Lil' Miss Flasher
It’s hard to believe I
was convinced to tag along on this camping trip to a place in NoWhereVille,
USA that no one else wanted to go.
Trish and I have hiked so far from where her jeep was parked, only
a bloodhound could retrace our steps. Insects have lavished my entire body,
leaving behind a trail of itchy welts like a road map. I may as well have
a sign proclaiming: ‘Free Cootie Smorgasbord!’ imprinted on my forehead.
Furthermore, Trish should have sent up warning signals pertaining to the
pitfalls of wearing new hiking boots before breaking them in. My backpack
– also brand new assuring I will have nasty chaffing to go along with my
blisters – was completely crammed with camping gear that made me feel like I was
carrying fifty pounds of crap in a five-pound bag. I am sweaty, exhausted and
had an extra helping of bitch flakes for breakfast, thank you very much.
Catching up to Trish, I expressed my feelings like any grown-up,
first-grade teacher would under similar circumstances. I poked out my
bottom lip, spurt out a grunt load of unladylike words, sunk down on a large
rock and refused to take another step. So excuse me all to hell because I
threw a titty tantrum of major proportion. No judging now. I am not
the outdoorsy, rugged Annie Oakley-type of woman and never claimed to be.
Mints scattered on a pillow in five-star hotels is the only way I would
remotely consider myself a, ‘happy camper’.
I wasn’t originally scheduled to be included in this trip, nor
subjected to the abuse Trish refers to as ‘camping’. I find myself in
this predicament because my self-centered older brother Doug chose to elect me
on the eve of this adventure. Doug, he with the love-sick heart for my best
friend. Doug, (of whom I refer to as Dougie at times because it irks the hell
out of him), was the intended victim to accompany Trish today and traipse
through the pits of glorious Bum Friggin' Egypt.
Trish and Doug have had this on again, off again love relationship
for as long as I can remember. What Trish remotely finds appealing about
him and why she forgives his repeated indiscretions, I simply cannot
comprehend. Once a cheater, always a cheater as far as I'm concerned.
Doug is my brother and I love him, but it surely doesn’t mean I have to
After unearthing more about Doug later on, you'll get the picture.
Trish and I are polar opposites. She thrives in the
wilderness and actually earns a prosperous income immersed in what she loves.
Trish is a Certified Adventure Travel Guide. She leads
backpack excursions, white-water rafting trips, wilderness camping expeditions
(such as this) and nature hikes. Living in Hollow Springs for the better part
of our existence, we reside in an ideal location for her business to flourish.
A picturesque community nestled at the base of the Sierra Nevada Mountain
Range in Northern California where the tourist traffic was high no matter the
season, and as far as vacations go, Trish considers every day at work as time
off. Adjoining our historic gold-mining town are vast wilderness areas as
well as rivers and lakes known to attract water enthusiasts. It has all
the earmarks of being perfect, but at this moment, I would sell my sorry ass
for a modern hotel room; or trade an eyeball for an air-conditioned mall with a
kiosk operated by a gracious person who will lovingly rub my feet until I am on
the brink of an orgasm. Indeed, that is what I’m talking about. When that
fine person finishes diddling around with my feet, then I could proceed on to a
fellow with magical hands who will relieve this painful tension shooting up my
back and down my shoulders. When I'm finally feeling up to snuff, I would
mosey on over and treat myself to some much-needed retail therapy consisting of
perhaps some new shoes from Macy’s. A woman can never own too many shoes,
right? As I am envisioning all this loveliness, Trish abruptly – and
rudely, might I add – diverts my attention from these soothing thoughts with
the beginnings of a bitch-fit.
“Shit, Gracie! If I had known what a craptastic sidekick you were
going to be, I would've done this excursion solo!"
She was glowering at me in a shaming way to which I only stared
back at her blankly. Trish sighed. "Oh, what the hell, right here
appears to be a good enough spot. We’ll set up camp here. Happy
Actually no, I am not happy—not in the least. And judging
by the glare I shoot in my friends direction, Trish receives my answer loud and
clear without a word leaving my lips.
