“You weren’t exactly equipped to handle Kyle either. As I recall, you almost died.”

  I reached up letting my fingers brush over the scars on my neck. “Yes. But I didn’t. And I don’t intend on dying anytime soon.”

  “Good. Should we let the crazies in?” She motioned to the large wooden gates blocking the main entrance to the park and the line a half-mile long of cars and trucks holding eager fishermen.

  I nodded, and we swung the gates open. A few hands waved from the windows, and some even hollered a good morning before they headed out to get their chances at catching the big one.

  My shift passed quickly due to the busyness of the reservoir. There were fishermen everywhere just begging to have their licenses checked.

  Okay, so maybe not begging.

  In fact, some of them were downright irritated I’d checked their licenses for the ‘millionth time’ this month.

  I was tempted to tell them to get another hobby, but instead I shrugged and reminded them I see a lot of fishermen and couldn’t remember them all.

  “I hear you have a date tonight,” Antonio said when I pulled into the shop to refill my Starbucks cup with the coffee sludge resembling old motor oil.

  “What’s it to you?” I tipped the pot up and could have sworn a chunk fell into my cup.

  Antonio leaned back against the wall giving me every opportunity to ogle his rugged Italian handsomeness. He even made the gray and navy uniforms look good. I took a sip of my coffee, and the bitterness brought me back to reality.

  Married.

  I shook my head.

  “I want to make sure I won’t have to save you again. This man, you know him?”

  “I’ve met him once.”

  “In real life?”

  “Yep.” I shifted from one foot to another. I’d wring Shayla’s neck for telling him all this.

  “I hope he’s worth it,” Antonio continued as he followed me back out to my truck, “You are quite the catch, if I may use a fishing pun.”

  “Ugh, I wish you wouldn’t.” I pulled the door open and turned to find Antonio standing mere inches from me. He smelled like expensive Italian cologne—spicy and forbidden.

  “My wife and I have separated.” His voice was low and rumbly as his gaze bore into mine.

  “That’s, um—” I cleared my throat, “—nice.” I took a step back, but there was nowhere else to go. My knees buckled, and my butt plopped down in the truck seat behind me.

  “So maybe sometime we could . . .” He hovered over me now. Part of me wanted to slam the door on his head, but the other part wanted to reach up into his perfect hair and

  “Ranger Sixteen, Ranger Fourteen,” Brock, called on the radio. I let out a breath that was making me light headed. At least I was telling myself it was the lack of oxygen.

  “Ranger Sixteen, Ranger Fourteen?” Brock’s voice again.

  “Ranger Fourteen, go ahead,” I croaked out.

  “I just wanted to let you know I’d be checking licenses on the dam.”

  “Copy.” Why was he checking in with me when Antonio was the shift supervisor?

  “Thanks, Sixteen clear.”

  “I’ll let you think about it.” Antonio turned and walked back into the shop.

  Dammit.

  5

  It took me entirely too long to decide on the black miniskirt and silver sequined one-shoulder top with my black stiletto heels. I curled my hair into loose waves and managed a great smoky eye before deciding that was as good as it was gonna get.

  “Whoa, where are you going? To the club?” Megan teased as I headed out the door.

  “Too much?”

  “I don’t know that too much is the appropriate term. Perhaps too little,” my mother looked down at my legs. “I have a longer skirt you could borrow.”

  I bet she did. “Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

  “Well, don’t let your father see you like that.” She shook her head.

  “You look great,” Megan said when Mom was out of earshot.

  Meli’s Margaritas was completely packed when I arrived. I parked Cherry Anne—my red Ford Mustang—in the back of the lot and cursed every step I took in the dreaded heels. Hopefully, I wouldn’t catch a crack in the pavement and fall on my face. Road rash definitely wouldn’t go with this outfit.

  The restaurant had opened for business last month and was nearly impossible to get into. The frosted glass doors opened into a bar where people milled around looking expensive sipping from their huge margarita glasses. The décor was that of a typical Mexican restaurant only hipper with its twinkling lights and upscale furniture.

  “Rylie?” A man at the bar turned and nearly fell off his stool. Two empty margarita glasses sat on the bar in front of him.

  “Garrett. It’s nice to see you.”

  “Wow, you’re even hotter” a drunk hiccup burst from his mouth, “In person.”

  “You mean out of uniform?” I corrected.

  “Yeah. Exactly.” He blushed. His deep blue eyes sparkled like the water just before the sun rose over the reservoir. “I think I’ve had too much to drink. I’m sorry.”

  Drunk guys were usually a total turn-off, but Garrett seemed nicer, humbler as a drunk than he had sober. “It’s okay. Should we get a table?”

  “Absolutely.” He spoke to the hostess, reminding her of our reservation and we were seated almost instantly.

  The further we ventured into the restaurant, the more immersive the experience. The atmosphere darkened slightly, only lit by tiny twinkle lights hovering over the tables. The smoky smell of sizzling fajitas made my mouth water while the sound of a live band reminded me of the trip to Costa Rica my senior year of high school.

