seemed full of couples and cliquey friends and I think it started to get to me. What better way to waste a night than to head to a bar and suck face with the first guy I see?
But it was more than just sucking face. I got drunk, fast, and ended up bringing the guy back here to my place for a late night roll in the hay. God, I’m so fucking needy. I have no problems with casual sex, not in the slightest, but I did it last night because I was feeling lonely, and that’s usually the worst reason of all. You should get laid because you’re aching for dick and not because you feel you’ve lost your place in the world.
What the hell was even his name? Ned? Nate? All I remember about him is he was fairly cute, at least harmless looking, and was trying to talk me up the moment I stepped into the bar. You’d think that I’d get attention and pick up lines all the time, but the truth is, most guys stay the hell away from me. I’ve been told time and time again that they’re intimidated, but no matter the reason, it doesn’t really help me. When I meet a guy “brave” enough to say hello, it means a lot.
Apparently, in the town of North Ridge, it means enough for me to sleep with the damn guy. I didn’t even call it off when I discovered he had a micropenis, but dammit I should have.
I manage to turn off the alarm for good and swing my legs out of bed, taking in a deep breath and ignoring the throbbing in my temples. My mouth tastes acidic, my tongue rough. I know I’m supposed to be at North Ridge SAR in about an hour and yet I can’t seem to get my body in motion. Luckily, the basement suite I’m renting isn’t too far from the office. Then again, everything in this town seems within arm’s reach, a quintessential hamlet.
I wonder if Nate/Ned/whatever his name was already talked about me. If there’s something I know very well it’s how fast gossip spreads in a small town. I won’t be surprised if everyone already knows that he screwed the new girl.
Again, you’re an idiot.
It doesn’t help that I’m supposedly the only women on the SAR team here. I’ve had more than my fair share of misogyny being a woman in this field and the last thing I need is for word to spread that I’m sleeping around. I mean, I’m twenty-five years old and way past all that high school bullshit but like I said, I know small towns and most of them operate like an extension of high school.
Despite my brain having turned to mush and my body moving at a drunken snail’s pace, I manage to get ready and out the door. The bracing air automatically sobers me up, the temperatures below freezing and making my nose dry out, my eyelashes stick together. I haven’t a lick of makeup on my face because I know it doesn’t make a difference when I’m going to be completely red-nosed from the cold.
I head down the town’s main street, glad that I’m completely bundled under my faux-fur lined parka, my boots trudging in the fresh snowfall. The crispness in the air does a great job of clearing the cobwebs and making me feel excited about this job for the first time since I moved here last week. In some ways I’ve been dreading this new beginning and everything it means, but in other ways I know it’s exactly what I need in order to move on.
The North Ridge Search and Rescue office is a rather boxy and drab-looking building located near the edge of town that totally screams “government run!” Which it is. I’ve heard working for the government can be a bit of a no-fun zone with people who do things by the book. That’s not exactly me, but I was ready for a change when I applied. Plus, unlike so many SAR operations, they actually pay you a salary, with benefits to boot.
I walk up past a truck with the North Ridge SAR logo on the side and stop in front of the door, suddenly hit with a wave of nausea and a case of nerves. I know I have the job, but I’ve yet to meet the boss, John Nelson, or anyone else from the team. What if they don’t like me? Scratch that, I don’t care if they don’t like me, but what if they don’t need me? What if I’m not ready for this job again? What happens if it’s just all too soon—or that this cements the fact that there’s no starting over for me at all?
What if the past…hasn’t passed?
Somehow though I find the courage to put my gloved hand on the door and open it, stepping inside.
There are three things I immediately notice about the office; one is that the room is dimly lit with some pretty horrible, flickering lighting that gives the area a sickly glow. Two, it’s messy, printed photos and maps and papers scattered across several desks, coffee cups acting like paperweights and leaving stains, Cliff bar wrappers and crumbs dotted everywhere.
Three, there’s only one person in here. And the guy sitting behind a desk, leaning back in his chair like he’s waiting for an old friend to show up, is disturbingly handsome. Like, the kind of handsome that you know is dangerous and should be outlawed because it’s apt to make the world bend over for you, every woman to fall on their knees. The kind of handsome that’s beyond handsome, because it’s not just a masculine face with gorgeous baby-blue eyes and a jaw that can cut paper, it’s everything else that it’s attached to, a giant hulk of a man that can probably bench press a bear.
And he’s staring right at me. Not saying a word.
“Uh,” I stammer awkwardly as I close the door behind me, “Hi. Are you John Nelson?”
My boss.
I mean, this guy can’t be my boss.
This guy can’t be anyone’s boss, except if he was a model for Hugo Boss. And, shit, he could be, if he was trying to sell some rugged new cologne that smells like testosterone and whisky.
“I am,” he says after a moment. “But you can call me Mav.”
“Mav?”
“Short for Maverick,” he says. He still hasn’t moved, his big beastly body is just leaning back in his chair and looking me over. I can’t read his expression at all, so I can’t tell if he’s joking.