Evidently, she’s thinking I need an attitude adjustment, which
makes me all the more irritable. Naturally, she is relentless and
continues preaching to deaf ears. “Give it up, Gracie ... just cease with your
diva drama, will you? From the moment we left home you’ve done nothing but piss
and moan. Look at yourself with your butt homesteaded on that rock, whining
and carrying on like a spoiled brat. Really, and how old are you?”
Trish glares at me with a look that could make a grown man cry for
his mama and the look on her face challenges me to answer. I realize she is
thoroughly bent out of shape as she pitches her backpack several feet away.
Trish doesn’t intimidate me in the least, however, so I respond in a like
“Well you know Trish, this camping gig was your blowhard idea.
Might I remind you, I’m only here as a favor to you. God-forbid we're not
spending our valuable weekend exploring back-country terrain along with every
creepy-crawly known to man. Big Whoop, not my cup of tea, you know. Not to
mention, I take offense at your holier-than-thou attitude. Now, here's
what’s going to happen. I'm going to go pee, and before I return you better
stop to re-assess who you're actually pissed at. Then you had better get rid of
that nasty-ass attitude of yours. If not, we'll march right out of this
'Deliverance' nightmare and journey on home ...kapish?”
With that, I tromp off into the bushes before realizing I did so
without formulating a plan for a back-out scenario. However, nature is
calling in a manner that can't be ignored a moment longer, and there was no way
in hell I was about to retreat my steps and ask Trish about outdoor female
peeing etiquette. Hence, my pride keeps me trudging further away from our
future campsite. First off, I didn't consider bringing any toilet paper with
me. No problem. I read somewhere that survivalists use leaves when in need. I
reckon that will have to suffice.
I choose a spot with some scruffy bushes and decide it’s as good
as any other to cop-a-squat. Modesty has me looking right and left
several times to assure privacy before quickly dropping my britches. Now
I have to admit, I don’t frequent a gym so with a small grunt, I assumed an
undignified squat-position that would've been easier if my thigh muscles were
accustomed to some type of exercise. Grimacing, I now feel twigs and weeds
scratching and tickling my bare butt, so I attempt to step sideways which
results in pee squirting on my new hiking boots. Just Perfect. Criminy,
where is an outhouse when one is drastically needed? I freeze in my most-unbecoming
position when I hear what sounds like someone approaching. Oh
Hell’s Bells, may the Earth open wide and swallow me up this instant! I quickly
attempt to jerk my pants up while simultaneously trying to prevent my pee from
flowing. My bladder is really, really full and will not cooperate.
I'm finding it extremely difficult to accomplish these two tasks at
once—especially while in full panic mode. As a result, I clumsily reach
one hand towards the nearest bush to seek support for balance. Unbeknownst to
me, the dumb-ass bush isn’t sturdy enough to accommodate the bulk of my weight
so it immediately snaps apart as I lean against it. Now completing my
squat-dance of degradation, first my face collides with the ground followed
immediately by the remainder of my body. To my utter and complete
humiliation, I find myself lying sideways with dirt and leaves assaulting my
face; not to mention my bare ass is on full display for the fellow who just
arrived into the clearing sitting atop a horse. Oh, for the love of God,
could this day possibly get any worse?
I struggle to get upright and conceal my lady parts as a hand is
extended to assist me off the ground. In my out-and-out embarrassment, I
swat at the hand repeatedly while continuing with my independent, unsuccessful
struggles. I could well imagine I probably looked like some pathetic
half-turtle, half-naked woman as I struggle to right myself.
“Would you mind turning your back? Seriously, this is not
humorous in the least and I’d appreciate you showing some courtesy by leaving
right now! You heard me! Vamoose this instant!”
I am all but hissing so my words (along with clumps of dirt and
leaves) are spewing from my mouth.