  “Here you go.” The hostess stopped at a cozy booth in the corner of the room, her eyes glued to my face.

  “Thanks.” I took the menu, but she didn’t leave.

  “I’m sorry, this is totally unprofessional,” she pulled out her phone, “But are you the girl from the video?”

  “What video?” I shifted in my seat. “I don’t think I’ve been in any videos lately.”

  Garrett gave me a kind smile. They probably got bigwigs in here all the time, but I definitely wasn’t one of them.

  “Oh,” her face fell a bit. “I thought you might be that ranger who was attacked by the snake and sat on a little girl’s sand castle.”

  The air around me seemed to thin making it hard to suck in a breath. “Were you there?”

  “No, I saw it on YouTube.” She tapped a few buttons on her phone and turned it to face me. “You’re going viral.”

  I yanked the phone closer. It was me. Falling, being bitten, throwing the snake on repeat. “No. No no no,” I said under my breath.

  My voice was shouting at Seamus, “I’m only dying over here,” was expertly woven into the background music and the sounds of the crowd’s laughter.

  I examined the video more closely. I really needed to do something about my hair. My roots were starting to show.

  “It is you!” The waitress let out a squeal. “I can’t believe you’re here. How’s your hand?”

  Garrett looked back and forth between the two of us, a confused smile plastered on his face.

  “My hand’s fine.” I looked down at the two puncture marks that were healing nicely.

  “Is this your boyfriend?”

  “Um, no,” I replied. “We’re on our first date.”

  “We met on Tinder,” Garrett blurted out. “Kinda.”

  “Tinder? Girl, with those legs and your newfound fame—even if it’s bad fame—you don’t need to go on Tinder.”

  “Well, thanks, but—”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll let you get on with your date.” She slid her phone back into her pocket. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “I’ll take a margarita,” Garrett said almost too quickly.

  “I’ll have an ice tea.” Drinking on the first date didn’t seem like a great idea, especially a first date with a man who was already drunk off his ass.

  “Sorry about that,” I said when the hostess left.

  “It’s okay.” Garrett wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “You know we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  “Of course I want to,” I said, only half lying.

  “Because I know you’re a catch. I still can’t believe you texted me.”

  I shrugged. Where was the cocky guy from the park? “I figured I’d give you a chance.”

  He nodded. “Sorry about the snake video. I’m glad your hand is okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Here are your drinks,” the hostess said. “Would you mind signing this for me?” She pulled out a napkin with the restaurant’s logo on it.

  She had to be joking. I looked up expecting her to laugh, but instead, she pushed her pen towards my face.

  “Sure,” I signed it quickly, and she bounded away from the table tucking the napkin safely into her pocket.

  “It’s too bad people don’t want my autograph for something more—I don’t know—positive.”

  Garrett had already gulped down half of his margarita. “If you weren’t so beautiful, no one would care.”

  I doubted they were checking me out. But it was a nice compliment. “So you’re an accountant?”

  He nodded. “It’s a good gig. Several of the Broncos players are clients. Are you a fan?”

  “Isn’t everyone?”

  “Seems like it.” He took another sip of his margarita. “I have tickets for this weekend’s home game if you’d like to go.”

  I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible while my insides squealed yes, yes, say yes! Which was worse that he was actually asking me out again after we were only ten minutes into our date, or that I was only too willing to say yes?

  “Sure,” I finally replied. Hopefully, he wasn’t too drunk to remember this conversation. I’d never been to an actual game.

  “Cool.” He smiled and seemed to relax a bit. “So, have you met a lot of people on Tinder?”

  “You’re the first, uh, well sort of, I guess.” I laughed. “A friend of mine convinced me to set up the profile.”

  “Me too. I didn’t have much interest, but I thought why not? Most of the women I’m interested in swipe left.”

  Why would any woman swipe left? He was tall and built and handsome. Maybe his profile was a booty call.

  I glanced across the table to see him take a sip of his drink only to have it dribble down his chin. Maybe it was because behind the outward appearance, this guy was a verifiable lush, though how they could figured that out from a simple Tinder profile was beyond me.

  It didn’t take long to order and receive our food—steak fajitas for me and an enormous quesadilla for him. The waiter looked at me with a knowing grin but thankfully didn’t say anything about the video.

  Just as we were getting ready to leave and Garrett was signing the credit card slip, a familiar face caught my eye. Nikki. And Luke. Sitting across the restaurant.

  They were talking about something that looked rather intense. Either that or Nikki’s stick had traveled further up her ass.

  My stare must have borne a hole in Luke’s back because he turned to glance over at our booth. I looked away before he caught me staring. Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached across and touched Garrett’s arm giggling as if he had told the funniest joke in the world.

  He let out a confused laugh. “Did I say something?” His speech even more slurred now that he’d finished his fourth enormous margarita—the limit for how many the restaurant would serve one person.

  “You’re just so cute,” I said with a smile knowing full well Luke was watching. “Should we head out?”

  His head bobbed. “Definitely.”

