Page 5 of Mr. McBeefcake

“I’ll be sure to tell your nieces or nephews that.

I release a noise I’ve never made before. It’s sort of a growl, I guess. I pocket my phone. When I go back inside the cabin, there he is.

Still wearing just a towel, but now leaning against the kitchen counter. He takes a bite of an apple.

“Want a snack?” he asks, holding out his fruit.

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she can fully relate to Eve in the Garden of Eden. Sometimes it’s a Blizzard from Dairy Queen, sometimes a tennis bracelet from Tiffany’s, and sometimes it’s a freakin’ football god wearing a towel and offering up a sinful snack.

He might be holding out an apple, but all I’m thinking about is the amount of naked, muscular skin in front of me. Try as I might, I can’t NOT look at the significant bulge beneath his towel.

Where is a wormhole to another dimension when you need one?

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. “My sister abandoned me here.”

“I have my truck.”

I look up at his stupid, handsome face. With his dark hair that’s just long enough to make him look like a bad boy. His short beard covers what I know to be deep dimples in his cheeks. Frankly I’m thankful he’s hidden those. They were dangerous.

“Is this truck invisible or did you drive it behind the house? Hid it in the trees perhaps?” I ask.

He frowns, then walks to the front door and flings it open. “Fuckers,” he mutters. He steps back inside and grabs a phone off the kitchen counter. He puts it on speaker phone.

“Yo,” a man’s voice says in answer.

“Jude, where the fuck is my truck?”

“Oh, the tread on your tires looked low so I brought it into the shop. It’ll be ready with four new tires tomorrow.”

“I don’t need new tires,” Donovan says.

“Sorry, the connection is breaking up. Gotta go.”

“So we’re stuck here. On the side of a mountain. In a cabin. Together!” I say.

“Breathe.” He appears next to me and is rubbing circles on my back. “You’re okay.”

I should tell him to stop touching me. “Please tell me you have actual clothes with you.”

He grins. “I do have clothes here. This is where I’m staying.”

“This cannot be happening,” I say. “Can you go put said clothes on?”

“Why? Do you find this distracting?”

I shake my head and hope I’m not drooling all over myself. “No. I do not care for all the muscles. It’s too much. Overkill, if you will.”

“Ah, you prefer scrawny men?”

“If you must know, yes. Pasty white ones too. Would rather not have to deal with a history of skin cancer.”

He tips his head back and laughs. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”