Unbelievably, the big buffoon has enough balls to laugh at my
utter humiliation. The heat radiating throughout my body is a sure
indication that my face is the color of a ripe tomato. I can’t get a good
look at this guy because quite frankly, I have dirt up to my eyeballs.
Despite my attempts at elegancy in an impossible situation, a good
description of my progress was by now more likened to a fish floundering out of
water than the previous turtle-woman. I wish this day would end because
thus far, it's proven to be one big bag of suck.
“Here, you really should allow me to give you a hand," he
said. He paused a moment, the humor in his voice evident. "You do
realize that's poison oak you’re wallowing around in, right?” The
unidentified annoying peeping Tom reaches his persistent hand out once again,
offering assistance. At least his laughter had calmed down to intermittent
Now I am so mortified I only wish to rise to a standing position,
be fully clothed, and get the hell away from this man. It’s the single
reason I reluctantly place my hand in his and thankfully find myself on my feet
again. In record time, my knickers are up where they're supposed to be
(covering my ass) and I'm now furiously brushing dirt from my face, hair and
well ... from all over my being.
Next thing I know, that same male hand is outstretched towards me
again. “Dylan Sanders, and my apologies for catching you at a bad time.
You know, with your pants down and all.” The humorous tone had not left
Under normal circumstances, this arrogant son of a biscuit would
have me swooning. He is seriously ‘drop your panties and beg for his body’
eye-popping gorgeous. Tall with broad shoulders, biceps that indicate he
maintains a gym membership, brown sun-streaked hair that seems both purposely
messy and handsomely perfect at the same time, and white, straight teeth.
He is the living, breathing picture of what most women would refer to as,
man-candy. This guy has it all going on and is probably fully aware of
I'm certainly not feeling giddy, nor inclined to do my well
practiced bat my eyelashes and pucker my lips routine with Mr. Hottie.
He invaded my personal space, viewed my bare behind, and then had the
audacity to snicker at my predicament.
I rudely ignore his outstretched hand, do an about face and
proceed hiking toward my campsite.
“Wait. Hold up there Lil' Miss Flasher, for lack of your real
name. I actually do need to speak with you, so please stop for just a
This Dylan fellow is a persistent bugger but I’ve had just about
enough of him, this God-forsaken wilderness and these painful boots. I
choose to continue ignoring him while making my way back. Just when I
assumed he had given up and the campsite is only around the bend, I hear him
and the horse he rode in on approaching. We arrive at the edge of the
campsite at the same time. We find ourselves completely taken aback at the
sight before us. Oh my word, what in the world?
At the perimeter of the clearing, there is a man standing beside a
tree, looking just as smug as can be. His long legs are spread slightly
apart with his bulky arms folded across a broad chest, a stance screaming of
testosterone running rampant. His dark, wavy hair is askew, hinting
of a recent struggle and he’s sporting a shadow of growth on his face that
appears as though he's missed a meeting or two with his razor. It would
be safe to assume this fellow frequents a gym as much as Hottie Numero Uno
positioned next to me. As startling as all this is to take in, I'm viewing
more; much more. What is so jaw dropping is that my bestie Trish has her arms
wrapped around a tree with her wrists handcuffed together to keep her in place.
I can personally state for the record she seems angry enough to spit nails.
I can hardly believe the vulgar language spewing out her mouth being
directed towards the dark-haired male Adonis. Quite honestly, I don’t
even know the definition of some of the words screeching from her mouth.
Maybe she's making up the words as she goes along. With this scene before
me, fear is now invading my senses. The realization strikes me like a ton of
bricks that in reality, we're two women alone in the middle of nowhere with two
unknown men who are so massive in size they can easily squish us like insects.
There is not another soul around to hear us scream for mercy. It’s
as if we've landed ourselves in the middle of a low budget slasher movie.