“Really? Maverick? Like the Mel Gibson movie? Or like Top Gun?”
“Actually, the original Maverick was James Garner,” he says smoothly. “And Maverick, as in that’s my name. John Maverick Nelson. The one and only.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “And who are you, sweetheart?”
Shit. Does he not realize who I am?
“Riley,” I tell him. “Riley Clarke.”
What I should do is walk across the room, stick out my hand, and hope he shakes it. But instead I stay where I am. I’m not usually intimidated, but this guy has my panties all twisted and being close to the door seems like a good strategy.
He arches a dark brow and slowly nods. “You’re Riley…”
And here it comes. I’m going to get the “You don’t look like you’d be a search and rescue worker” bit or something similar. I decide to nip it in the bud.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” I tell him robotically, straightening up and giving him a mock salute.
Again, what I should have done is, well, anything but that.
But his full lips are quirking up into a smile, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“I think we’re going to get along just fine,” he says after a few beats, and with one fluid movement he gets out of his seat and to his feet.
I feel like the wind is knocked out of me.
This man—Maverick—is built like a fucking bear. No, he’s more than that, like if someone used a grizzly bear as the prototype for the next Robocop. He’s a beastly machine, tall, with hulking wide shoulders, and biceps I could see myself swinging off of. Who am I kidding, I could climb his whole damn body like Mount Everest and there’s more than enough tempting places to hold base camp for a few days.
And, of course, while I’m standing here practically drooling, Maverick comes over, striding across the room with his hand out to me.
“Nice to finally meet you, Riley,” he says.
I snap out of it and quickly take his hand. His g
rip is firm, his hand large, his skin warm. I know I’m probably imagining it, but I swear there’s a mild current of electricity running from his skin to mine. It’s either that or the fact that my wool sweater generates enough static to power a city.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
Despite my hormones going crazy inside and my nerves all frazzled, I put on my stone face and try to sound as professional as possible. This is my problem, always has been. Because I’m tall, curvy, slim, blonde, and I have tattoos, everyone I meet makes a snap judgment about me. They don’t take me seriously.
Then when you factor in that I’m kind of a goofball at heart and choose to laugh my way through life, it only makes it worse. So I have to remind myself, more often than not, that I need to work extra hard to rein myself in.
That said, Maverick holds onto my hand for what I know is a second too long, then he goes back over to his desk, which, at closer inspection, looks like a tornado hit it. “Take a seat,” he says, nodding at the chair across from it.
I walk across the room and sit down, noting that his eyes don’t leave me the entire time. Even though he’s just observing me, there’s something infinitely carnal about his gaze. I bet he gives great eye contact while fucking.
Not appropriate, rein it in, Riley.
“So,” Maverick says, picking up a piece of paper. “I’ve been looking at your resume here.”
“Hold up,” I say, showing him my palm. “I am already hired, aren’t I? I signed the contract.”
“Yes. You are officially an employee of the BC government and North Ridge Search and Rescue. You wouldn’t have had to come all this way if that wasn’t the case.”
I relax slightly.
“Back to the resume,” he says, “I just wanted to touch on something with you that might be a sensitive subject. I probably don’t have to, since you’re here and ready, but it would give me peace of mind…your last job was nearly two years ago in Aspen. I know you and your partner were caught in an avalanche.”
I swallow hard and feel my features grow harder, a cold stone building in my stomach. My defences go up automatically and everything inside me gets switched off.
“Yes, that’s right.”
He clears his throat and frowns, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t mean to pry, but I can only imagine how traumatizing it must have been.”
“It was just a class two slab avalanche.”
“I see. Well, your partner—”
“Yes, he was buried. I got him out but it was too late to prevent any damage. He’s still in a coma, in a hospital in Denver.” He opens his mouth to say something but I plow on. “No disrespect, but if you’re concerned on whether I can do my job properly or not, the fact is I’m here and that means I can. It was two years ago. I’ve gone through grief counselling. I’ve worked through things. I want to push it past me and move on. This is the only way how. I’m ready.”
He stares at me for a moment and a flash of something, maybe respect, comes through. “All right,” he says after a moment. “I trust you.”
“Good,” I tell him, still looking him steadily in the eye. I can’t let him think for a second that I’m not ready for this, otherwise he’s going to be handling me with kid gloves from this point forward.
“Also, you haven’t put anything down on your resume with regards to where you’ve been working since then…you had to have survived somehow.”
I always survive. “I was doing a lot of waitressing jobs in small towns. Nothing relative to the position or worth putting down on the resume.” I pause. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” he says quickly. “I was just curious. Well, now that that’s all out of the way,” he says, scratching at the scruffy stubble on his jaw, “how are you settling into North Ridge. Not a thing like Aspen, is it?”
If only he knew I grew up in a trailer park. I smile. “It’s charming. And the people are way less pretentious. I was never a fan of Aspen…” I was only there because of Levi. I push the image of his face out of my head. “And since my father was Canadian, I thought maybe I should make the switch and move up north. It’s a great country for starting over.”
