Page 27 of Dirty Fighter

So maybe I don’t need to be on guard every moment. Maybe if I just tell him⁠—

“Positive,” I burst out, deciding to save the soul-baring revelations for Jill, or at least someone who hasn’t been looking at me like I was planning to strip the copper from the walls less than twenty-four hours ago. “Where do we start?”

Jason nods, his mouth falling into a grin that puts me on high alert. “How about the shed? In fact…”

10

Rowan

“You’re a menace!” Jason shouts after me as I dash out the door off the utility room.

“You shouldn’t have offered!” I laugh, arms pumping in time with my legs.

Apparently, he was just trying to get a rise out of me when he casually asked if I wanted to take on that task of clearing the storage shed Ed referenced in his taunting note to his son.

But when I said, “Umm, yes, please,” I was dead serious.

In terms of getting the full cabin experience in one go? This is it.

Jason didn’t like that.

There was some backpedaling and the whole “Joking, joking” thing, all while that deep furrow between his brows got deeper as he followed me into the utility room off the kitchen where I tied my hair into a ponytail and put on a pair of work gloves I brought with me.

Then that macho bullshit where he just wants to make sure it’s safe before I go in.

No way, buddy. I bolted.

And I think I’m going to make it. I can practically see myself throwing the shed door open, my overwhelming confidence warning any unwelcome inhabitants to vacate the premises.

It’s possible this fantasy includes Jason cowering a few yards off, the clouds parting overhead and Ed beaming down at me from the heavens with pride in his eyes.

But then his big bulldozer of a son blazes past me.

FYI, Jason is fast. It’s almost like the guy makes his living racing down the ice or something. But while he has speed on his side, I’ve got determination and a ticking clock counting down the minutes until this place is lost to me forever.

Plus, I’m observant, almost like someone who spent the first twenty years of her life trying to stay a step ahead of a deeply narcissistic parent with volatile moods and a hair trigger. And what I’m noticing about Jason is that his overprotective streak is still front and center.

He’s about to reach the shed when I let out a yelp, feigning an ankle twist.

It’s low. I know it. But it works.

Jason stops and whirls around, doubling back. “Shit, you okay?”

This guy really is nice, and I feel a little like a dick for using his caring about others to my advantage… but then I think about that locked bedroom door and…

Cue the wince. “I mean, I think so?”

He comes in closer. “Did you roll it?”

“Oww. Maybe?” I’m half crouched, waiting…

Dropping to a knee beside me, he gently brushes my ankle, the contact from his fingers featherlight and a little too nice for the dirty trick I’m playing. “Where does it hurt?”

I gingerly test the weight, take a tentative step… toward the shed… and then another. “I’m pretty sure”— another step —“I mean, it might just be a bruise to umm… your ego?”

Jason’s head snaps up, his mouth dropping open.

I flash a grin, jogging backward a few steps. “Don’t worry, hot shot. It’ll only hurt for a second. Just… walk it off.”