Evidently, the studly guy standing beside me is sensing my
impending panic attack and reaches inside his coat pocket to retrieve and flash
what appears to be a law enforcement badge in front of my face. Oh, thank
you Lord in Heaven.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist again. We aren’t here to
harm you. I’m Detective Dylan Sanders and would've introduced myself to
you earlier if you had given me a chance. Detective Justin Tanner over
there is my partner.” He motions towards the dark-haired Hottie with a
quick nod of his head.
While I attempt to wrap my brain around this tidbit of
information, Trish vehemently continues her indignant, foul-mouthed rampage.
She is loudly protesting about being handcuffed and I wholeheartedly
agree with her. I don’t hesitate to have her back by adding my two cents
in for all it may be worth.
“Why would you find it necessary to handcuff my friend, Detective
Tanner? I can’t imagine she was breaking the law. She wasn’t now, was
she? I surely don’t see a convenience store she may have knocked
off; certainly not one located way out here in Granny Clampett territory.
So would you care to explain yourself, detective?”
No sooner had the words exited my mouth than both Detective Tanner
and Trish began speaking at once, each aiming to be louder than the other.
If my first-graders exhibited similar behavior, they would be placed in
time-out chairs. Seriously, one would never have guessed these two were
A loud, ear splitting whistle emitted from the man standing
adjacent to me, silenced the squabbling banshees immediately.
“Enough already! One at a time. Why the handcuffs, Justin?
What’s up with that?”
“Let me tell you why," Justin spat out. "This loose
cannon, motor-mouth evil..." He paused a moment, pointing a shaky finger
at my friend Trish, "witch attacked me! I no sooner got off
my horse to assess the situation and she jumps on my back and tries to scratch
my eyes out, kicking and snapping her big teeth at me like a demented
psycho-bitch. What would you expect me to do? Play tiddly winks or
Parcheesi with a bottle of crazy sauce like her? Oh hell no, she got handcuffed
which is exactly what she was asking for!” With an indignant harrumph,
the detective crosses his arms again, resuming his belligerent stance.
The words had no sooner left Detective Tanner’s mouth before Trish
determined it was time to recount her version of the incident.
“Un-friggin'-believable! I was defending myself! You show up
out of nowhere all sneaky and looking like a scuzzball. Then you take the
liberty of pilfering in our stuff. I was hiding in the bushes, watching
you. My friend had been gone for entirely too long so I could only assume you
or an accomplice had done something heinous to her. It all fit, so I did
what needed to be done.”
Trish focused her notorious stink-eye directly on Detective Tanner
following this statement. It received no reaction from the detective other than
to invite the reappearance of his taunting smirk.
Trish continued recounting her version of the story. “Gracie
and I are here unaccompanied and I wasn’t going to allow you to get the jump on
me first. In these woods, I have been trained to survive, which is precisely
what I was demonstrating. In my assessment at the time, you posed a
serious threat, so I didn’t allow you to gain the upper hand. It's as
simple as that. You know, all this could have been avoided if you would have
just identified yourself as a cop, dick-wad!”
Trish’s challenging statement was like adding fuel to an already
roaring flame and a verbal Tug-O’War escalated, bringing it to full-blown,
infernal mode. The detective insisted he didn’t have time to identify
himself as an officer of the law because he was too busy reminding himself that
the harpy bitch was a woman, so flat-out punching her in the face – which he
did consider for moment – was not an option but locking her ass to the nearest
tree, was. He followed this with saying while he was containing himself from
knocking her from here to the nearest convenient planet, she had been taking
her best shot at scratching his eyes out. Of course, that remark sets Trish’s
temper off all the more so she rudely informs the officer he is fortunate his
balls are still intact. The verbal insults continue on and on until once again
detective, 'Stare-at-my-bare-ass' intervenes and shuts everyone the hell up.
“Look, both of you just knock it off," he commanded to both
Trish and his fellow detective. " Here’s the thing, we have to escort
you two women back to your vehicle. You can’t be here right now, which is
the reason we approached your campsite in the first place. I can assure
you, it wasn’t for this childish drama, so let’s just put a lid on it.”
