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