He studies me, so I in turn study him. He’s not just handsome, he has the face of someone who loves getting rough and dirty. I can see a few faint scars on his cheek, one across his nose, a little slice at his bottom lip. He wasn’t built to be a pretty boy. The only thing that’s remotely beautiful about him are his eyes. His penetrating gaze aside, they’re the color of shadowed ice, that deep bright impossible blue that exists only in nature, at the heart of glaciers. They contrast against the sharp, rugged masculine planes of his nose, chin, and jaw.
I’m not sure how long we stare at each other like this, nor am I sure how appropriate it is. After Levi, I learned my lesson when it comes to getting close to the people I work with. Hell, with people in general. I’ve gone through enough loss in my life, in all different ways. The last thing I need is to be attracted to my boss.
Even though, let’s face it, I fucking am. Especially when he rolls up the sleeves of his navy-blue sweater and I see the dark swathes of intricate tattoos on his strong forearms. My panties melt a little bit more.
He clears his throat, as if he knows what I’m thinking, and then looks away, eyes scanning my resume as if he’s hoping to get some new information off of it. “So, tomorrow come in at nine and we’ll ease you into the week, do some orientation of the mountains. I’ll have Neil take you on the helicopter, show you around the terrain so you get a feel for the place from up high.”
“Neil?” I ask, my mind tripping over itself for some reason.
“One of your new colleagues. There’s also Tim, Jace, and Tony. Bunch of loons, but good eggs all around, once you get used to them. And you will. Tim’s up at the resort right now, doing controlled avalanche blasts. I’m here. Everyone else is on call.” The sound of a car parking outside the building has Maverick straightening up, peering over my shoulder at the window. “Oh, and speak of the devil, Neil’s here now.”
I turn around in my chair to see the door open and a guy step in.
Neil.
Fucking Neil.
Not Ned, not Nate, but Neil.
As in the fucking guy I had stupid drunken sex with last night.
Micropenis Neil, my new colleague.
“Hey,” he says and stops short when he sees me. He gives me an odd look, but manages to compose himself. He’s wearing light jeans and a taxi-yellow ribbed puffer jacket that makes his head look disproportionately small. What the fuck is wrong with me? What was I thinking? This is the guy?
But if Maverick notices Neil’s look, he doesn’t show it. “Neil, I’d like you to meet Riley. She’s the new hire.”
“Riley,” he says slowly. I would have thought he’d avoid looking at me, but instead he’s looking extra smug. “Nice name, Riley.”
And that’s a jab at me. Because last night I lied and said my name was Candace. I don’t know, it’s just a thing I do in bars, though of course it’s pointless in a small town, and especially pointless when you end up working with the fucking dude you fucked.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to sound breezy. I turn my attention to Maverick because his face is a sight for sore eyes compared to Neil’s. It’s not that Neil isn’t cute, it’s that he’s not as cute as my drunken brain thought last night, and that lame-ass cocky look in his eyes, like he thinks he owns me because he stuck his tiny dick in me, isn’t doing him any favors.
“New in town?” Neil asks, obviously prying now. “I could show you around. The locals are real friendly, especially when you get to know them really well.”
I get to my feet and glance at him. “A little too friendly,” I tell him before I look at Maverick. “So, it was nice meeting you. I’ll come here tomorrow at nine.”
Maverick raises his brows, surprised at my abruptness. “Uh, yes. Of course. See you then.”
I give him a tight smile, avoid Neil’s eyes, and then leave b
efore my face can grow any redder.
Fucking hell.
3
CHAPTER THREE
Maverick
Jesus.
When Shane and Rachel told me that Riley was a babe, I honestly didn’t believe them. Thought that maybe they were either being generous about a run-of-the-mill pretty girl, or just joking about some heinous beast. I mean, I’m not picky. I love all types of girls. But it’s rare that I get to set my eyes on someone like her.
Riley Clarke is probably the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in real life. More than that, she’s real. I get that I don’t know the girl at all, but just talking with her for a half hour has cemented the fact that she has zero pretensions. Yeah, she’s a bit rough around the edges with certain subjects and that’s totally my fault for prying and pushing, but she comes across as someone who’ll be as upfront with you as you need.
Which is a rarity these days. It seems everyone is always saying one thing and doing another. Everyone wants to save face, no one wants to follow through. Words become meaningless after a while. When you find someone who is a straight shooter, you want to hold onto them.
And…fuck. Could I fucking hold onto her. Her skin is like rich cream I just want to lap up, her lips are so perfectly lush and plump, they’d be a dream to sink my dick into. Her eyes are a sweet blue, girl-next-door innocent with a naughty twinkle to them that just hints at her layers underneath. And then there’s her hair. Usually men don’t give a rat’s ass about a girl’s hair but hers is big and blonde, the kind I want to twist around my hand and tug until I’m coming.
But of course all of this is a big fucking problem since I’m her new boss and getting involved with an employee is all sorts of trouble. Though I’m always a sucker for trouble, especially when it has a nice pair of tits.