Trish's eyes turned to flinted steel. “Oh hell no, we
aren’t going anywhere. Gracie and I didn’t hike nearly all day for you two to
climb on your macho high horses and rush us home. Think again, because
it’s not happening. Absolutely not! We're not going anywhere—especially
not with either of you two bossy, scum-suckers. I’ll have you know, I'm a
taxpaying citizen. I pay your salary so you should be taking orders from me!”
Oh my Lord, Trish is in a foul mood. Nevertheless, those are the
last words she should have spoken aloud, much less really loud. Of
all the comments to shout to a cop, that's probably one of the least favorite
phrases they enjoy hearing. What is she thinking? Evidently, she isn’t
the least bit fearful of being thrown in county lockup. Judging by the
look in his eyes, it seems like nothing would please Detective Tanner more than
to throw her sorry butt in the slammer and dispose of the key. I'm
motioning for Trish to shush her mouth but to no avail. I'm intentionally
being ignored. It’s not as if Trish ever listens to my advice even under
the best of circumstances, so this comes as no surprise. However, at this
particular moment, I'm wishing she would consider using better judgment because
I certainly don’t wish to go to jail. On top of that, I honestly
wouldn't mind in the least being sent home where my comfortable bed awaits.
If I’m lucky, these two detectives may not assume Trish and I are
partners in crime. I love Trish and all, but don’t desire to be her
cellmate. I will present her with cookies on visiting days though because
that's just what best friends do.
Detective Sanders was doing his best to keep his voice even.
“That’s it! Ladies, we are leaving now and trust me when I say it's for
your own safety. I can’t elaborate any more, so let’s get moving.
Let me rephrase, you will get yourselves on the back of these horses and
we'll escort you to your vehicle without further delay, or I'll place you under
arrest for obstruction of justice. Have I made myself clear?”
When Trish opened her mouth to obviously protest, the detective
cut her off in an authoritative voice that clearly booked no argument. “I will
repeat this one more time and then you will be read your rights, young lady.
Your handcuffs are going to be removed, and then your butt had better be
on the back of the horse beside you or you'll be arrested. Got that? Same goes
for you, Ms. Flasher Gracie. Come on ... let's get a move-on. Chop,
chop! Don’t make me have to mirandize you. You get me?”
Oh yes I get it, and my fully-clothed ass is on the back of that
four-legged beast before Detective Hunka-Hunka can think twice about throwing
me in lockup. At the very least, it would create the need for some major
explaining with the school board, the PTA, and the always-inquiring minds of my
first-grade students. Oh no, I want no part of any scandal. It
isn’t difficult to miss the sanctimonious expression on the other detective’s
face when I glance to my right. It's quite similar to the expression my
students get just before they stick out their tongues to ridicule a fellow
classmate. Detective Tanner is now directing his smirky smug expression
in the direction of my best friend. Ultimately, Trish knows when to
accept she's lost a battle, but the look in her eye also makes it clear she
will make it her singular mission to win the war. Poor, poor Detective Tanner
hadn’t the slightest clue of the trouble he has coming his way.
The detective grudgingly sets Trish free of her handcuffs.
The two new enemies square off, eyeing each other suspiciously for a
brief moment until she climbs on the back of his horse.
The two police officers quickly gather up our backpacks and assist
us with putting them on our backs. Detective Sanders helps me with this task
while Detective Tanner simply shoved the backpack in Trish’s direction, leaving
her to her own devices.
Detective Sanders realizes it will be less awkward if I disembark
from the horse to allow him on first, so we play musical seats. When
we're finally both situated on the four-legged beast, he instructs me to wrap
my arms around his waist and hold on tight. I’m not ashamed to admit he doesn’t
have to repeat those instructions.