  We stood from the booth, me doing my best to showcase my legs and the shortness of my skirt and him trying not to fall over. I hooked my arm in his, thankful he was steady enough to support most of his own weight and did my best love-to-watch-her-go walk hoping Luke was taking it all in.

  “Where’d you park?” I asked when we got to the parking lot.

  “Uh, I think . . .” he glanced around not seeming to comprehend my question entirely.

  I couldn’t let him drive himself, not like this.

  “How about I drive you home?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  It took double the time getting back to my car. Between my heels and him practically falling all over me, I was surprised we made it there at all. Part of me hoped he would forget inviting me to the Broncos game after all. I didn’t mind a guy who had an occasional beer now and then, but I hated a sloppy drunk.

  Thankfully he stayed conscious long enough to give me his address before passing out in my passenger seat. I silently willed him not to barf on Cherry Anne’s leather.

  His house was a swanky brick two story with a double garage underneath part of the main living quarters in one of the wealthy parts of town. Accountants did rather well for themselves.

  “Garrett?” I said when we pulled up to the curb.

  “Huh?” He opened his eyes and wiped the drool coming from the corner of his mouth. “We’re here already?”

  “Yep.”

  He reached for the door handle and managed to get himself out of the car and up to his front steps. I followed. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I leave?” I asked.

  “Not at all,” he fumbled with the keys before finally resting on one and unlocking the door. “Hey, Babbitt. Good boy.” He reached down and patted the head of an adorable husky. “This is Rylie. Can you say hello?”

  Babbitt let out a loud yowl.

  I bent down and scratched him under the chin. “Hello Babbitt, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He responded with a big kiss.

  “The bathroom’s right through there,” Garrett pointed down the hallway and then flopped down on the plush leather sofa, Babbitt coming to rest on the floor next to him.

  The inside of his home was completely opposite from what I had expected. It was spotless. Decorated in the latest décor, it looked like a page out of Modern Homes Magazine. The only personal photos were of him with Babbitt and various children—likely the nieces and nephews he’d raved about at dinner.

  Hardwood floors stretched throughout the open concept living room and kitchen and led to a set of stairs up to the second story of the house, a few closed doors, which probably led to bedrooms, and a door to the garage.

  The bathroom was pristine. I opened the medicine cabinet as quietly as possible to find absolutely nothing. Not one single bottle of any sort, prescription or not.

  Where were the bottles I’d seen in his tackle box? Maybe they were still in the tackle box. Or in the master bathroom.

  I closed the cabinet door.

  What was I doing? Seamus was right. I was looking for trouble that wasn’t even there.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, I stopped to watch Garrett play with Babbitt. He would tell Babbitt to stay, and Babbitt would stay still as a statue until Garrett said, “Sick,” and Babbitt would attack the plush toy duck on the floor.

  “Did you find it okay?” he mumbled when I walked over to the couch.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks for dinner. I should probably be going.”

  “You’re not going to go to the Broncos game with me are you?”

  “Uh,” I contemplated whether to be honest or not. Part of me really wanted to go to the game, but dating shouldn’t feel like babysitting my four-year-old nephew.

  “Don’t worry about it. I understand.” His eyes were closed with one of his arms draped over his forehead.

  I sat down on the edge of the couch and scratched Babbitt behind the ears. “Are you going to be okay tonight by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve got Babbitt,” he said. I went to stand, but he gently grabbed my hand—his palm as smooth as a brand new tub of butter. “I’m sorry I messed up our date. I guess I got nervous to go out with someone as cool as you.”

  “I’m not that cool,” I said.

  His big blue eyes focused on my face, a smile breached his lips. “Yes. You are.”

  I returned his grin.

  “Will you at least sleep on it before you completely turn me down for the Broncos game?”

  I thought about it for a couple of seconds. What was the worst that could happen if I went on another date with him? He’d get drunk again and I’d call him an Uber? At least I’d get to see the game in person.

  “You know what? I don’t have to sleep on it.” I squeezed his hand. “I’ll go to the game with you.”

  “You won’t regret it.” He rubbed his thumb over mine sending shivers up my arm. “And I promise not to get plastered.”

  “Deal.”

  6

  “Rylie?” My mother’s voice and a tap at my door woke me five minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off. Five precious minutes of sleep gone.

  “What, Mom?”

  She opened the door as if my response was an invitation to come in.

  “I wanted to make sure you got home alive.”

  She’d waited long enough. If something had happened the night before, my body would be cold and stiff by now.

  “Thanks for checking in,” I mumbled from under my pillow. “I’m good,”

  “You know, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go on dates with men you’ve only met on the Internet. There’s this thing called catfishing, and it sounds dangerous—especially after what happened at the reservoir when you started there.”

  I pulled the pillow off my head and reminded myself she was only trying to look out for my best interests. “Mom, catfishing, in the dating sense, is when someone acts like they’re someone else. They never actually meet you in person because they’re not real. I’m in no danger of being catfished.”

  “Okay maybe not that, but still, those men seem to be after only one thing . . .”

  One thing I hadn’t had in months. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  She exhaled, voicing her dissatisfaction with my response more than the pained look on her face and stood up. “Have a great day.”

 

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