Since I was a child, I have harbored a fear of horses. My phobia
stems from a time in my childhood when a big brute of a horse (okay maybe it
was a pony) bit my ear. There I was at a petting zoo, excited about
riding this animal when it reached his big teeth over and chomped on my ear.
Seriously, it hurt like a thousand nails shooting in my head and to
commemorate the experience, the beast left a permanent scar on my ear.
Therefore, you can understand my fear of these horrid, ear-munching creatures.
I've managed to board the intimidating horse with my ear intact
and am clutching Detective Sanders really, really tight and all the
while my girlie parts are thankful for an opportunity to cop a feel of
such a finely-toned studly body. I mean seriously, what single, straight
woman is going to pass up a ‘hands-on’ opportunity when it presents itself? Certainly
not me! I haven't experienced action in my nether regions for a very,
very long time. At least, no activity not induced by a battery-operated
device. The detective and I may have started off on the wrong foot, but I'm
willing to begin anew as if this day never happened if he is agreeable to the
idea. I wondered to myself if he's already spoken for; my brief daydream
may be a moot point, after all.
Detective Tanner and Trish lead slightly ahead of us on the dirt
trail and I can’t help but notice she isn’t holding on to the detective
... no siree. Obstinate Trish is grasping the saddle in lieu of Mr. Hottie
McTottie. For his part, Detective Tanner seems to be purposely aiming for
every pothole and tree branch, ducking before the branches smack him in the
face without forewarning Trish of the impending branch. Many times, Trish’s
reactions are not as quick and it’s a wonder she manages to remain atop the
horse. It's obvious these two obstinate beings either despise each other
or a spark had been lit and neither one of them were willing to leap into that
When we arrive back at Trish's vehicle and begin loading the jeep,
Trish and Detective Tanner are still avoiding each other like a deadly plague
as Trish is all but throwing the camping gear in the back. However,
Detective Sanders seems in no particular rush and quite honestly, neither am I.
“Say Gracie," Detective Sanders begins as he pulls his horse
closer to me, "I know we got off to an unusual start and all. I'm sorry I
laughed at you ... really sorry. You know, all the laughing and invading your
privacy. Well, all that.”
It looks like big macho Detective Dylan Sanders is tongue-tied so
I chose to have him squirm a tad bit longer by remaining silent, sporting a
distant blank look on my face.
“Guess I'll just get to the point, no reason for beating
around the bush. I’m assuming you live in Hollow Springs, or near there.
I admit to getting the low-down by calling to request information from your
friend’s license plate before we began the search. You do live in Hollow
I nod my head while remaining in silent mode, leaving him stuck on
the speaking podium. It’s not yet quite time to show mercy to this man.
I haven’t forgiven him for neglecting to cover his eyes when my bare ass
was up in the air on display. One would presume it would be a requirement
for law enforcement officials. It’s not as if they're doctors and should
be privy to people’s private parts. He had no business getting an eyeful
and then enjoying my humiliation. No sir, he isn’t forgiven, regardless
of the fact he seems to have defrosted my reproductive organs.
Defrosted? Hell, they've melted from deep freeze hibernation, and
are now sizzling in anticipation of welcoming some little swimmers before
shriveling up and missing the opportunity to strut their stuff. To say I
have been caught by surprise is an understatement.
Dylan continued, “I live a few miles away from Hollow Springs, in
Rose Hill." He studied my still-blank expression and laughed a little to
himself. "Okay, now I’m rambling. Look Gracie, here’s the thing ...
I would like to take you out and get to know you. So, if you aren’t seeing
anyone, would you like to go for dinner or lunch or have something to eat with
me? No pressure, but if you agree, I promise it'll be a better day than today.”
For a bad-ass detective, this man certainly gets tongue-tied when
asking a woman out on a date. I suppose it’s time to cut him a break,
even if he did gawk at my pasty, white naked butt.
“In answer to your question detective, I am not dating
anyone." Great, may as well have shouted out, Take me I'm all yours
because I'm a loser and this should be no surprise to you! I seem to
be oozing of man repellent.
Smart, Gracie. Real smooth move.
“Sure thing, I’d love to eat a meal with you," I reply
coolly. "Weekends are my first choice. You see, I teach school
during the week. Yes, that’s my job, I’m a schoolteacher. However,
if you work weekends, then dinner on a weekday works as well, but it would have
to be an early night. What do you think, detective?” What an idiotic putz
he must think I am. Now who's guilty of rambling?
“Calling me detective is unnecessary. Dylan is what I prefer.
Anyway, I'm scheduled to have weekends off this month, so how about we
plan to meet up for lunch next Saturday? I can pick you up say around noon and
we can go out for lunch and then maybe just hang out for the rest of the day.
We’ll play it by ear and surely end up finding some type of
Nodding, I extend my hand, anticipating the contact of his skin on
my own. As he raises his left eyebrow questionably, I play it coy with a tiny
bit of sassy teasing thrown in the mix and request his cell phone. A
quick batting of the lashes, followed by the tip of my tongue slowly moistening
my top lip and my mission was successful. There is a noticeable change
radiating from his eyes that is rather un-detective-like to be sure. When the
blood returns to his brain, it’s as if a light came on in his mind. He has
received the message that I'm waiting to enter my contact information into his
cell phone. I include my address in his phone’s contact area, as well.
My horny hormones were doing the salsa so I neglect to obtain details on
how to reach this sexier-than-should-be-legal man. It qualifies as an oversight
that will return to bite me in the ass.
“So, your last name is Watson, huh? Gracie Watson has a nice
ring to it. I like it. See you next Saturday, Gracie Watson." He bent
down from his horse he had just mounted and there was humor in his eyes as he
said in a conspirators whisper, "Oh, and just so you know, I had no
intentions of taking you to jail.”
“Has anyone ever complimented you on your convincing poker face?
You certainly could have fooled me. Your partner seemed hell-bent
on escorting Trish and I to county lockup. You know as well as I, it was his
intention. Admit it."
“Nah, his bark is worse than his bite. Trust me, you weren’t
in any danger of having your prim and proper schoolmarm reputation tarnished.
Besides, technically I’m his boss. He’s been a good friend of mine for
several years so everyone imagined us working together would jeopardize our
friendship. But you know what, it hasn’t happened yet.”
Dylan reached down and gently brushed some loose strands of hair
behind my ear, just some of many several displaced curls from the bun atop
my head dancing in the wind. It’s to be expected after bouncing my bones
to damn near breaking point atop a giant ear-chomping, four legged, smelly beast
until my body was screaming for mercy. As much as I had enjoyed squeezing
the bejesus out of Dylan, I feel as if I've taken a beating from one of those
monstrous scary dudes on those wrestling smack-down television shows.
I’ve watched plenty of those wrestling matches, certainly more than any
dignified woman should have been subjected to. Doug won the physical battle for
remote control privileges in our house every time. Every. Single. Time.
I am immersed in Dylan’s aura as I revel in the warmth enfolding
my entire body. Our eyes lock, no words spoken, prolonging the conclusion of
these magical sparks. I sink deeper into the welcoming intense heat
radiating from his aqua green eyes. My life is in store for some colossal
changes. There is certainty in my heart about this. You may call it
intuition, hope, or even determination. Never in my life had I
experienced an instant attraction such as this. I’ll admit it frightened
me, but the fear was overshadowed by curiosity and eagerness. I have a
powerful thirst to embark on this journey and discover where the road will lead
us. I refuse to sabotage my chance of developing a relationship with
Dylan. He isn’t remotely like my ex-fiance, Nick The Prick. Not all
men are self-centered, thoughtless dweebs. Is it safe to release my heart
from self-imposed lock-down? Maybe. Baby steps. Yes, baby steps.
Dylan clicked at his horse, turned it around and looked back at me
with a warm smile before he and Detective Tanner went on their way, deeper into